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carmenized-onions · 1 year ago

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Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life— Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “That’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person.

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear x you #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

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eloise-t-g · 1 year ago

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i think for me, the watcher situation comes down to this:

it's absolutely respectable that the watcher team wants to grow and produce better quality content. it's respectable that they don't want to stagnate and end up pushing the same content out over and over again. that's not satisfying for them creatively, i get that.

however, if higher quality, more heavily produced content is not what your fans are asking for, then you can't ask them to fund it.

this all-or-nothing method they've gone for is frankly bizarre. it feels like they leap-frogged all other alternatives to improving their finances and ended up here, alienating and frustrating the majority of their fanbase (the fanbase they thanked for getting them to where they are).

i think this could have gone a lot better if they:

Hadn't hyped up this video for a week.

Hadn't announced the worth it successor just beforehand.

Hadn't put out a wishy-washy, "boo hoo we're so sad about this", over-produced video.

Hadn't made it $6/month (more in a lot of countries given exchange rates).

Had considered that this means fans in specific countries literally cannot pay for the subscription due to geo/region-locking.

my ideas for improving their funds, aka things they could have tried before blowing their brand up: create their own website with two options - a free version with ads and a paid version without ads, OR make better use of their patreon/make their website extra content, not all their content, for example:

Put the ghost file debriefs on there.

Put shows like survival mode on there (or even shift that show from pre-recorded video to live-stream - live stream access to patrons and VOD access to everyone, maybe).

Put episode commentaries there.

Do reaction videos to their old buzzfeed content, talk about memories and BTS, and put that there.

Put one/two episodes of each show, per season on there (and ONLY there).

Put the episodes up there a few days early.

Make specific, website only content (that's not your main and most popular series aka ghost files and puppet history).

Record the live, in-person shows and put those VODs up there.

EDIT (thought of something else lmao): put extended or even uncut versions of ghost files on there. Paranormal Detour on Detune's twitch channel has shown that people will willingly sit through 6+ hours of a ghost investigation.

EDIT: idk, do livestreams once a week where you watch scary movies with fans on discord or twitch.

(side note: the fact that they're not taking down their patreon and instead shifting all of their podcast content on there, something the patreons who have been loyally giving them money for years didn't ask for, is ridiculous and greedy. add to this the fact that they don't even get a free sub to the new website, instead get 40% off - a measly 10% more than anyone else who subs before the official launch).

the thing for me is that they're claiming they want to make "television" and "television-grade content". that's completely fine. what's not completely fine is acting like your four episodes a month is equal to netflix's entire catalogue.

this really felt like it should have been something they told us they were progressing towards, not something they revealed to be on the imminent horizon. idk, it just feels out of nowhere. no, they don't owe us all of the info about their company. but something had to be better than this.

final thought - it's okay and valid to be upset at the team for this. for a lot of people, it's a complete betrayal (especially the comment that $6 a month is something "anyone and everyone can afford", i mean yikes). i do think some people's anger got the best of them, and some of the comments i've seen across youtube, twitter, and tumblr are plain bullying, racism, and harassment. until we have the whole story, we can't decide that one founder (aka steven in a lot of people's minds) is solely responsible. i know a lot of these awful things are only coming from a small minority of the fandom, but they still get seen.

at the end of the day, all three of them got up in front of a camera and made this video, together. that can only lead us to the conclusion that they made this decision together. acting like these men in their 30s couldn't stand up against it if they truly wanted to, is so strange and parasocial lmao.

tl;dr there were much better ways of going about this announcement, if it even needed to be made at all. however, that doesn't excuse the hateful shit being spewed at the team. for now, all we know is the three founders decided they were done with youtube, and done with their loyal youtube audience.

(i have so many more thoughts on this but i need to stop lmao. however i do wonder how different things could have been if 1. they had hired someone with actual business experience as their CEO from the jump, and 2. this video was more of a "hey we're broke! this is a last-ditch effort to save our company!". guess those questions will remain ... well ... you know ...).

#watcher #ryan bergara #steven lim #shane madej #buzzfeed unsolved #unsolved #worth it

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lemonmaid · 6 months ago

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Poly Taskforce x Baker! Reader

A small part two, I had the idea while working today. It is very apparent that I just started watching Dexter.

Warnings: talks about murder. Gender neutral reader

To say Simon was smitten witn you could be an understatement.

Simon went far along to change his hours, Johnny complained about it for weeks, always mumbling in the ealry morning "why we need to open thus early? No one is gonna wanna have meat at 6 am".

He will always be there whenever you text or call, you want him to double check to make sure the store is locked up? No problem, you're lucky he lives above the shops.

The seasons were changing fast, the forcast called for snow later today. The door slammed open, "Has anyone seen john? I wanted to ask him to get lamb meat for these Shepherd pies I gotta make for the holiday season". Ah there you were in all your glory, you were wrapped up tight in layers of clothing.

"What's wrong with Si's meat- OW! Fuck Si, was kiddin'", Johnny rubbed the back of his head, mumbling before walking to the back freezer.

You looked at the two with an awkward expression, "Nothinh, i just wanted fresher lamb, anyways- Simon do you think you can look at my oven again? I think it's not heating right".

And see you in your cute white apron and pretend your his bonnie? Of course.

Simon hummed, "light probably out again, i can check it later tonight".

You smiled, "thanks Si, probably be lost without you".

The rest of the day was slow, slow to the point Johnny said he is gonna hit the pub early even though it was a bit of a walk. Simon really didn't want to work the front end, he hates talking to people kinda mutish but will carry a conversation if needed. Johnny did the talking for him, been talking and hasn't stop talking since primary school, hell the two were so close that Simon could call Johnny's ma his own. Johnny was always there, even when Simon didn't want to see his ugly mug, Johnny was there.

The front door chimed, Simon groaned, taking off his gloves and walked to the cash register, there was Kyle.

"Needing something Gaz?"

Kyle rolled his eyes at the nickname, they used to play together for their schools Rugby Team, their nicknames sticked together like glue. "Nah I just need your opinion on something".

Simon nodded, "police work?".

Kyle rubbed the back of his neck, "Yall need be safe out there tonight, another body was found in miller's creek- which i wanted to ask you simon- what does this look like to you".

Simon looked at the pictures, he's got to hand to the killer, these cuts are professional, "looks like a clear Butcher cut"

Kyle hummed, "do you mind coming down to the station to give a statement? I think we would like your word-"

Simon crossed his arms, "You're not accusing me right Deputy?"

I mean, it was a good guess. There's only two Butcher shops in town, Simon's store was in the middle of no where and the other was three miles out of town, he's got to hand it to the killer, he does know his way around a blade. And after the incident that happened when he was a kid, wouldn't put it past Kyle for assuming him.

"Oh god, of course not Si! Listen the sheriff wants to figured out quick- doesn't want to alarm the folks here or more rumors".

Oh of course, Simon is aware of how people just talk in this town. A couple of years ago there was rumors of him and Johnny being a couple on the count of they don't go to church, old crazy people.

Just as they were bout to leave, Johns truck comes in speeding.

"Kyle! We need a immediate medic attention".

In the passenger seat was Johnny, very bloodied, beaten beyond recognition.

The bastard went to far.

#cod x reader #simon riley x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz x reader #johnny x simon #ghost x soap #cod imagine #poly task force 141 #task force x reader #task force 141 imagine

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thepersonnamedsam · 2 years ago

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radio

pairing: the genz!driver x team x 23!grid

summary: some team radios of our beloved genz!driver

warnings: some swearing

note: oh i hope you all will like what i did here, it took me a hot minute, soo, pls don’t be a ghost reader

our genz!driver doesn’t drive for a specific team (pls imagine which ever is your fav), so the colours of the team radio will be violet, bc it’s not used :)

masterlist / taglist

Bahrain 2023

- „Okay y/n, you made it into Q2! Let’s keep that same pace you had in Q1“

- „Oh did you hear that? Where did Oscar place??“

- „Piastri is out in Q1, P18“

- „Wooh!! Oscar owes me 50 bucks!!! He lost the bet, he lost it! He didn’t think I’d out-qualify him!“

End of Qualifying

- „Good job, y/l/n! Thats P12 for you! Great start of the season“

- „Yeah baby! I’m the new Smooth Operator, Smooth Operator!“

Race

- „Uhm guys, I think there’s something wrong with my car…“

- „What is it, y/n?“

- „I just overtook Charles, how is that even possible?! Wtf guys, am I that fast?“

- „Oh my god, y/n, you had me stressed out here. I really thought you had technical problems for a second“

- „No worries, I’m just faster than a Ferrari“

—

- „Radio check“

- „It’s a cruel summer!“

—

- „Tell me, tell me how we finished, how I finished?!“

- „P11 baby!“

- „Uh, yeah, who’s almost in the points?!“

- „YOU!“

—

Saudi Arabia 2023

FP2

- „Tell me, is Danny here?“

- „Yea, why?“

- „Can you tell him I said hi? Please“

- „Uhm, sure I can, why?“

- „I just promised him yesterday I‘d give him a shoutout from the track, hahaha“

- „Okay, y/n, let’s get into Q3 today!“

- „Let’s gooooo!“

- „Could you not scream into the coms, please?“

- „WOHOO!“

- „y/n…“

- „Love you“

- „I don’t…“

- „You totally do“

- „I don’t“

- „You dooooo“

- „P12, good job y/n“

- „Could’ve gone better“

- „It’s a good result, y/n“

- „But still no Q3“

- „Hey, y/n, cheer up, it’s the same result as last race“

- „I thought we improved, I thought I improved“

- „We can still climb up the ladder“

- „As if, I’m not good enough for that many overtakes, I can defend, but that… I don’t know man“

- „Hey hey, listen to me, y/n. You deserve that spot in F1, you’re young and you’re learning with every race, with every test. I know you’ll be champion one day. Maybe not this race, but you’re gonna go far, kid“

- „…“

- „Are you crying, hahaha?“

- „Let me be emotional, dipshit“

- „Oh Lando is gonna have a field day with this, hahaha“

- „Please don’t show that to Lando“

- „Come to the garage first and we can discuss it“

Race

- „Radio check, y/n“

- „Vamos a la playa“

- „Loud and clear…“

—

- „FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, SHIT, SHIT, DAMN, WHY DOES IT NEVER GO MY WAY?!“

- „Unfortunate events, retire the car, y/n“

- „UNFORTUNATE?! STROLL JUST STOPPED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD AND I HAD TO BREAK SO HARD NOT TO CRASH INTO HIM THAT I CRASHED INTO THE WALL!“

- „It is what it is“

- „Don’t meme me, I’m mad… haha, okay, thank you“

Australia 2023

- „Good pace, y/n, let’s keep it that way and we’ll make it into Q3“

- „Alrighty mighty“

- „Cringe“

—

- „AND THATS P9 FOR YOU“

- „Huh?“

- „P9“

- „I’m into Q3?! Am I really?“

- „Yes! Yes you are!“

- „Whoop, whoop, that’s the sound of the police“

- „Whoop, whoop, that’s the sound that I need“

- „P10 baby“

- „P10!“

Race

- „Hi y/n, you’re doing really good out there, bring 'em home for me, will ya?“

- „Danny?“

- „Yes?“

- „Hi Danny“

- „Hi, y/n! You’re currently P9, with 0.548s to Piastri“

- „Okay“

- „Let’s push and stay in the points!“

—

- „YOU‘VE CROSSED THE FINISH LINE AS 7TH!!!“

- „THOSE ARE 6 POINTS, RIGHT?“

- „YES!“

- „It’s all because of Danny!“

- „I’ll gladly let him know“

Miami 2023

Race

- „I- help!“

- „What’s going on? y/n talk to me“

- „I don’t think my break is working“

- „y/n, we are going to retire then, box box“

- „I’ll try for one more lap“

- „No you won’t“

- „I will“

—

- „I think it’s fine“

- „…“

- „Yea, it’s fine, I can brake normally, hihi, sorry for the worries“

- „You’re a menace, y/n“

Monaco 2023

FP1

- „Monaco baby, the land of pretty people and expensive things, I am home“

- „Why’s that, you’re not from Monaco, y/n“

- „I am pretty and expensive therefore I am home“

Race

- „Radio check, y/n“

- „NOT NOW“

- „Noted“

—

- „I don’t feel pretty“

- „Sucks for you“

- „Man, that’s a shit move“

- „Sucks“

—

- „Okay y/n, you’re currently P11 with 0.639s behind DeVries, let’s push to P10“

- „DeVries? Nyck is P10? What happened?“

- „I don’t know, let’s just push him off of P10“

- „Harsh“

- „I’m a bad bitch“

- „Fuck that bitch“

—

- „Great job, y/n P10!“

- „Where is DeVries?“

- „P12“

- „Who overtook him?“

- „Bottas“

- „HAH!“

- „Be nice“

- „Ugh“

Montréal 2023

FP3

- „You are currently P3, I repeat, you are currently placed on P3“

- „Who’s pranking me? Max? Lando?“

- „No one, you ARE P3!“

- „WHAT?!“

- „Let’s take that pace into qualifying“

- „Uhm, yea, definitely“

- „What’s my time?“

- „1:18.725“

- „And Max‘s?“

- „1:19.092“

- „WHAT?“

- „You are P1, y/n“

- „Are you kidding me?“

- „I would never“

- „Mhm, but really? P1?“

- „I swear to god, P1“

- „Fuck! Shit! Holy macaroni fucking meatballs! I crashed, I repeat, I crashed“

- „Yea, we saw, retire the car“

Race

- „P7, good job!“

- „Thanks…“

- „Oh and y/n, you’ve been voted driver of the day“

- „Really?“

- „Really“

- „Firstly, I wanna thank the ground, because without it, I wouldn’t be standing here today“

- „That only works if you’re really standing somewhere, y/n, you’re sitting in an F1 car“

- „Then I’d like to thank my F1 car…“

- „I deactivated your coms“

Austria 2023

Sprint Shootout

- „What exactly is a Sprint really?“

- „Oh my god, really y/n?“

- „No… of course not…“

—

- „Great job, you placed P13“

- „Mhm, thanks… I‘m thirsty“

- „…“

- „Did no one hear me? I want my drink, where is the drink?“

- „You will not have the drink“

- „Oh you waited so long for that, didn’t you?“

- „No…, yes“

- „Kimi is a legend.“

Sprint

- „I don’t like this Sprint thingy“

- „Why?“

- „I don’t know, just because“

—

- „P15“

- „No good job?“

- „Not today“

- „Understandable“

Race

- „I want to go home, I am tired of this“

- „What?“

- „It’s getting boring with Max always leading and winning“

- „Thats why we need to push as hard as we can“

- „As if I’ll ever overtake Max“

- „One day, y/n, one day“

- „But not today, that’s why I want to go home“

- „You can’t“

- „Loser“

Silverstone 2023

FP2

- „Why do I not see Charles on the grid?“

- „Why do you have time to look at the screen and not see Charles on there?“

- „You should be driving“

- „I am“

- „Clearly not fast enough“

- „Hey, I am faster than you think“

- „You are currently driving with a speed of 156 km/h“

- „How do you know that..?“

- „I am your race engineer, I know everything“

- „Did you know that I just farted, hahaha?“

- „Unfortunately“

- „Hihi“

- „You’re gross“

- „Thank you“

- „Welcome“

—

Race

- „If Lewis stands on that podium, he owes me a dinner“

- „And if he doesn’t?“

- „I owe him a pity dinner“

- „And if you stand on that podium?“

- „Thats unrealistic, that’s why we didn’t bet on it“

- „True“

- „HEY!“

- „You said it first!“

- „Not a reason for you to call it out!“

- „Women“

- „I heard that“

- „You were supposed to“

- „Less talking, more driving!“

- „Yes boss“

—

- „Omg, omg, omg, tell me I crossed that line without a single penalty and we don’t get a grid penalty? Please tell me this is true?“

- „YOU ARE P4 Y/N“

- „Am I really?“

- „Yes!“

- „If it weren’t for the safety car you would’ve been P3!“

- „I don’t care! It’s my best result so far!“

- „So near and yet so far“

- „Lew is P3?“

- „Yep“

- „P4 and I get a free dinner from Lew, what a day“

- „Be proud and loud“

- „WOOHOO!!!“

- „Maybe not so loud…“

- „Sorry not sorry“

Hungary 2023

FP1

- „Oh Danny Ric is back on the grid!“

- „Mhm“

- „Aren’t you happy to see my favourite person driving again?“

- „Totally“

- „Be happy!“

- „Okay…“

—

- „Oh… I just passed Danny“

- „You are on your flying lap, he needs to let you pass..?“

- „Yeah… but he needs a positive experience on his first race back…“

- „HES THE ENEMY“

- „He’s my best friend…“

- „Does he know that?“

- „Uhm, I hope so“

Race

- „Tell Lando he’s doing a great job“

- „Just drive“

- „Okay…“

—

- „Lando says thank you, by the way“

- „For what?“

- „Just forget it“

- „Okay“

—

- „Oh, for that! You’re welcome, Landi“

- „It took you 4 laps to realise“

- „My brain is sometimes slow, let me be“

- „I would if I could“

—

- „Oh how I hate Perez“

- „It’s mutual“

- „Hihi“

—

- „Radio check“

- „I am so glad that the summer break is right in front of me, just 33 more laps and it’s me chilling on the beach, getting tan and reading good books and you know, that’s how my dream life looks like and…“

- „How can she be so talkative but still be on for a podium? It’s a mystery for me“

- „And Lando and me oh and Danny will go on vacation together. Maybe Lewis will come as well. I want to go to the Maldives but we’ll see. Oh and you know what would be cool? If we really…“

- „Is she still talking? Yep…“

- „I could learn how to surf and eat loads of stuff and just relax“

- „So you finally decided to stop speaking and concentrate on the race? Great job, y/n“

- „Thanks!“

—

- „Thats P5 for you! What a race to start the summer break“

- „Thank you so much“

- „We’ll see us in 3 weeks!“

- „Byeeeee“

°°°

@ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @biglittlesecret, @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe , @sopheeg , @avengersheart , @thatsadsmallchild , @peachiicherries , @idkiwantchocolatee , @callsign-scully , @mehrmonga , @badbatch-simp24 , @lissyontour , @din0nugs , @elliegrey2803 , @gay-for-victoria-de-angelis , @10vely-yutazen , @daggersquadphantom , @azriel-the-shadowsinger , @i-love-scott-mccall

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #genz driver #team radio #f1 team radio #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #daniel ricciardo #charles leclerc #fernando alonso #sebastian vettel x reader #max verstappen

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thedancingcostumeyoungadult · 1 month ago

Text

Lemon Muffins - E.M.

Camp counselor!Eddie x camp counselor!Reader

Your co-counselor commits a grave offense and you want fair payment

Contents: Fluff, bickering, friends with vibes?? coworkers with vibes maybe? mention of weed and smoking, gn reader in this part but might become fem reader if I do other parts

Part 2 here

You do not have the energy for this, you so do not have the energy for this.

"Eddie-" A warning flashes in your tone a split second too late, the last lemon muffin already whisked away from you and into the mouth of your fellow troupe 6 counselor, Eddie Munson. You watch as your poor muffin disappears in a bare few bites, your face no doubt a showcase of frustration and dejection.

"Sorry Boots," he speaks mid-chew, disgusting, disrespectful of the beautiful muffin, "too slow." You want to hit him, you're going to hit him. He flashes you what you're certain could be a show-stopping grin if not for how bad you want to hit him.

"I'm not sharing my bug spray with you anymore." Disdain seeps into your voice as you stand, snatching the bottle from the middle of the table and storming out of the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the soft clamor of the lanky boy scrambling after you.

"Hey wait-" You can tell he got caught on something by the soft string of curses and a loud clatter that fades behind you as you push through the door into the early morning. The light is still little more than a bluish haze at the tips of the tall pines that surround the camp, a collection of squat cabins and a path that leads to the lake, still and shimmering in the hush. A hush quickly shattered for you by the creaking of the kitchen door and a rushed Eddie.

"Boots, you coulda told me the stakes were that high on that muffin back there." He sounds slightly winded as his own boots crunch on the layer of needles covering the ground, covering the distance in a few strides to come shoulder to shoulder with you. "I didn't know you were so committed to them."

"First of all," you stop short, letting him wheel to face you as his momentum takes him a step further than you, the bug spray bottle in your hand leveled accusingly at his chest "I am deeply committed to any pastry that contains lemons, and second!" You keep your voice low, not at all wanting to start your camper's days with that kind of energy but too tired to retain much rationality past that, "It was already on my fucking plate, Eddie!" There's a third, though it's useless at this point to bring up the fact that he wears the exact brand of boots you do so he really has no grounds to declare a nickname out of it, it's always fallen on deaf ears.

"Okay, okay, I violated the rules of breakfast engagement, I'll give you that." He raises his hands as if in surrender, though it's paired with another of those dumb smiles and a head tilt that softens your displeasure even as you fight to retain it. "What can I do to make amends?"

You regard him for a long moment, taking in long dark curls pulled into a messy bun (using a technique he'd stolen from you, by the way), wide, earnest eyes, the bright camp t shirt sitting just a little tighter across his chest than it had last summer and contrasting with the dark jeans he preferred even in the dead of summer. Eyes narrowing, you offer your terms of peace which he takes in with rapt attention.

"You owe me two muffins by the end of the week."

"Lemon muffins."

"Lemon muffins." He nods like a seasoned negotiator and your gaze sharpens again, deciding in that second to throw a final condition in the mix.

"And you smoke me out." You cross your arms defiantly as you speak, a challenge. It catches him off guard and you can tell, a swift blink and raised eyebrows betraying him even through quickly feigned innocence.

"I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean." You roll your eyes at his act.

"I know you have a stash, Munson. You took something precious from me and now you've gotta pay up." You find yourself slipping into more dramatics with him, his theatrical nature bleeding into your own speech in a way that you can't quite find yourself bothered by.

He stands in the silence of the morning, a stalemate dragging out for a few long heartbeats before he concedes, another one of those smiles overtaking him.

"You're a real cutthroat negotiator, Boots, but you've got a deal."

Hi I hope you enjoyed!! I'm so in love w camp counselor Eddie and i'd love to get requests for him! Likes and reblogs are so so appreciated and comments are welcome :)

#jeanie writes #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff

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okay-j-hannah · 11 months ago

Text

Part 5: Mieczyslaw

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 13k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles pining, eventual NSFW, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, fainting

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: A little more history of the Reader in this one - I honestly love her family's backstory

Part 4: Ollie's Catnip

Part 5: Mieczyslaw {You Are Here}

Part 6: Orange Cream and Peachy Sugar

The hospital was quiet that evening. You were assigned to the long-term care floor and spent long hours updating patient files and making your rounds. Checking vitals, refilling water bottles, adjusting patients with bed sores, and administering medication at the right times.

It was the perfect distraction. You would be missing the lacrosse game that night, missing the first game with Scott being co-captain and Stiles being first line.

You’d be missing Andrew and his dimpled grin.

Instead of focusing on that the rest of the night, you call Lydia who had texted you an SOS.

“What do you mean you’re done?”

“I mean, he sent me a pathetic text asking for his house key back. The loser is so down in the dumps that he doesn’t think he deserves me, which is right, of course.”

You hold the phone with your shoulder and start typing notes into a patient file, “I’m sorry, Lyds. Breakups suck.”

“He’s become such an asshole recently. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. But good riddance. I needed to climb the social food chain anyway. He’s been lacking in the lacrosse category.”

“Sounds like you’re handling it surprisingly well.”

“I’m completely over him. Only took a few minutes… seconds actually.”

You smile, “Yeah, you barely sound upset over it.”

She can hear your sarcasm, “Did you hear that Allison is still going to the game? Her dad and aunt are going too.”

“That’s weird,” you frown, “I wonder why.” With the Argents being hunters… you wonder how much they know about the number of werewolves in town.

“You’re still on shift tonight?”

“Yes, right where I want to be. The perfect excuse to miss the game.” You upload another patient file and wave to another night nurse leaving for her break. It was just you and one other nurse on the floor – a redhead named Jennifer.

“Anything exciting happening?” she asks in a huff, upset that the attention was no longer on her dilemma.

“Nope, I’m working the long-term floor. Everyone here is mostly in recovery or stuck in their beds. It’s usually pretty quiet at night, which is why there’s less staff.”

“Fascinating,” Lydia says quickly, “Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’m going to sit with Allison and scope out my next boyfriend.” She laughs before adding, “Don’t worry, Andrew is off the table.”

You scoff, “Yeah, thanks. Have fun.” And you slide your phone back into your scrubs pocket.

The next half hour was relatively quiet, just two call buttons going off. The rest of your time was spent making your rounds and completing chores. That is until a pair of sneakers comes walking down the hallway.

“Yeah, I said I can’t find her.”

You stand to confront the foreign male voice that was definitely intruding past visiting hours, only to find Stiles on the phone. He was getting snippy with whoever he was talking to, “Hey, listen here wolfman – the only reason I’m harboring your fugitive ass is because you saved (Y/N)’s life last full moon, got it? I don’t owe you any more favors.”

“What the hell?” you say, catching his attention, “Don’t you have a lacrosse game to get to, hotshot?”

In a few seconds you can see a range of emotions flickering through his face: confusion, happiness, worry, and something in the way he looks at your scrubs. “Hi, (Y/N).”

You walk around the nurses station and fold your arms, “Care to answer my question?”

He gives you a goofy side smile, “You’re talking to me.”

“Yes, Stiles,” you fight the immediate grin that wants to envelop your face. “What are you doing here?”

He leans into the phone for a second, “Uh… is there a Jennifer working here?”

“She’s the on call nurse tonight, why?” you pop a hip, arms still tightly crossed.

“What about Melissa?” he asks, walking down the hall and to a room. He speaks to the phone again, “Yeah, well, he’s not here either.”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask exasperatedly, “Stiles, you can’t be here past visiting hours. Would you please…”

“He’s not here. He’s gone, Derek.”

Your jaw drops, “The fugitive you’re harboring is Derek?”

He looks to you, “Yeah, the rest of the town doesn’t know he’s innocent because it’s actually a psycho Alpha werewolf that’s killing everyone,” he says to you. “You sure Melissa isn’t here?”

You hold your hands up, “I’m not answering anymore of your questions until you tell me what’s going on.”

Suddenly you can hear the frantic voice of Derek over the phone and Stiles has a look of instant terror. It sets you on edge when a mysterious man stands at the corner of the hall; it was as if he had appeared out of thin air.

Half his face is covered in burn scars and after a second thought you realize that it’s Peter Hale – the long-term resident of the floor. Your eyes widen at the sight of him standing without his wheelchair and Stiles takes a few steps in your direction.

“You must be Stiles,” Peter says in an eerily calm tone. He’s barely smiling as he nods in your direction, “Hello, (Y/N). It’s nice to finally be able to speak to you.”

Stiles drops his hand holding the phone, walking back until he feels you near him. He reaches behind him and takes hold of your arm. Your instinct is to press yourself closer into his back, “Is that…?”

“He’s the Alpha,” Stiles mutters, whipping his head to the side at the newcomer.

“Jennifer!” you say, “We have a situation with…”

The redheaded nurse holds her head high, “Shut up!”

Your mouth clamps shut – how many people are in on this? Stiles, in his usual fashion, can’t stay quiet for long.

“You and… him? You’re his… and he’s the…” Stiles is shielding you with his body at this point. “Oh my god, we’re gonna die. We’re gonna die.”

You jab a finger into his spine, silencing him. “This is not how I’m supposed to die.”

But with an elbow to the face, Jennifer falls to the floor and Derek takes her place. You forget momentarily how tall, dark, and handsome he is. Peter speaks again with that same calm, menacing tone.

“That’s not nice. She’s my nurse.”

You start to pull Stiles against you, taking you both behind the nurses station.

“She’s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people.”

Peter makes his way over, “You think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family?”

A growl ripples from Derek’s throat, fangs appearing from his open mouth. Blue eyes glowing with strange power, he bounds for the attack. You’re paralyzed at seeing the action up close.

“Holy shi…”

Stiles drags you to the floor, doggy-paddling across the tile like a swimmer. You army crawl beside him as Peter and Derek start to throw each other against the hospital walls. Bits of plaster and plastic side railing break away easily.

“Okay,” you say, coughing as you breathe in some plaster dust, “I believe you now. I really believe you.”

“Is that why you haven’t been talking to me or Scott?” Stiles yells over the growling werewolves. “Scott could have easily proven werewolves existed if you just asked him to show himself.”

They continue their sliding movements across the station and to the next hall, the sound of breaking glass loud behind you. “No, I stopped talking to you because I needed a break after hearing the truth. It’s a lot to think about when you realize the whole freaking town has lore in supernatural entities that aren’t just make believe… they’re actual fucking werewolves!” You swipe an arm across the tile and shove his legs out of the way to reach his side. “I needed time to cope with the sudden shift in what I knew to be reality.”

“Understandable,” he pants, tongue sticking out, “I just wish we could’ve helped you cope instead of you just shutting us out.”

“Like I said… I wasn’t really thinking!”

“And of course it was the same night as Scott forcing a kiss on you and trying to kill you in your own home…”

“Shut the hell up, Stilinski! Bigger problems at hand!” The werewolves were moving to a different patient room to continue their fight. You gesture to the end of the hall, “The emergency exit is there. We just have to get there and down the stairs. We can call 911 when we’re outside.”

Stiles agrees, watching you with a different panic, “How’s your heart?”

“If anything happens we’re in a hospital,” you say frankly, “Come on.” You lead the way as the fighting becomes quieter.

Stiles admires you from behind, standing to run the last few feet. You slam into the door and guide the way down the many flights of stairs. Stiles is jumping whole steps and crashing into the walls.

Your lungs start to fight for breath by the time you reach the bottom, Stiles tripping over the last step and falling to his knees beside you.

“Does… Does the Alpha have control…” you pant, holding a stitch in your side, “… over Derek?”

Stiles breathes dramatically, his face scrunching up in a funny way. “I wouldn’t be surprised. He might be forcing Derek onto his side right now with some crazy alpha mind control.”

You stumble toward the exit, shoving it open to a gust of chilly night air. You lean against the hospital wall, hands on your hips. Stiles follows, pulling out his car keys.

“Can you make it to the jeep?”

“If I say no would you carry me?”

He shrugs, pulling a face, “No promises. I could probably swing a piggy-back ride.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” you say, bending down to put your head between your knees. It was routine when you were out of breath and starting to feel lightheaded. Your hands lay flat on the concrete, your mind focusing on how cold and gritty it feels under your fingers. You listen to the crickets and the wind whistling through trees. You smell the honey sweet rain from Stiles.

A large warm hand spreads against your back, rubbing up and down your spine.

You feel the air flood your lungs, “Have you called the police yet?”

“I told them there was a possible break-in and a nurse got knocked out,” he says, “They’ll be here soon.��

You take a few deep breaths, soothed by Stiles’ hand. “I have to wait for the police.” You sit up and Stiles retreats a few feet. The action makes you consider him for a few seconds. “I’m not mad at you or Scott. I just… I needed some distance while I tried to figure things out.”

There’s a bob in Stiles’ throat, “And… have you figured things out?”

You screw up your lips in thought, “I need to talk to Scott first.”

Stiles nods vigorously, hope lighting his eyes. “Yeah, yeah – for sure. Let’s go find him now, I’m sure the lacrosse game is almost over.”

A flash of pity is in your face, “You missed your first game.”

“Yeah, well…” he waves a hand, extending it to help you to your feet. “I had a couple more important things to tackle tonight.”

“Won’t your dad be disappointed?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs, walking to the passenger side of the jeep, “But if the pinkeye epidemic continues then I’m still first line for the time being!”

You giggle, sliding into the jeep, “I’ll pray for the conjunctivitis.” With the heater still broken, you’re grateful you chose a long-sleeve undershirt for your scrubs. It took a few minutes for you to call your boss and explain the situation.

The police were on their way, and you were meant to stay to give a witness statement. It would also have been irresponsible to leave your patients in their time of need. Choosing to wait in the jeep was just common sense seeing as there were two werewolves having a row upstairs.

“Do you think Derek is okay?” you look out the window.

Stiles was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, “He’s fine. Peter will probably try to get him under his control.”

“Then what?”

“He’ll keep trying to get Scott into his pack.” Stiles leans more against the door to get a better look at you. “So we have some catching up to do.”

“Like what?” you smile.

He frowns, picking at his fingers, “I don’t know… like how Jackson broke up with Lydia.”

“Yeah,” you grimace, “Lydia only just told me about the breakup tonight.”

Stiles blows air between his lips, “Jackson always has another agenda. He’s been black mailing Scott because he wants the werewolf bite.”

“You’re kidding,” you say, “How did he find out about the supernatural?”

“I don’t know! He hasn’t been talking to anyone, not even Danny.”

You lean against the door to match Stiles’ stance, “Well, I know Lydia has said he’s never been the same since Scott outperformed him. He’s been slipping ever since.” You rub at your eyes, “He doesn’t talk to me much, and now it’s awkward between him and Lydia.”

“There’s also the news that the Argents know about a second beta werewolf.” At your look of confusion, he continues, “They know there’s an alpha and they know about Derek. They’ve realized that there’s a second werewolf and they’re trying to figure out who it is.”

“They being Allison’s dad and aunt?”

Stiles nods, “They have been scouting ever since – they think it might be a teenager.”

Your head perks up, “Lydia said Allison’s family was going to be at the game tonight. I bet they’re looking for clues as to who could be the other werewolf.”

“Let’s just hope they don’t suspect Scott.”

Stiles continues to pick at his nails, looking at them instead of you. “I’ve also heard that you might be going on a date with a certain potential lacrosse boyfriend…?”

You fight a smile, “Andrew asked me out.”

“And you said?”

“Yes!” you laugh, “I’ve been waiting for him to ask since I started working with Coach on the lacrosse field.” You miss the bitterness in Stiles’ face; he was trying to hide it with his downcast gaze.

A police siren could be heard down the highway. Stiles clears his throat, “Is he going to ask you to the winter formal?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, tickled at the thought, “But that’s still a couple weeks away.”

“Do you want him to?” Stiles finally looks at you, straining to keep the hurt he feels at bay. The tightness of his chest was smothered by the boiling jealousy in his stomach. He hates the way you sound doting on Andrew. And he hates himself for being jealous over something he shouldn’t be mad about.

You made your choice and Andrew is a good guy.

“I’m not sure. He doesn’t know about my heart and a formal dance would be prime time for it to give out.” You take a deep breath, “I’d rather not spoil an evening like that.”

Stiles nods and considers you, “I guess you just need to go with someone that knows how to calm you. That way you don’t need to worry.”

It was suddenly tense for a few seconds while the police cars come closer to the hospital. You put a hand on the door handle and say, “You should probably get out of here so your dad doesn’t overhear why you might not be at the game. Police radios, you know…”

“Right,” Stiles says, “Let me know if anything comes up. I’m going to find Scott and tell him about our newly identified alpha.”

~~~

The next few days felt a little less hostile as the friend group settles into a new norm. Jackson is still moseying up to Allison, who is still apologizing on behalf of Scott for the impromptu kissing. You console her in that Scott wasn’t himself that day.

Allison was also venturing into new hobbies to keep her mind off things. She had taken to practicing archery in the woods, sometimes taking you or Lydia with her.

Jackson was talking in angry whispers to Scott and Stiles more often. You know it has something to do with seeking the werewolf curse.

As for yourself, you were working on your science project implanting E.coli in varying meats and cooking them, swabbing each as you go and putting samples in petri dishes. They were currently incubating in the chemistry lab while you walk down the hall with Andrew.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you say, eyeing the way Andrew held your books for you.

“Hey, now we’re going to state,” he says, “You can come to that game.”

You smile, almost to English, “I’ll bring my pom-poms and megaphone.”

Andrew laughs, handing back your books for class, “I won’t say no to a little cheerleading outfit.” He winks at you and a warm blush envelops both your faces.

“I’ll see you later,” you say.

Walking into class you’re quick to notice Scott and Stiles staring at you (Stiles with a little more of a frown). You choose to sit in front of Scott, taking any opportunity for Allison to be near him.

“(Y/N)…” he starts with hesitance, “Stiles told me you’re talking again.”

You don’t turn around at first, “And?”

He leans forward across the desk, and you can hear his whisper over your shoulder. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to apologize to you this last week and… nothing seems good enough. After you avoided me and everything, I thought I lost my chance.” He sighs and you can feel it in your hair. “(Y/N), I am so so sorry. I’m sorry for attacking you – I’m sorry for forcing a kiss on you – I’m sorry for scaring you – and I’m sorry for trying to kill you.”

Very slowly you pivot in your chair to look at him.

Those puppy-dog eyes were back full force. Those were Scott’s eyes – not the dark, menacing look they had on the full moon. You knew the difference was night and day. The real Scott McCall would never do those things if he was in full control.

“I feel terrible,” he continues, afraid at your persistent silence. “I’m an awful friend and I should have told you the truth sooner. Maybe you would have been more prepared for the full moon like Stiles.”

You blink, “Have you apologized to Allison?”

“Well, I tried…” he scratches at his shaggy head, adding to his puppy-dog look. “She was shooting arrows in the forest with Lydia yesterday… and I needed to return a necklace of hers.”

“You mean you were stalking her?”

“The details are a little foggy,” he says quickly, “I might’ve scared her and she tazed me.”

Stiles snorts from beside Scott and you have to stop yourself from losing your composure. “She’s picked up a few things since breaking up with you.”

“I noticed,” he says lowly. “Anyway, I tried to apologize, and I think it got to her a little. She’s still mad, but I think she might forgive me eventually.”

“I told you,” you say with a slight smile. It gives Scott hope.

“And what about you?” his dark brown eyes are wide with anxiety.

You share a look with Stiles, who shrugs. “I forgive you.”

Scott sighs, his head falling into his arms on the desk. “Thank god. I promise, (Y/N), I didn’t mean to do any of those things. The full moon had me wired and it was like something else was controlling my body.”

“It’s okay, Scott. I did a lot of thinking while taking a break.” You look between Scott and Stiles as the tardy bell rings. “And I don’t think I can be involved with all this werewolf stuff.”

Stiles is nearly out of his chair with how he reacts. “What do you mean?” his desk squeaks terribly against the tile floor.

“I mean, I’d like to still be friends with you guys…”

An awful needle like puncture was screwing its way through Stiles’ chest. Friends.

“… but I don’t really want to be included in any werewolf business or late night investigations or almost being killed – which has happened to me about three times now since starting school.”

“Werewolf business is a very regular part of my life,” Scott says with a disbelieving laugh.

You nod, “I get it, I just mean I’d love to hang out or go to a party sometime, but I can’t be involved with anything else related to the alpha situation.”

Stiles was having trouble swallowing as Scott continues, “Like it or not, (Y/N) – you’re kind of a part of my pack. The pack that the Alpha wants me to get rid of.”

“Then… I’m resigning from the pack,” you shrug half-heartedly.

Stiles’ jaw nearly hits the floor as the teacher snaps at the three of you for talking. There is about three minutes of quiet as the teacher explains the upcoming book report that you’ve already finished on Sense and Sensibility.

After that you receive a group text from both Scott and Stiles.

Stiles: You’re just unfriending the pack?!

(Y/N): Can’t I do that and still be friendly?

Stiles: No

Scott: Of course you can. We just don’t get why

You raise your hand and share what stance you took on the book report requirements. You wrote an analytical piece on the personalities of two sisters: Elenor being all sense and Marianne being all sensibility.

The teacher looks pleased and asks for more volunteers. You’re now covered to keep texting.

(Y/N): Tell you later

Scott: Ok

Stiles: Tell us now

You tuck your phone away and feel it buzz with a few more messages before going quiet. You don’t mean for it to be such a shock. You just knew that the more stress you had the more likely you’d have a fainting episode with your heart condition. That would lead to more heart damage and an end that you want to prolong as much as possible.

Being surrounded by high stress werewolf situations was going to be the death of you.

You are quick to leave the classroom at the bell and the boys weren’t far behind.

“Hey,” Stiles grabs your shoulder, slowing you down. “Explain.”

Scott holds his backpack straps, awkward but less demanding on hearing your explanation.

“It’s not a good idea for me to be around a lot of stress,” you sigh, “You know… because of my heart.”

Both boys purse their lips and share a look. Scott is quiet when he asks, “Because you have a tachee-heart?”

You and Stiles both say, “Tachycardia?” You laugh and continue, “Yes. My heartbeat is already irregular and if I do anything to add to it… it’s bad news bears.”

“Care to expand on what these bad news bears are?” Stiles asks irritably.

“That’s a talk for another day,” you say quickly, leading the way to your next class. “Just know that the more my heart struggles the worse off I’ll be.”

“But we can help you,” Stiles says, pressing into your shoulder as you all walk down the hallway. “We can calm you down if that happens.” I can calm you down.

You sigh, “Not always. It can be random and persistent.” You stop outside the door of your next class. “This isn’t me saying we can’t be friends, just… I want to avoid any werewolfy scenarios that might involve near death and/or general terror.”

You leave Scott and Stiles to contemplate out in the hallway. Shoulders sagging, Scott groans, “This werewolf thing is ruining my life.”

“Yeah, and mine.” Stiles broods at the classroom door, taking a second to realize what he said and turning to the mild anger on Scott’s face. “What? I’m the best friend – I am legally bound to whatever misery you experience.”

“All the new friends I’ve made are literally being pushed away because of this curse,” Scott rubs hard at his face, “And it’s ruined my love life, not to mention my lifespan. Hunters are basically knocking down my front door!”

“Yeah, it’s really putting a damper on my love life too.” Stiles mumbles to himself, “I really thought I had a shot with her.”

Scott shoves his friend, “Even after all her talk about Andrew?”

Stiles scowls, “That’s just a silly crush.”

“And what she feels for you is… what exactly?”

“Hidden feelings that I will unlock one day for her to realize that I am the perfect guy for her…” he licks his lips, wincing, “… despite the clumsiness, sarcasm, and general idiocy.”

Scott laughs, “Yeah, she’s really missing out.”

“Hey!” he rams into Scott as they walk towards their next class. “I really like her, Scott. Like… I like her, like her.”

“I know, Loverboy.”

“She’s all I can think about, and I know I’m just a pathetic friend of hers, but I’m hopeless, Scott! Completely hopeless.”

Scott gives him a look, “Are you sure you’re not stalking her?”

“In a broad sense of the term,” Stiles shrugs, “I’ve never felt this comfortable around a girl before. I’ve never felt this way about any girl.”

“You’ve got it bad,” Scott sighs, “I know the feeling well.”

~~~

You walk through the aisles of computers to sit near the back beside a hunched figure. He keeps his head down even as you watch his eyes dart to see who you are. If anything it makes him more shy, his shoulders drawing in as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible.

You sling your backpack onto the ground and ignore the random text Stiles sent you about the history of the male circumcision. He was always sending you the most out-of-pocket things.

“Hey,” you smile at the quiet boy, “My name’s (Y/N)…” He turns his head a little more and you instantly recognize him as one of the benchwarmers on the lacrosse team, “… and you’re Isaac, right?”

His blue eyes seem to warm at your recognition, “Yeah, Isaac Lahey,” he clears his throat, “I uh…”

“You play lacrosse!” your smile widens, “I didn’t realize we had computer science together.”

“Play is a strong word,” he says with a hint of a smile. “I sort of keep to myself.”

You lean on your elbow, considering him as he fidgets under your gaze. “I think the last time we talked was when I was passing out permission slips for that spring retreat Coach was talking about.”

Isaac nods his head, still bowing like he was trying to hide behind his computer screen. “I don’t talk much.”

“You didn’t bring back your permission slip if I remember correctly.”

“No,” he clears his throat again, finding it hard to swallow. “My dad needs me to stay home.”

“Even for just a weekend?” your brows knit.

He licks his lips, “He needs help at work and… I’m the only one around to do it.”

“Shame,” you mutter, “I’d like to have seen you there. Maybe we could’ve roasted marshmallows together and tossed Coach’s whistle in the lake.”

His lips upturn a little more, “You’re going on the retreat?”

“I don’t think the Coach can survive without me,” you stifle a laugh, “Besides I’m the only one who knows anything about the retreat. He probably couldn’t drive a single one of you up there.” You nudge your arm into his, “You should ask your dad again, see if he’ll change his mind.”

Isaac has an emotion you can’t gauge flash across his eyes. “Maybe.” He nods and hides that smile you’re trying to pull out of him. “I wouldn’t mind messing with Coach, though.”

“We could hide his energy drinks or put dye in his toothpaste,” you muse, “Make his teeth blue for a day.”

“Or we could put a squirrel in his cabin,” Isaac says with a little more enthusiasm, “Or maybe we could hide his shaving kit and see what kind of beard he can grow.”

You snort, “I bet it’s as white as an old mans.”

“It’s because all us kids give him gray hairs,” Isaac laughs, smiling wide.

You laugh along, suddenly struck with his change of demeanor. “You have a great smile, Isaac,” you say, “It looks good on you.”

A rush of red fills his cheeks, unable to stop smiling now. He isn’t hunched behind his computer anymore, “Thank you.”

The teacher was about ready to throttle you two for giggling over her talking. You nudge Isaac again with your arm, putting a finger to your lips.

~~~

The next day you’re being dropped off at the Argent residence for a ‘family dinner.’ Allison has been complaining about how often her dad talks about meeting you. It was odd not having met them – almost every parent in town knew who you were.

That was the consequence of a small town with two working parents in the emergency fields. Most adults knew that they had to leave at the drop of a dime if your heart was ever in trouble.

Hence the anxiety making your fingers pull on your sleeves.

“(Y/N)!” Allison greets, pulling you into a hug, “I’m so sorry for this,” she whispers.

You whisper back, “Don’t be.” But a flash of fear crosses your face when the door widens to reveal a blue-eyed, middle-aged man. “Mr. Argent?”

“(Y/N),” he extends a hand, eyes never blinking as he probes you, “We finally meet.” He shakes your hand firmly, “My wife and daughter have only had good things to say.”

And my friends have told me about your penchant for shooting arrows at teenage boys. “Nice to meet you.” You follow the family inside and to the dining room. “I hope you don’t mind…”

In your free hand was a small container of peanut butter brownies you had made earlier that day. Chris Argent looks pleased when he inspects the contents, “How wonderful – you didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you say, handing the dessert to Allison to plate. The Argents were able to provide for themselves, plus extra.

Living on the other side of town, the Argent residence was much more lavish than what you were used to. It created a very unfortunate divide between the teenagers. An invisible line that was rarely mentioned, but nonetheless present.

Over in these neighborhoods, Lydia, Allison, and Jackson lived with rich crown moldings, nice cars, high ceilings, and antique furniture. More in the valley, you, Stiles, and Scott lived in modest homes with hand-me-down items and a small growing pile of bills.

With one check you bet the Argents could take away your family’s medical debt.

“Your home is lovely as always,” you say, admiring the chandelier in the dining room. “And dinner smells amazing.”

“Not my doing,” a dirty blonde says with a crisp laugh. A near forced laugh as her less piercing blue eyes meet yours. She assesses you with something a little colder than Chris. “Hello, I’m Kate, and I have no talent for cooking.”

You give a wave across the table, instantly wary of her. Allison pops up beside you, “That’s my aunt I told you about.” She looks to Kate as she sits, “(Y/N) is an amazing cook.”

Kate nods, still scrutinizing you with her gaze. “What else are you good at, (Y/N)?”

“Reading,” you say instantly, sharing a laugh with Allison. “I keep to myself mostly.”

With the table set, the Argent family sits to enjoy the meal. Victoria Argent, whom you’ve met the few times you’ve been out with Allison, sat with her husband.

“So, (Y/N), tell us a little more about yourself,” Chris says, spearing asparagus with his fork. “You’re close with our daughter but we know almost nothing about you.”

You try to swallow your roast chicken quickly as Allison scolds her father. “I told you not to interrogate her,” she leans closer to you, “He doesn’t really have a ‘pleasant conversation’ option in his vernacular.”

“It’s alright,” you say with a wave, grabbing a nice cloth napkin to dab at your mouth. “My parents like to know who I’m friends with too.”

“You know Scott and Jackson, correct?” Kate digs into her chicken with a knife.

“Yes, we’re all friends. I also am a teacher assistant for Coach Finstock, so I see them at lacrosse a lot.”

Chris considers you, “But you weren’t at the last lacrosse game?”

“No, I work at the hospital as a medical assistant and I picked up a shift that night,” you take a sip of your water. How much information was too much information to give?

Kate tilts her head in your direction, “Wasn’t there a break-in at the hospital that night?”

You nod slowly, “Yeah, someone got into an altercation past visiting hours. I don’t know who but when I went to investigate the noise, there was a lot of broken glass and cracks in the walls. Thank goodness none of the patients were harmed.”

Chris takes his time cutting his meal into pieces, “That sounds terrible. What did you do?”

“I called the police, checked on my residents, and ran outside to meet the cops.” You take a small bite of food, “They didn’t find anything besides the damage.”

“Cameras?” Kate questions.

You shake your head, “My co-workers said that they had been damaged as well. Wiped clean or lost… I don’t know exactly.”

Chris seems satisfied for the time being, “Well, I’m glad you got out safely, whatever it was.”

Kate, on the other hand, seems to perk with interest, “I hear you’ve had a run-in with danger a couple times this year.” At your look of confusion, she nods toward your collar. “The attack on the video store, I mean.” She barely moves a centimeter as she stares you down, “Allison told me you had gotten clawed pretty bad.”

You spot the wince in Allison’s brow. “I did get attacked that night,” you wipe at your mouth again. “It was pretty bad for a while, infected and everything. But I’m okay now.”

Kate was persistent, “Must have left a pretty gnarly scar.” Her eyebrows lift as if expecting you to reveal your shoulder. She was scolded by her niece.

“It’s still a little pink, but that’ll go away with time,” you say as nonchalantly as possible. “I’d say it makes me look a little cooler than I am.” You shift the collar of your shirt an inch to reveal the tail end of three massive claw marks, another curling around your arm. It was your turn to gauge the reaction of the Argents.

Chris and Kate share a look and you clear your throat in response. Are you making yourself a possible werewolf suspect?

“And what do you guys do for work?” you say, steering the conversation off yourself. “Allison says that you’re a weapons dealer?”

Chris pours himself more water, “That’s right. We have quite the collection if you’re interested.”

You shake your head quickly, “I’m not really built for that. I enjoy my books and my lazy cat sleeping in my lap as I read.”

He nods, hopefully in a sign of respect. “That’s why Kate is here. She deals in weaponry as well – a very skilled hunter.”

She raises her glass, “The art of the kill. I needed my brother’s expertise on a few pieces for my latest hunt.”

“What do you hunt?” you say innocently.

“Big game predators,” she says, cold eyes locked on you. “Cougars, bears, wolves.”

You almost smirk. These people are hiding in plain sight.

“My mom is a buyer for a store in San Fransico,” Allison steers the conversation even more. “Right, mom?”

Victoria, already done with her meal and leaning back in her chair, replies, “Yes, it’s a charming little boutique. I also teach math at a boarding school for boys on the side.”

You nod, “Why math?”

“Strategy,” she says flatly. “Equations and probabilities. I enjoy the art of stratagem.”

That was slightly off putting as well. Did these people know how to be subtle? How had Allison gone this long without knowing her family history?

“And your parents are…?” Victoria continues.

You smile, “My mom works behind the desk at the police station – taking and directing calls. My dad works at the firehouse.”

“You must hear everything that goes on around here,” Chris smirks.

“Only when I ask,” you say, “And that’s considering nothing wild has happened in Beacon Hills for years…”

Kate leans back in her chair as well, crossing her arms in contemplation. “Have you lived here your whole life?”

“Yes,” you say, pushing your plate away, “Almost since birth.”

“Where did you live before?” Chris asks.

He might be intimidating, but you enjoy talking to him much more than Kate. “My parents lived in Palo Alto when I was born. We had a nice house and my mom worked security at Stanford University. My dad actually met her at the San Francisco Bay. He was a lifeguard before he was a firefighter, and he watched the swimmers at Keller Beach and Berkeley Marina.” You smile a sweet smile, “She kept coming back to those places to see him… even pretended to drown once for a kiss.”

“Must be a fan of The Sandlot,” Allison snickers, enjoying hearing you talk more than her family.

“So why make the move to Beacon Hills?” Kate asks, arms still tightly wound.

Your smile falls a little, “I was born with a congenital heart defect. The medical bills and surgeries became too much… and we had to downgrade.”

Allison puts a hand on your leg beneath the table. Chris sends a piercing look to his sister and mutters, “I’m sorry, (Y/N) – I didn’t know you were sick.”

“Still am,” you say with mock cheerfulness, holding your water glass with two hands to give yourself something to focus on. “Heart problems are persistent. We try to keep it as discreet as possible.”

He nods, looking at you with a different air of likeness. “It sounds like you have a wonderful family.”

“I do,” you say fast, “Thank you.”

They move on to the brownies you brought as a means to change the subject. Victoria hums her appreciation, “These are delicious, did you put caramel in here too?”

“Caramel is one of the greatest inventions of all time and deserves to be incorporated into as many sweets as possible,” you laugh, “Of course I put caramel in them.”

The table laughs as you eat, feeling a little stripped bare after revealing so much about yourself. As Allison said, it did feel more like an interrogation rather than a pleasant family meal. You were quick to text the boys as you leave the residence.

“My place in ten minutes. I have an Argent update.” You smile as you add, “… and leftover brownies.”

Allison was kind enough to drive you home, apologizing the entire way. “My dad wasn’t as brazen as usual, but my aunt Kate?” she rolls her eyes, “I can’t believe how much she was grilling you.”

“You have a protective family,” you shrug, “So do I.”

“Your parents have a good reason to be extra protective of you,” she retorts, “My family is just nosy and suspicious and… I don’t know, my aunt and dad have been a little tense with each other this visit. They usually get along so well.”

“How much longer is your aunt staying here?” you ask, holding your container of leftover brownies.

Allison knits her brow in thought, “I’m not sure. She says she’s getting ready for another big hunt and just needs supplies and my dad’s advice. But I don’t know… sometimes I feel like she isn’t telling me everything.”

You thank Allison for the ride and the invitation to dinner. You promise to give her an update on your date with Andrew that weekend, and she drives off. Entering your house was a breath of fresh air.

Oliver trots to your side, his furry underbelly swaying side to side before you scoop him up and kiss his head. He purrs instantly.

“How was dinner?” your mom asks, sitting at the dining table with little potted plants in front of her. She was trying to grow herbs from seeds and the lavender was not doing so well.

“It was fine,” you kick off your shoes, “Her family is a little interrogative.”

Tom walks in with his usual cola, no doubt with a few ounces of whiskey poured in. “I knew they were a little tense, especially after that Chris guy shot the mountain lion at parent teacher conferences.”

You scratch under Ollie’s chin, “It was still nice, but I would watch out for that Kate Argent. She scares me a little.” You sit at the table and watch your mom preen the little sprouts of eucalyptus and rosemary. “Oh, I also invited Scott and Stiles over, if that’s okay.”

Tom folds his arms, making them look massive beneath his firehouse flannel. “I thought you liked that Andrew guy.”

“I can like a guy and be friends with other guys, dad,” you snicker, “I’m just going to take my medicine real quick, will you send them up when they get here?”

Your mom waves you off, adding some water to her seedlings, “Leave me one of those brownies, would you?”

A minute later, and having taken all your prescription meds, there’s a howling laugh coming from downstairs. You move to the foot of the stairs to see Stiles beaming and your dad wiping his eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tom says, “Stilinski here was just telling me about a police fiasco with a red tricycle and a klepto.”

You look puzzled as Stiles scratches at the back of his head, “Yeah, I might’ve stolen some already stolen items from evidence when I was a kid. I was the prime suspect for about three days with all the stuff in my possession.”

“And at five years old,” your dad laughs, downing his drink.

“I really wanted the tricycle!” Stiles retorts, “It was my first bike.”

Tom shakes his head, “Learning to pedal on stolen property.”

Scott pulls on his friend, “It was nice talking to you guys.”

“Of course, sweetie,” your mom says, “Now not too late, you still have school tomorrow.”

Walking up the stairs (Stiles tripping over at least two of the steps) you lead the boys into your room, Oliver already on your bed.

“Hey, buddy…” Stiles gets on his knees and crawls to the edge of the bed, “How’s the fuzz ball?”

Ollie perks his ears and blinks slowly at Stiles, bowing his head for a pet. Though upon Scott’s arrival, the cat sets his ears back and hisses.

“What the…” you mutter, watching your cat growl low in his throat and dart to leave the bedroom. “He’s never acted like that before.”

Scott looks guilty, “Well, I am part dog and… I did break into your house as a werewolf not too long ago.”

Your lips make a thin line, “Right. Cats and dogs don’t always get along.” You walk to your bed, flicking at Stiles’ head as you sit down, “Do you guys want a brownie? They’re leftover from my dinner with the Argents.”

Stiles’ greedy fingers dive for the plastic container while Scott shoves his hands in his pockets. “You had dinner at their house?”

You relay some of the conversation you had. The mysterious penchant for weapons and hunting big game predators. The interrogative questions on the hospital break-in and your involvement with Scott and Jackson. The request to see the claw marks on your shoulder.

“Do they think you might be the second beta too?” Scott asks with a tense line between his eyebrows. Stiles was too busy eating his third brownie.

“Maybe… do they think a scratch could turn you?”

“That’s what Derek said,” Scott swallows hard, “He told us a deep enough alpha scratch might give you the curse. The Argents might have the same theory.” He smacks his forehead, “Which is why they’re suspicious of Jackson. He has those claw marks in his neck from Derek.”

You frown, “And they don’t know they’re from Derek and not the Alpha.”

“But they do know your scars are from the Alpha,” Scott mutters worriedly, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they do a follow-up on you.”

“But after I told them about my heart condition, they seemed to back off. At least Chris did.”

You relay the conversation that you had about your parents meeting in Palo Alto and the move to Beacon Hills because of your heart. You remember the likeness Chris Argent had in his voice as he expressed his apologies for your sickness.

“If you’re sick then you couldn’t have the curse,” Scott mumbles, picking at his chin. “Werewolves heal really fast unless the wound is supernatural too.”

Stiles is licking his fingers when he suddenly blurts, “Do you think if you were a werewolf your heart would be cured?”

You shrug, finding the amount of brownie left on Stiles’ face amusing. “I don’t really want to find out. Anyway, I knew you guys would probably want to know.”

“Still not keen on all this werewolf business?” Stiles asks.

“I’m just trying to protect myself.” You sit on the bed, Stiles on the ground and leaning against the mattress. He’s looking up at you with his brown eyes, fizzing with warmth like cola and whiskey. “It’s not that I don’t want to investigate with you guys. I just worry what it’ll do to my heart.”

You laugh and point at your own face, “You’ve got chocolate all over your mouth.”

Stiles is quick to rub his mouth across his shirt sleeves, “Those brownies were just too damn good.” There was still a smudge at the corner of his lips.

“Maybe if you swallowed between bites…” you move your fingers to his face, lifting his chin to look up at you. He’s frozen as you move your thumb to the corner of his mouth and wipe down and under his bottom lip.

Eyes wide and imploring as they look up at you. He’s all sweet innocence and deeply adoring as you touch his mouth. The brown of his eyes was melting into the sticky sweet sap color, like warm honey in the sunlight.

You pull your hand away and suck the chocolate off the pad of your thumb, “… but thank you for the compliment. I’m not as much of a baker.”

Scott was trying to keep a smile off his face as his hand hovered near his crinkled nose. He was smelling something that was flying off Stiles like a firework set aflame. The poor boy was squirming in his spot on the ground, crossing his legs and keeping his hands over his lap.

“How was Allison?” Scott changes the subject.

You look up, now ignoring the sappy eyes gazing from below. “She was fine – maybe a little embarrassed about her family. It was strange knowing the motive behind her family’s questions but seeing none of it register with her.”

“I have a feeling she’ll find out soon enough.”

“Me too,” you stand, “For now she’s releasing a lot of her stress through archery and training with her aunt.”

Scott shivers, “Scary.”

You nod, walking to the door and hearing Stiles scramble to his feet. “I’ll see you guys at school tomorrow?”

Getting into the jeep was uncomfortable, Stiles pulling at his jeans. Scott was laughing at him before too long, “Dude, you should have seen your face. You really are hopeless.”

Stiles groans, slamming his forehead into the steering wheel, “She touched me and every thought just flew out of my head.”

“I could smell it off you,” Scott grimaces, “Just awful lovey-dovey sex hormones, even without the full moon I could smell it.”

Stiles sat straight, making the jeep wiggle side to side. He had a ruddy red mark on his forehead. “Did you smell anything from (Y/N)?”

Scott clamps his mouth shut before shaking his head. “I could hear her uneven heartbeat, but that’s nothing new.”

In a dramatic turn of events, Stiles slumps in his seat and puts the car in drive. “I need to figure out a way to tell her.”

“Tell her your feelings?” Scott gaps, “What about the possibility of utterly crushing humiliation? Not to mention ruining what friendships we still have.”

“Thanks for adding to the anxiety, Scott,” he grumbles, “I just… I can’t help thinking about how I am with her. I have never been able to just talk about my mom to anyone… but with her it’s easy. I’ve never brought a girl over to my house before… but with (Y/N) it was a no brainer. I’ve never been so equally terrified and comfortable with a girl. And with her heart…”

“You’re like an anchor for her,” Scott says quietly, all teasing aside. “You can calm her.”

Stiles puts one hand over his cropped hair, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her.”

“You know the difference between you and Andrew Wickstrom, Stiles?”

He snorts, “He’s maybe four inches taller than me, has perfect curly hair, and is way better at lacrosse than I am.”

“He asked (Y/N) out,” Scott says, “You just need to ask her out.”

~~~

Friday night was all excitement and butterflies as you walk around a strip mall with Andrew. The white fairy lights turn on when the sun sets, and you’re left walking on cobblestones and eating ice cream.

You were laughing at the ridiculous training regime that Coach was making the boys do in preparation for the state game.

“What is the benefit of running laps to the classroom and out to the field?”

“Coach makes us carry his stuff too and from his office,” Andrew mocks, “He makes it sound like an exercise, but really he just wants us to fetch his granola bars and energy drinks.”

You laugh again, “That sounds about right. How do you feel about the game?”

“Since switching to goalie it’s been hard figuring the plays out. But I think I’ve got the hang of it now.” He offers to throw away your empty ice cream cup and spoon.

The night so far had entailed a dinner at a little café outside the mall before looking in some of the stores for new summertime clothes. Andrew bought an outfit for you, shorts with little revealing tears in them and a strappy top that shows your scars way more than you’re used to.

You love that Andrew doesn’t question you about them.

Next was a stop at an ice cream parlor, taste testing different flavors before picking your favorites. The pair of you now walking around as the moon comes out, the trees adorned with white fairy lights.

You were walking so close to each other that you kept bumping arms. “Next time I want to show you my favorite antique shop downtown. It has some of the coolest things from every time period, and it’s connected to an old bookshop – one of the ones with tall ladders and a second floor just like in…”

“There’s going to be a next time?” Andrew says, sounding a little giddy. He was looking at you with pink dusting his cheeks.

You blush, “Is that alright?”

In reply, Andrew locks your fingers between his. “Very alright.” You stroll down the next street of cool fairy light, squeezing each other’s hands. “What were you saying about the old bookstore before I rudely interrupted you?”

You brush hair behind your ears, “Oh, just that it reminds me of the old bookstore from Beauty and the Beast… the one from her town.”

“You’re a fan of Disney?”

“Always,” you laugh, “With movies like The Princess and the Frog and The Emperor’s New Groove… how could you not be?”

Andrew snickers, “It’s because of Naveen, isn’t it?”

“Ah, Prince Naveen,” you groan, “You got me there.”

“Got to be honest though… Treasure Planet might be the best one yet.”

You pull on his arm, “I haven’t watched that in ages!”

Andrew side eyes you as his dimples come out, “So old antique shop and then movie night?”

You’re giddy at the thought of another date, “Sounds perfect.” You wander the streets just talking and laughing for another half hour before he offers to drive you home.

He holds your hand atop your lap the whole way.

Walking to your door, porchlight on as your parents wait for your return, you thank Andrew for a lovely evening.

“It’s nice after all the chaos the town’s been in the last month.”

He nods, “I had a really nice time with you, (Y/N).” He hands you the shopping bag with your new summer outfit, “I’ll text you a time for the next one.”

You smile wide as he takes a step closer, “I had fun too.” He was leaning down to your height, your chin rising to meet him.

In a quick mind-boggling moment, Andrew presses his lips to yours. He pulls away just an inch to see your reaction before moving further.

At your slight smile he leans in for more, kissing you more firmly and cupping your cheek. A sudden warmth blooms up your chest and into your face – and a beeping comes from your watch.

You break away suddenly, “God, sorry…” you cover the watch face with your hand. “Parents are waiting.”

Andrew licks his lips, all smiles as he says goodbye, “I’ll see you on Monday.”

You slip inside and find your mom pruning a more successful chamomile plant at the dining table, no doubt planning to make tea with it. “Hello, honey…” she smirks, “Had a nice time?”

Checking your watch, you take a deep breath, your chest tight from something a little more than your racing heart. “The best.”

You had no idea that Stiles was burrowed beneath his blankets in bed, his phone lighting up his face is somber blue light. He watches the alert of your heart rate die down and knows in his gut that you probably had an exciting goodnight kiss on your date.

It sticks him with an ache he can’t shake for the rest of the night.

~~~

The weekend came with an invitation from Stiles in the most untoward manner. You were working on term projects for history and math when there was a sharp rapping on the window. Turning around you see Stiles waving on the roof.

Already smiling, you go to unlock the window and help him open it, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to ask you something.”

“And your phone is…?”

He shrugs, “More of a boring gesture than this.”

“And not coming to the door…?”

He screws his face up in a comical expression, “Again, this is a more interesting entrance.” And with a graceful slip of the hand, he falls forward through the window and crashes to the ground, “Ow!”

You grimace, hearing the floorboards squeak in the hall, “Shit, Stiles my parents will kill me if they knew you were sneaking up our roof!” In a frantic waving of your hands you shove him under your bed.

He does his now famous doggy-paddling across the hardwood floor.

“(Y/N), sweetie?” your mom calls as she enters your bedroom, “Oh – what was that noise? I thought you must’ve fainted and fell.”

You put your hands behind your back, looking around and finding Ollie still snoozing on the history textbook on your desk. He was so unbothered and not at all helpful. “Um… I dropped my math workbook,” you say quickly, “It’s pretty thick.”

Your mom looks to your hands to see the workbook and raises her eyebrows in question.

Choking on your words you look around and find the evidence on your bed covers, “See! I just picked it up when you walked in.”

Angela shakes her head, “Studying must be getting to you. Maybe you should take a break.”

You nod vigorously and thank your mother, closing your door and finding Stiles already trying to pull himself out from under your bed. His tongue was sticking out as he struggles.

“That was close,” you laugh, sitting on the floor with him, “Who knew you’d be such mischief.”

Stiles snaps his eyes to yours and flounders in his words, “I… you – did you…”

Your knees are inches away as you give him a quizzical look, “What?”

“My m-, my mom used to call me mischief.” His voice was quiet and wondering as he says it. He looks at you with a kind of awe; a freckle of sadness making his eyes glassy.

You suddenly feel warm, maybe from embarrassment – maybe from empathy. You couldn’t imagine a life without your mother. “A very fitting name for someone so mischievous.”

He chuckles, his smile subconscious, “That’s not the only reason she called me that. Um… I uh – my name isn’t actually Stiles.”

“I knew it,” you smirk.

“I actually have a polish name – my grandpa’s name. And it’s really hard to pronounce, so I’d pretty much stop at saying mischief cause that was as close as I could get.”

You raise your eyebrows, all curiosity, “And this name is…?”

He looks shy as he mumbles, “Mieczyslaw.”

“Mitchy-slav?”

He becomes shier as he repeats, “Yeah, Mieczyslaw. You can imagine why a young impressionable child would choose to go by something a little easier.”

You look at him fondly, “I like it. I like learning things about you.” You stand, taking his hand to pull him up, “Now what was the thing you wanted to ask me?”

“I wanted to know if you’d come hangout at my place tonight and meet my dad.”

“I already know your dad, Stiles.”

“Yeah, on a professional basis,” he mocks, “But… but you’ve never seen him without the badge on.”

You agree to come over that night and say you’ll bring a treat, which immediately strikes interest in Stiles. You plan accordingly, cooking all Saturday evening and dishing it in traveling containers. Placing them in a large take-out bag, you drive with your dad to the Stilinski bachelor pad.

You hope your gesture is kindly met.

“(Y/N)!” Stiles says with as much enthusiasm as one seeing someone for the first time in weeks. He’s awkward as he thinks of another way to greet you and is grateful when you go in for a hug. “Something smells delicious.”

You lift the large bag, “I told you I’d bring something.”

He leads you to the kitchen and you see Noah Stilinski looking over case files at the dining table. He looks stressed and wary until he spots you in the doorway.

“Ah, hello (Y/N). It’s nice to see you outside of the station…” he stands up, “… and outside of an ambulance.”

You laugh, going in for a hug that he wasn’t expecting, but loving it nonetheless. He holds you for a second longer as you say, “It’s about time.” He smells of whiskey. You gesture to the food in your bag, “I brought us dinner.”

“Oh my god,” Noah deadpans, “You spoil us.” He frantically tries to shuffle his case files into an orderly fashion, “I’m sorry it’s such a mess.” He moves his full whiskey glass and goes to put the decanter away.

“It’s okay,” you start to help, catching words like ‘murder’ and ‘Hale House.’ Stiles ran for some plates and forks. “There’s not always warning when Stiles makes plans.” You wonder how drunk the sheriff already is – the case must really be getting to him.

Noah chuckles, “You really know my son, then.” He seems awkward without the authority of his badge – like any other suburban dad. “He didn’t tell me you were bringing anything. Wait… did you cook that?” he points to your bag of containers.

“Yeah,” you say, helping Stiles set the table, “My specialty.”

Noah shakes his head, “I haven’t had a homecooked meal in…”

“Years,” Stiles snorts, “(Y/N) is the real deal, dad. Whatever she made will change your life.”

“He eats some chicken and rice and suddenly I’m a three-star Michelin chef.”

Stiles chortles, “Don’t forget those brownies. I’ll never be the same.”

You laugh as the boys sit down and you reveal the dinner you brought. A bowl of spicy Italian sausage, a plate of sliced garlic bread, and a dish of homemade mac and cheese topped with chopped parsley and green onion.

It was very quiet for the first few minutes, you placing a slice of garlic bread on each plate and ladling the cheesy noodles on top like an open-faced slider. You end with placing a few pieces of sausage on the side and passing the plates to the boys.

Stiles still can’t find the words as his dad says, “Did um…” he clears his throat. “Did Stiles tell you…”

You nod, feeling a presence there like nothing you had ever experienced before. “He said it was one of her signature dishes – a favorite of his.” You look to Stiles beside you and notice something glistening in his eyes.

You let them soak in the thoughtfulness of the gesture – what it actually signifies for them – and you start to eat on your own. Though it didn’t bring up any childhood memories of motherly love that it would for Stiles… it was still delicious.

“You’re right,” you say softly, “Like a fancy kids meal.”

Noah starts to chuckle, sniffing as he clears the emotion from his throat. He’s next to start eating his meal and the way he savors each bite is compliment enough. You wait for Stiles to start, very conscious of his quietness.

Stiles was never quiet.

He picks up the garlic bread laden with mac and cheese and takes a bite. He giggles like a schoolboy, “Wow.” He closes his eyes and you feel inclined to put your hand on his. Beneath the table, you wrap your fingers around his against his leg.

You rub your thumb in circles around his knuckles, watching him open his eyes and see tears there. “How is it?”

He sniffs, looking at you with wet eyes, “Like I remember.” He wipes at his face as you smile.

The rest of the meal continues with small talk and fond memories bringing up laughter. The sheriff finishes his whiskey and seems full and tired. Stiles keeps eating until there were no leftovers in sight.

He was now staring at the files of paperwork on the current Derek Hale case. You catch his eye and stand to wash dishes, “You finished, sheriff?”

“Oh no, I’ve got it,” Stiles slips out of his chair and takes the plates from your hands, “You just sit down, I’ll clean up.”

You smile to yourself as the sheriff looks more work wary, leaning on his hand and rubbing at his temples. “You bring out the best in him,” he says quietly, “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him willingly wash a dish before.”

“He’s sweet,” you say. Realizing too late that that was another thing Mrs. Stilinski used to say all the time.

Noah nods, a little red in the cheeks from the alcohol, “He is. She always said so.”

You had a feeling the sheriff didn’t talk about his wife very much. “You seem a little put out.”

“It’s just this case,” he rubs hard at his face, “I’ve been staring at it for weeks and I know they’re all connected, but there’s something missing.”

“What are all connected?” you ask.

He points a finger at you, “I shouldn’t be telling you.”

“You know I’m not going to say anything, sheriff,” you say candidly, “I’m a hermit that makes very good mac and cheese in my spare time.”

He chuckles deep in his throat, quieter the drunker he is. “The thing is… the bus driver that got killed, he was an insurance investigator assigned to the Hale house fire.” He pulls on a paper with his fingertips, sliding it across the table.

You read it sideways as it moves. “’Terminated under suspicion of fraud.’”

“The video store clerk who got his throat slashed, he’s a convicted felon, history of arson. Two others in the woods… they had priors all over their records, including…”

“Arson…” you say to yourself. The true crime fan within you was a little tickled. It sounds like all the victims had something to do with the house fire six years ago. You look over your shoulder to see Stiles standing in the doorway. He had soapy water soaking the front of his shirt.

He puts a finger to his lips and listens.

“There’s just so many questions…” You don’t stop him for fear that he’ll register all that he’s telling you. “If Derek wanted to kill everyone involved with the fire, then why start with his sister? I mean, she had nothing to do with it. And why make it look like some kind of animal did it?”

You shake your head. It must be killing Stiles to know the real reason behind some of these things and not being able to share. He was protecting his dad from the supernatural. Just like how he was trying to protect you from it.

“You know the instances of wild animal reports were up 70% over the past few months? It’s like they’re going crazy and running out of the woods. I don’t know.” He hand a palm to his forehead, already dozing off.

You feel a little guilty as you lean in your chair.

“Hey, sheriff, can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything, sweetheart…”

You smile warmly as Stiles leans his head against the archway. “Would you be willing to call my parents and tell them I’m staying the night? It’s late and I don’t want to worry them. Stiles and I have some work to catch up on… our chemistry project and stuff. Now would be a really good time to get it done.”

The sheriff had a dopey smile on his face as he looks at you. He considers you while Stiles is having a heart attack in the kitchen.

“Sure thing,” he says, fumbling for his phone, “I know your parents worry about you.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you,” you say kindly, “Thank you, sheriff. And thank you for letting me stay.”

He scratches at his head as you stand, already dialing your mom’s number, “Hey, Angela. No, no – she’s fine. We’re taking good care of her… hey, listen. The kids want to work on some projects, and I wanted to offer to let her stay the night.” He rubs at his tired eyes, “Sure, sure… of course. It’s just late and I know Tom is at the firehouse tonight so… yeah, sure thing. We’ve got plenty of room. Yep, thanks Angela. Sure, bye bye.”

You’re walking towards Stiles with a stupid grin on your face, “Let’s go talk.”

“Night dad!” Stiles yells instantly, still in awe that you were able to pull that off.

Noah waves them off, “Don’t stay up too late.”

You pull Stiles’ hand and go upstairs. “I can’t believe that worked.” You find the bathroom but wait for Stiles to show you his room.

“Um… one second,” he holds up a finger and tells you to stay put. He rummages like a madman in his bedroom, knocking things over and slamming things shut. You picture mounds of clothes and old plates of food being shoved into the closet.

He’s breathing heavy when he opens the door again, “Okay, you can come in.” He holds open the door and you walk in to find a queen bed with ruffled blue sheets, a desk on the other side with bulletin boards hanging on the wall. One of the smaller ones had a blanket thrown over it.

You wonder how much decluttering Stiles did because it was still very messy. Papers, sticky notes, and red string were everywhere. “Cozy.”

He looks nervous, playing with his fingers and watching your expression, “I don’t… ha…” he fidgets with his soapy shirt, “I’ve never had a girl in my room before.”

You take a bow, “I’m honored.” You sit on the edge of his bed, “What your dad is investigating…”

“Derek… I know,” he sits at his desk chair. “He’s so close to figuring it all out. He just doesn’t know about the Alpha.”

“Was it bad of me to egg him on while he’s so clearly drunk?”

“No, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Exactly,” you deadpan, smiling. “If the Alpha is killing people responsible for the fire, then Derek siding with him at the hospital…”

“… is probably because he wants people to pay for the fire as well.”

You rub your legs down to your knees, “And the Alpha just wants to become powerful again in his revenge.”

Stiles was tapping his fingers against the desk, “So was there any other reason why you wanted to stay the night? Because I know for a fact you already finished our chemistry project and it’s incubating in the lab right now.”

“Well, there have been a couple things I wanted to talk to you about.” You sit cross legged on the mattress and say, “Coach has been talking to me about Scott failing his classes.”

“Big surprise,” Stiles scoffs, “The guy thinks he can be some werewolf savior and graduate high school at the same time.”

You wince, “Finstock made a deal with the office. Scott can’t go to the winter formal.”

“Because he’s failing?” Stiles gawks.

“They wanted to kick him off the team, but Coach said… some strange things… and made the dance agreement.” You tilt your head to the side, “Are you still planning on going?”

Stiles spins around in his chair, fumbling over his words, “Um, er – yeah, technically. I was s-still planning on it. Why… might I ask?”

You sigh, “Allison will need someone to ask her out.”

He was caught off guard, “I’m sorry, what? Me ask Allison to the dance.”

“It makes sense!” you say, “With Scott’s savior complex he’s going to want everyone under supervision in case the Alpha decides to take us out one at a time.”

There was a hesitance in the way Stiles kept spinning around in the chair. He seems grumpy, “Why can’t Jackson ask her?”

“You don’t want to go with Allison?’

“Well, I…” he was biting his lips, “I don’t know. Are you going?”

“I think Andrew is going to ask me on our next date.”

Stiles bangs a foot against the desk and nearly slips out of the chair, “A second date? Already?”

You smile, going a little red, “We had a good time and… we may or may not have kissed.”

A horrible sinking feeling enters Stiles’ stomach. His heart clenches painfully and the sudden desire to hurt Wickstrom came on hard and fast. “And… you liked it.”

“It was a nice change of pace from my usual,” you try to hide your smile, “I haven’t been kissed in a while.”

Stiles waves his hands around, “Woah, woah, woah… you’ve been kissed before? I thought you were a hermit that made mac and cheese.”

“And I have the occasional neighbor boy kiss me,” you laugh, “There was Easton from down the street when I was thirteen and then Adam who was visiting from San Fransico over the summer when I was fifteen. Not to mention, nimrod, that Scott kissed me just the other week.”

“Oh my god,” he wipes a hand across his face, “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Get people to kiss you?”

You squint your eyes, folding your arms, “Are you telling me you’ve never been kissed?”

Stiles squirms in his chair, swinging it back and forth. “Maybe.”

“Ah, Stiles!” you bounce on his bed, “That’s so sweet.”

He groans, “Don’t tell me it’s sweet. It freaking sucks. All of my friends are getting their jollies off and I am left here in the dust with the driest lips this side of the valley.” His arms hang limp at his sides, “Is it nice?”

You giggle, “It can be. I think it only ever is when you kiss someone you like. It’s just… god, it’s hard to explain.” But Stiles was leaning in like the most attentive student. “There’s something really vulnerable about it, which leaves you wide open to feel anything and everything. You’re scared to death of course, especially with someone you like. But the bliss you feel after doing it is like nothing else.”

Stiles purses his lips, “Is that how the Andrew kiss went?”

“Almost.”

That raises his eyebrows, “I thought you really liked him.”

“I do, but I kind of have this new rule since the summer with Adam from San Fransico,” you hold up a hand, “I can’t date seriously. I can’t get too involved with any guy. So I’ll have to tell Andrew to stop eventually if this keeps going well.”

Stiles frowns, a punch to the gut, “Why can’t you date seriously?”

“Personal choice.”

“Because of what?” You smile and he groans, “Let me guess, it’s another story for another day.”

You use a finger gun on him, “Precisely, you’re catching on.” But the smile starts to dip from your face as you look at him. You lick your lips and say, “How about this. If you don’t have your first kiss by junior year… I’ll kiss you.”

The chair creaks as Stiles nearly falls from it, feet kicking out, “What!?”

“I’ll kiss you. We’ll make a kiss pact. I don’t want you getting too far into high school without having been kissed. The first one is always nerve-wracking anyway. It probably won’t be as meaningful as getting surprised with it by someone you really like, but it might be the next best thing.”

Stiles was losing his marbles, little fireworks exploding behind his eyes and falling like sparklers into his chest. “Okay.”

You smile at his goofy expression, “Now, can I borrow those sweats again? And maybe a t-shirt?”

He was still looking at you with sparklers in his eyes, “Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” He went to rummage through his dresser.

A few minutes later you were both in pajamas, having taken turns to use the bathroom to brush your teeth – you just using toothpaste and your finger – and standing in Stiles’ bedroom. You had dark sweats and an oversized shirt. With how broad Stiles’ shoulders were, the shirt hung low on your frame.

His throat was bobbing when he saw you standing there, pillows and blankets on the ground. “You good?”

You yawn, “Yep.” You meet him at the makeshift nest on the ground and nudge him, “Move please.”

“Oh, no this is for me,” he says, “You get the bed.” Standing so close to each other, you have to look up at him.

“I’m the guest, Stiles. You use your bed and I’ll count the dust bunnies under the bed.” You smile at the deep frown on his face.

He shakes his head, “Not gonna happen.”

“Fine,” you say, crawling onto his bed, “We can share.”

He chokes on his spit and starts coughing, “Share the bed?”

“Is that okay?” you look at him innocently.

That look combined with you wearing his clothes was sending him over the edge. His stomach was full of butterflies tickling the tightness in his ribcage. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. In one night he had a girl in his room, said girl promised to kiss him, and now wanted to share a bed with him.

“Um… I kind of sleep in the middle of the mattress. I don’t want you to wake up to me invading your personal space.”

You laugh, “That’s fine, I can just shove you away.”

He nods, but is lost for words, going to turn off the light while you get comfortable. He’s back in the darkness and hesitates, “Are you su…”

“Get in the bed, Stilinski,” you mumble, already buried in his woodsy honey scented sheets. You feel the mattress dip as he finds his pillow. His knee knocks into your leg, and he apologizes. He shuffles down further and pulls up the blanket, rubbing his arm against yours, and he apologizes again.

“It’s fine, Stiles,” you laugh, “We’re bound to touch being this close.”

He swallows hard, staring at the ceiling as you cuddle further into your pillow, blanket tucked under your chin. “Goodnight,” you mumble.

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek, “Goodnight, (Y/N).” In the dark of his bedroom and the warm, calm presence of you beside him, it gave him a sense of ease. He takes a deep breath and says, “Thank you for the dinner today. It… meant a lot.”

You hum in reply, “You’re welcome.”

The last thing he remembers is turning on his side to face you already asleep. Your mouth was a little open and the pillow was squashing your cheek. Your hair was wild behind you and the shirt you borrowed was low enough that he could see the scar above your heart. You look more beautiful than ever laying there.

He wanted to know what you were holding back. He wanted to know what he had to do to give you the same feelings he was having.

And with thoughts of you looking beautiful in his bed, he fell asleep too.

~~~

Hours later you wake groggily to a still dark room. Stiles was standing and pulling his shoes on, phone in his hand. You groan and shift the covers closer to your body.

“Where are you going?” you ask half-asleep.

Stiles freezes at your words, “Uh… werewolf business. You can just stay here…” he walks over to your nearly asleep figure, “I’ll come back later.”

You don’t reply and he thinks you’re already back to sleep. It makes him smile. He bends down to tuck the covers a little tighter around you and… he hesitates, looking at your face. He swallows hard and leans down to place a kiss to your head.

“Sweet dreams.”

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs @iamaslytherin0 @n3muru @bethsvrse @taylorbrooke-0912 @iloveyou2mia @everrrsincenewyork @gisellesprettylies

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #okay j hannah #okayjhannah #fandomfantasia

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itsjusthockey · 1 year ago

Text

December - Adam Fantilli

Officially in Adam era. Enjoy

I miss him at Michigan

w.c: 1,923 (credit to gif maker)(don't steal my work)

You learned quickly that December is a lot colder without him here. All the Christmas lights seem a little less bright, the hot chocolate tastes a little more bland, and the joys of the season are still there, just slightly muted.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. He was busy, so were you. College and hockey don’t stop, and the world will never cater to your relationship, no matter how much you wish it would sometimes. Instead, you both learned to figure it out. You FaceTime, call, and text as much as you can. Adam even suggested writing letters, but with his handwriting, you suggested something else.

You both send each other care packages, his typically filled with snacks you knew he’d love or books you insist he needs to read. Yours were always filled with new merchandise and one of his sweatshirts that still smelled like him. It is a good system, and you love how you make it work. But alas, Adam isn’t in Michigan, and you wish every night that he was.

A pound on your door jolts you out of your daze, and you check what time it is on your phone; it’s around 6:30, and you aren’t expecting anyone to your apartment. You’re confused when you look through the little peephole, but that all of a sudden disappears when your second favorite Fantilli is on the other side of the door. He’s not alone either, standing patiently with Rutger.

Each boy is clad in Michigan gear from head to toe, and Luca giggles about something when you open the door. The boys turn to you with the wildest smile that immediately makes you suspicious.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” You ask, narrowing your eyes a bit.

The boys dramatically roll their eyes, and Rutger places his hand on his heart in mock betrayal.

“Are we not allowed to visit our favorite person ever?”

You roll your eyes at Rutger and shift in the doorway, opening space for them. With bright smiles, they shuffle in, dropping their bags and immediately making themselves comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, Rutger opens your fridge and grabs out Capri Sun.

“I love this, don’t get me wrong, but why’re you here? I know you’ve both had a busy day.”

The pair grow quiet, and Rutger looks toward Luca to lead.

“Adam said you were a bit sad today.” Luca pipes up. “And we’re good at making you happy.

A small part of you feels terrible; it’s not their job to check on you, but most of you want to cry happy tears. You love these boys, and it means a lot that they still care about you, even when Adam is gone.

“So, we’re taking you out. No arguments, go change.” Rutger says, shooing you to your bedroom.

You give in because, of course, you do. It has been a bit of a rough day, and it didn’t help that your boyfriend has only texted you a few times today, telling you about how busy his weekend is going to be and he might not be around much.

You pull on some of Adam’s old Michigan gear, and within a few minutes, you’re walking out of your apartment with the boys. They don’t tell you where they’re taking you, but you just follow, content with being with your friends.

“She actually said that to her face?” Luca asks in disbelief.

You are telling the boys about some friend drama when you reach your destination. It’s a cute little pasta place close to campus, and It is one of your favorite spots. Adam took you here a lot in the last year, and you haven’t been able to go as often now that he’s been gone.

You smile as you follow Luca in, Rutger trailing behind you as you continue telling your story. Soon enough, you’re seated in a booth, food ordered, and you’re listening to them tell you about their own lives, hockey, and whatever the hell else.

You’re soaking up every minute with them, and you realize as you’re talking that you miss being around them. You miss the jokes, the laughs, the chaos, and you know that you have to get out of this little funk. They’re still your best friends, and you have to start seeing them more.

The pasta comes, and you dive in. It tastes like heaven, and you’re transported back to all the times you’ve eaten this meal with Adam. Your heart twinges slightly, but you shove the emotion down and continue laughing with the boys.

“So what’d you get A for Christmas?” Luce asks, mouth full of pasta. “Promise I won’t tell.”

You shrug your shoulders a bit. “A couple of little things. But I was thinking about visiting him, but I’m not sure he has time.”

You looked into it a bunch, but every weekend before Christmas was jam-packed in both of your schedules.

“You guys will figure it out.” Luca hums.

“Yeah, besides, he hasn’t seen you in a while, and I bet all he wants is to unwrap you like a pres-“

“Gross Rut,” Luca interrupts him, and you both laugh at his disgusted face.

The rest of the meal goes by, and at the end of it, you’re feeling much better about life. You’re super happy with this reunion, and you want it to continue, but Luca's phone buzzes on the table, and he gives Rutger a look.

“Ready to go?” Rutger asks, and you nod, heading back outside into the Michigan cold.

It’s a beautiful night, and when you step out, you see that light snow has started to fall. It looks picturesque as you stare at the snow and the decorations for the season. You feel your heart swell, then get slightly sad again, but you smile anyway.

“It’s perfect out.” You whisper to the pair, and they nod. “Are you guys going to come back up? Watch a movie or something?”

The pair share a quick look, and Rutger shakes his head.

“We can’t, we gotta head back.”

You’re a bit disappointed, but you don’t show it. They both have lives, and you can’t expect them to stay forever just because you’re a little lonely.

“All good, this was so nice. Thanks, you guys.”

Both the boys smile at you, and you walk back to your apartment. It’s still snowing, and when you reach the building, they stop at the entrance.

“Are you good to go back up yourself? My mom’s calling me.” Luca says quickly.

You nod your head, say a quick goodbye, and watch as the boys walk briskly away. You’re a bit confused, but you wave anyway as they speed off.

You make your way to the elevator, and you feel good as you climb the floors. You’re happy you got to spend time with some of your favorite boys, even if it was just for a while.

When you step out of the elevator and round the hall to your place, you smell a Christmas candle, and a wave of nostalgia hits you. It’s your favorite Christmas scent, and you almost want to cry. However, you don’t because as you come to your door, you realize the smell is wafting from your apartment.

You’re so completely lost, but when you unlock the door, everything falls into place.

There he is, standing in the center of your apartment wearing a cozy ugly Christmas sweater you’d bought him and smiling as though he’s the happiest man in the world.

You freeze, taking in the decorated apartment. You see a small little Christmas tree with a few presents, lights that line the space, and your favorite fucking candle lit on your dining table.

You drop your keys to the floor, and tears flow as he crosses the room to meet you. When he envelops you in his arms, you cry even harder, knowing that this is probably the happiest moment you’ve had in a long time.

“Hey baby,” Adam says into your hair. “Merry Christmas.”

You release him just enough to see his face. His beard has grown back, his eyes are a little glossy, too, and his smile is one of the brightest you’ve ever seen.

“Did you miss me?” He asks, wiping a tear from your face.

You pull back even further and give him a slight glare. “Yes, you asshole.”

You pull him back in, but this time, you pull him down slightly to meet his lips for the first time. In a simple moment, it’s like a world of color appears again before your closed eyes. Almost every thought in your brain is stripped out and replaced with him. He’s here. Really here. He’s here pressing his lips to yours and pulling you closer. He’s cupping your face, running his hand up and down your back and into your hair. He tastes familiar, and everything about him makes you feel complete. You finally feel whole again within his arms.

When you finally convince yourself to pull away, you meet his eyes again. You want to tell him you love him, but instead, your brain fails to string any thoughts together. So you simply pull him back to you and hope your kiss will show him those three words.

———————-

The night goes by slowly, and you couldn’t be more thankful. You spend hours talking, laughing, and staying cuddled on your couch. Only removing yourself when it gets late enough and you can barely keep your eyes open. You eventually make it to your bed, and everything is right as you lay against Adam’s chest, listening to his heart steadily beating.

“So Luca and Rut were your pawns?” You ask Adam, tracing little shapes on his chest.

He lets out a small laugh, and it's music to your ears.

“I mentioned I needed help surprising you, and the team had to draw names to see who would be the distraction.”

You smile at the thought and cuddle even closer to him.

“I missed you.” You say after a minute.

You grin as he pulls you impossibly closer and kisses you gently on the head.

“I know,” he says. “But this doesn’t last forever. It’s just tough right now.”

You nod, agreeing with him. Right now, it sucks, but soon enough, you’ll be done with school, and he’s already out there making a name for himself. You know he knows how proud you are of him, and you support his dreams, even if it means you have to spend a couple of years like this.

You have your own life and your own dreams to keep you busy. But even then, you crave being with one another, and a piece you is always missing when he isn’t around you. But you do it anyway. You love him, and it’s these little moments that remind you why you put yourself through the pain. When he’s with you, when you’re together, everything is aligned, and it's nothing but perfection.

Yeah, December might be much colder when he isn’t with you, but when he is, it’s like you’re on fire. The only feeling you have is endless warmth.

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stevie-petey · 1 year ago

Text

episode six: the monster

Steve’s looking at you now and you can see all the cuts and bruises on his face. You want to wipe all the blood away, to stitch him up and place him somewhere safe so that nothing else can hurt him. You want to do all of this and more as he stares at you and silently begs you to stay, but you can’t. You shake your head at him and once again his mask slips; he’s just a scared teenage boy. You want to reach out, to grab his hand and remind him that he’s good, but you don’t.

Summary: so nancy and jonathan are a Thing now and you really just need a good nap, the three of you go shopping for monster hunting supplies (which honestly isn't the weirdest thing you've done this week), an old man sells you a sentimental knife, and steve kind of accidentally kidnaps you with a sexy black eye.

Rating: general, slight violence and a lot of cursing though

Warnings: blood, fem!reader, use of y/n, use of the word "queer" in a negative way, steve being an asshole

Words: 8.1k

Before you swing in: hey guys ! sorry for the delay in updates. finals season took me OUT and then life kinda happened and suddenly i was hiding out from my roommate turned middle school bully ??? idek. anyways, here's chapter 6 which features the iconic alley scene and some very sentimental stevexreaderxjonathan scenes (theyre a mess). enjoy !

“Geesh, you’re not a sleeping beauty.”

Dustin’s face greets you when you open your eyes. He’s hovering over you as the morning light streams through your curtains with a determined glint in his eyes.

“What–?” Your brain hasn’t caught up with what’s going on quite yet, still half asleep.

“Wake up! I’m going to Mike’s so we can all talk about yesterday and I promised to keep you updated, so… Here’s me updating you.”

Hearing Mike’s name is what causes you to fully wake up. Mike. The Wheeler’s. Nancy. Steve seeing Jonathan with her on her bed. You quickly sit up and knock your head against Dustin’s, causing the boy to yelp.

“Ow! What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” you say, rubbing your head as your brother glares at you. “Wasn’t intentional, honest. Can you wait like twenty minutes so I can get ready? I wanna come with, I think Jonathan spent the night there and I need to talk to him.”

Your brother frowns. “Why would Jonathan spend the night at Mike’s?”

“I’d really rather not talk about it.” You say, hoping it’ll be enough of an explanation for him.

Dustin studies you for a moment and you really hope that last night’s events aren’t written all over your face. Somehow, everyone seems to know what you’re thinking and feeling before you even do.

“Fine,” he concedes, but as he leaves your room he calls over his shoulder, “I’m taking the last of mom’s pancakes though!”

You flop back onto your bed, throw a pillow over your face, and groan. Looks like you’re stuck with a banana for breakfast again.

When you eventually manage to make your way into the bathroom and shower, your bones ache from pure exhaustion. As the warm water runs over your body, you’re not quite sure if the ache is more emotional or physical. Probably a mix of both.

You can’t remember how you made it home last night, but slowly it comes back to you in flashes.

Steve and his wonderful boyishness that has become a breath of fresh air to you. The way he greeted you so excitedly, how he had been worried about Nancy.

Nancy, who you had left alone with Jonathan because of your own pathetic feelings. The girl Steve Harrington is obviously in love with. The same girl Jonathan, your Jonathan, is beginning to fall in love with.

Then you remember the hurt in Steve’s eyes when he saw Nancy and Jonathan together on her bed. The water suddenly burns and you gasp out in pain and adjust the temperature.

You know that Jonathan would never do something like that, try to get with someone in a relationship, but lately it’s felt like you don’t really know him like you used to.

Distantly you remember what Steve had said to you, how he’d seemed so hurt on your behalf, that Jonathan had “everything he could possibly want” when it came to you. Steve claimed you deserved better. You vividly remember that part, the way he said it with such certainty and sincerity that it had made your heart stutter for a brief moment.

Dustin’s pounding on the bathroom door breaks you from your thoughts. “Dude, hurry up!”

You yell at him that you’ll be out in a second and nearly slip and die as you hurry to get out of the shower. For someone who swore last night not to let stupid boy drama not get in the way of finding Will, you’re really bad at doing it.

As soon as you’re dressed and ready, you and Dustin bike to the Wheeler’s.

Mrs. Wheeler, as usual, answers the door and lets the two of you in. Dustin heads towards the basement door, but before he goes down you tap on his hat to stop him.

“Remember what we talked about last night, okay? Friendship, it’s always worth it.” You tell him, and he gives you a nervous smile. He thanks you, takes a deep breath, and then heads downstairs.

Once Dustin leaves you make your way upstairs towards Nancy’s room. You haven’t been there in years, so you secretly hope you’re remembering the Wheeler’s layout correctly. With every step you take closer to the girl’s room, your heart pounds within your chest. You feel the same wave of nausea that you felt last night.

When you reach her door, you take a deep breath, just like Dustin had earlier, and will yourself to knock. You’re not sure what you’ll find on the other side of the door, or if you even want to know, but you remind yourself that you’re doing this for Will.

It’s all for Will.

You hear rustling in Nancy’s room after you knock, followed by a quiet “hide!” and a loud thud that you presume to be Jonathan. In another life you’d laugh at the situation, but hearing their frantic hiding only makes your nausea worse.

“It’s just me,” you say through the door, somehow managing to find your voice. It’s weak and frail, but they seem to hear you regardless.

“Y/N!” Nancy sighs in relief when she opens the door. “God, I thought you were my mom.”

“Bug?” You hear Jonathan’s inquisitive voice, and when you poke your head into the room you see half of his body wedged underneath Nancy’s bed. He gives you a sheepish wave and you find yourself suppressing a laugh.

You let yourself into the room. “Great hiding place, bee. Mr. Wheeler would definitely never find you there.”

Nancy’s eyes suddenly widen. “Oh, we didn’t– it’s not like that, I promise. Jonathan was gonna sleep on the ground, but I was scared and I guess we just… Yeah.”

You notice the way she desperately avoids your eyes, almost as if out of guilt. Jonathan is no better, his head ducked in shame as he also can’t quite reach your eyes. When he finally manages to, his smile is a hesitant one. “Her bed wasn’t the same as the bean bag, bug.”

His words are meant to be a sort of peace offering between the two of you, you know this by the way Jonathan’s voice is soft and unsure. He knows he’s crossed an unspoken line between the two of you, and you’re too tired to argue.

“Yeah, I’m sure it wasn’t.” You offer him your hand, which he gladly accepts, and you help him up from underneath Nancy’s bed.

Nancy watches the two of you and the way you immediately fall back into your comfortable familiarity together. Jonathan stands slightly in front of you as he always does, he hasn’t let go of your hand just yet. You stroke your thumb across his fingers that are interlocked with yours.

She clears her throat, sits down on her bed, and motions for you to join. “So, I guess you’re here for a reason.”

You gently remove Jonathan’s hand from yours and sit next to Nancy while he’s left to awkwardly stand before the two of you. “Well, yeah. You guys kinda disappeared on me last night.”

Nancy and Jonathan exchange an uneasy look, which only leaves you feeling uneasy as well. Jonathan walks over to her side so that now he’s standing behind her as she sits on the bed. “I’m sorry, bug. It’s just… well, last night was fucking terrifying.”

“What happened?” You ask, now discarding your confusing feelings. Out of habit you find yourself scanning over their bodies for any injuries, just in case the two of them need any care.

“The monster… we found him.” Nancy whispers. She tries to explain more, but the memories seem to come crashing back and she shudders. Without thinking, you grab her hand and try to steady her nerves; she smiles.

Jonathan sees Nancy’s fear and steps in to explain. “After you left yesterday, we searched the woods like we planned. We walked around for hours and found nothing, but then we found a dying deer and before we could kill it…”

“Something dragged it into the woods.” Nancy finishes.

You hold your breath, now very relieved you hadn't joined them last night.

Jonathan continues. They’d been separated as they looked for the deer and suddenly he could hear Nancy screaming for help, but no matter where he ran he couldn’t seem to find her.

“I followed the sound of her voice, it was like she was right there, but she wasn’t.”

Nancy sits stoically next to you, her eyes have glazed over. You feel horrible for her, and you vaguely remember something that Dustin had told you about the Vale of Shadows

The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters. It is right next to you, and you don’t even see it.

Slowly you piece it together. “Nancy, could you hear Jonathan, too?”

She nods. “I was in the woods, but I wasn’t… I don’t know, it was– it was different there. Cold, I remember it was cold.”

“And it was just like home?”

“What…” Nancy looks even more scared now. “How did you know that?”

You glance at Jonathan, worried that what you’re about to say will cause a reaction. “Will said the same thing when El was able to communicate with him.”

“Wait a minute,” Jonathan interrupts. “Nancy was in the… the Upside, or whatever Mike and them call it?”

“The Upside Down,” you confirm.

Nancy shudders once more. “I think that the monster lives there, feeding on that deer. So if Will and Barbara are there…”

She doesn’t need to finish the sentence for you to understand what she’s getting at. Anything that feeds on something as big as a deer is fucking terrifying. If Will and Barb are really stuck in that dimension with the monster, then all your cautioning towards Dustin about getting his hopes up makes you feel ill.

Will and Barb are basically trapped in that monster’s hunting ground.

“My mom said she talked to Will.” Jonathan reminds the two of you. “And Y/N, the boys claim that El can still find him wherever he is. If he’s alive, there’s a chance that Barbara is, too.”

“He’s right, Nancy.”

Nancy shakes her head. “But that means she’s trapped in that place.”

“Look, this may not sound reassuring, but we have El and the boys. They’re smarter than the three of us combined.” Nancy and Jonathan look at you like you’re insane. “I know they’re young, but they’ve uncovered more than we have within the same amount of time. They’re the reason why we know about the Upside Down, and as we speak I’m more than certain that they’re out there right now trying to find a gate to the Upside Down.”

You take a deep breath. “Now, do I think they’ll find it? Absolutely. But do I fear they’ll find something even worse along the way? Also absolutely. But right now we need to focus on finding the damn thing so we can kill it and protect the kids in the meantime. If we do this right, we can eliminate any possible threat so that when the boys inevitably find another way into the Upside Down, we can just walk in and save Will and Barb.”

While Jonathan still looks at you like you’re crazy, Nancy clenches her jaw and nods at you. “We have to find it again.”

Despite how obviously terrified she still is, Nancy’s bravery impresses you. In a way, you suppose that Mike gets his unyielding loyalty from her, which if someone had told you that last week, you would’ve laughed in their face.

But now?

You’re relieved to have someone like Nancy Wheeler in your life, even if her presence has created some issues that you never would’ve thought possible. For better or for worse, she’s fiercely loyal and determined, just like you.

Jonathan studies Nancy, clearly still worried about what she went through last night. “You wanna go back out there?”

The thought of her going back into the Upside Down makes you nervous. “Do we necessarily have to send Nancy back there? Can’t we just like, I don’t know, summon the thing? It clearly likes hunting for food in this dimension.”

“‘Hunting for food…’” Nancy mumbles to herself. She knits her brows together, seemingly drawing some conclusions. “When I saw it, it was feeding on that deer.”

“Poor deer,” you whisper, and Jonathan shakes his head at you to shut up.

“Meaning it’s… it’s a predator, right?”

“Right.” Jonathan says while you go “Unfortunately.”

Nancy is on a roll now, her usually confident demeanor now back. “And it seems to hunt at night, like a–like a lion or a coyote.” She grabs a textbook that had been discarded on her bed and flips to a page showing other dangerous predators.

“But don’t most predators hunt in packs?” You ask, which has been something on your mind recently. Sure, you know there’s a monster, but how can you be sure there’s only one?

Nancy bites her lip. “Yeah, but for some reason this thing is always alone… like a bear.”

“Honestly, I’d take a bear over whatever the hell we’re dealing with here.” Jonathan once again shakes his head at you, but you wave him off. “Let me lighten the mood, damn.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” Nancy smiles at you, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes before she continues explaining. “Jonathan, remember at Steve’s, when Barb cut herself?”

For a brief moment you see guilt flash across his face at the mention of that night at Steve’s, the photos he took, and he meets your eyes. “Yeah, I remember.”

“And then, last night, the deer…”

Now you’re beginning to understand. “There was blood, wasn’t there?”

“There was,” Nancy now flips to a page about sharks, which you can’t help but frown at. Maybe you really weren’t following along. She begins to ramble about how sharks can detect the smell of blood from a quarter mile away.

“I thought I escaped all this science stuff when I tagged along with you guys instead of the boys,” you mumble, trying your best to follow along.

“The thing can detect blood, bug.” Jonathan clarifies.

“But it’s just a theory,” Nancy corrects, now turning around so that she can face him.

They stare at one another, almost as if they’ve now synched together and created a world outside of yours, and once again you feel like there’s no room for you here anymore.

“We could test it.” Jonathan says, still staring deeply into her eyes. “But if it works…”

“At least we’ll know it’s coming.”

You notice how Nancy leans in close to Jonathan, more than she once did before, as if he’s her only source of support after what happened last night. In a way, you suppose that now he is. He was the only one there last night when the monster almost got her; they went through something horrible together.

Something that creates a bond like no other.

Suddenly Nancy’s door rattles, causing you to jump in her bed while she grabs for Jonathan’s hand. You don’t hear the exchange between her and her mom, too busy reeling over the fact that Jonathan’s fingers are interlocked with hers.

Jonathan, the boy so against physical touch that the only person he lets hold his hand is you, which took almost a year of friendship to even make him comfortable with. Now here he is, holding Nancy’s hand after only a few days.

Your heart hurts.

You know it’s pathetic to be so upset over a natural reaction. Nancy has been through something traumatic and Jonathan had been the one there for her, so naturally she reached out for him. While you know it doesn’t mean anything, it still fucking hurts. You’ve always been secretly elated by the fact that you were the only one who received Jonathan’s affection, his forehead kisses and hair ruffles and his hugs.

Holding his hand has become second nature to you, long familiar now with the way his fingers feel between yours.

And now they’re between Nancy’s.

“Y/N? You still with us?”

Nancy waves a hand in front of your face, and suddenly you’re aware of how long you’ve been staring at the two of them. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m here… still here.”

“You alright, bug?” Jonathan asks, now a bit worried about you.

“Peachy!” You try desperately to make your voice light, but the nausea that hasn’t left you since last night once again threatens to make you sick. “Enough about me, though. What I’m hearing is that we need to buy some monster hunting supplies. I mean, unless we plan on beating it with my humor.”

You wink at them, and while Nancy seems reassured by your bravado, Jonathan knows better. He raises his eyebrows at you and tilts his head and you know he’s asking what’s really going on? and all you can do is shake your head in a please don’t ask any more questions or I will sob right here right now way that only he can understand.

Nancy doesn’t notice this exchange and instead gets up from her bed. “Well, if we’re going shopping for supplies then I should get ready. Y/N, I’m sure my mom will give you some pancakes if you ask.”

Right on cue, your stomach rumbles. “Thank God she loves me. I’ll smuggle some up for you, bee.”

He thanks you before you and Nancy exit the room. She heads for the bathroom while you make your way downstairs.

“Y/N? I didn’t know you’d gone upstairs!” Mrs. Wheeler greets you and immediately you’re handed a steaming plate of homemade blueberry pancakes.

Mr. Wheeler huffs. “Do we have to feed the entire neighborhood?”

“Good morning to you too, Ted.”

The man glares at you as you thank Mrs. Wheeler for the food. You make up a quick lie about working on an assignment with Nancy and that you’d prefer to eat in her room so you can finish up an equation you’d been in the middle of.

“So, may I bring it upstairs?”

“Well…” Mrs. Wheeler purses her lips, not too keen on the idea.

You give her your best and most parent pleasing smile. “I promise I’ll be careful, not a drop of blueberry will get anywhere. Scout’s honor!”

“Oh, alright. But please tell Nancy that this will only be a one time thing”

“Of course, Mrs. Wheeler.”

You leave her alone with a grumbling Mr. Wheeler and a fussy Holly.

–

Nancy is still in the bathroom when you return and Jonathan is awkwardly sitting on her bed, looking around the room as if he’s in some foreign land.

“Ya know, I’ve never been in a girl’s room before.”

“Gee, thanks.” You scoff at him, setting the plate of pancakes down on Nancy’s desk before digging in. You’re starving.

“That’s not what I meant, bug.” He flashes an apologetic smile. “Your room is just… Well, it’s not very girly, is it?”

If you hadn’t promised Mrs. Wheeler you’d be careful with the food upstairs, you would’ve thrown a piece of pancake at Jonathan’s face. “Dude, shut up.”

“Shit, sorry.” He makes his way over to the desk and wraps his arms around you as he always does. “What I meant is that this room is so pink, while yours has more comics than I can count.”

“Don’t forget Spidey posters,” you say with a mouthful of food while simultaneously handing a piece to him. “Anyways, I like pink. I think this room is lovely, honestly. I wanted to paint mine this color when we first moved, but Dustin said if I painted the room pink then he’d never hang out with me in there. Alas, I forfeited.”

Jonathan laughs and accepts the pancake. “Him and the boys have you wrapped around their little fingers. You know that, right?”

You lean against him, relishing in the feeling of his strong chest against your back. “Mmm, I know. I’m a sucker for those idiots.”

Jonathan tightens his hold around you and draws you deeper into his chest. “I know, it’s what I love the most about you.”

His words are like ice against your skin and suddenly his arms feel suffocating around you.

You clear your throat and lean forward to lessen his hold on you. “Right, well. You just love it because they listen to me and you can round them up better when I’m around.”

“It’s not just because of that, bug.” Jonathan draws you in again and you’re too weak to fight it. He rests his chin against your head. “I love how you love those around you.”

The air has become thick between the two of you.

The way you love people terrifies me, Jonathan’s words from a few days ago echo within your head.

So what’s the truth? Why is he saying all of this?

“Bee,” you bring your hands up and hold onto the arms that are still securely around you. You’re not sure what exactly you want to say, how to explain the warmth you feel for him that simmers within you when he says your name or the way it turns into a furious boil when he looks at Nancy like she’s the damn moon. “You promised you’d call last night.”

“I know–”

“I was worried about you.”

“And then I ditched you.”

“Again, might I add.”

You put her first, you think.

Jonathan sighs and places a kiss against your hair. “I know.”

A tense silence follows. Mrs. Wheeler’s wonderful pancakes now taste like cement in your mouth. God, you wish things could go back to how things once were. You miss when Jonathan could wrap his arms around you and the weight of it wasn’t so crushing with all its unspoken implications.

“I’m sorry, bug. I really, really am sorry.” His voice is strained and he tightens his hold even more, as if to remind himself that you’re still there with him. “I was so scared last night, and had you been the one taken instead of Nancy…”

“But I wasn’t. She was.” You try to keep any emotion out of your voice.

“I know… I just, I had to make sure she was okay. I promise that nothing else happened. You know that right? Just, please tell me you believe me.” His voice cracks and you finally turn around to wrap your own arms around him.

“Bee, of course I believe you.” Your words are muffled against his stomach, but he hears you. He always hears you.

You understand why he stayed at Nancy’s, you really do. But it doesn’t make the sting of it any less painful. You feel awful about what she experienced last night, no doubt forever traumatized by it, but the bitter taste of no longer having Jonathan all to yourself is something you’re still getting used to.

“You forgive me?” He asks, so faintly you almost don’t catch it.

You lift your head up and catch Jonathan’s eye. “There’s nothing to forgive, bee.”

And you mean it.

The smile Jonathan gives you as a response, the smile that has always made your knees weak, is just yet another reason why you can’t ever risk what you have with him.

–

This may come as a shock to some, but you’ve never set foot in the army supply store.

The place makes you uneasy. You’ve never been comfortable around weapons, and like you told Nancy earlier: if it ever came down to it, you’d prefer to use your charm (but mostly your wits) rather than violence. It just isn’t your thing.

While you and Jonathan wander aimlessly around, Nancy seems to know exactly what you guys need. She begins throwing things into the basket around her arm without hesitating and you exchange a look with Jonathan. Clearly it’s a good thing you’ve wrangled Nancy into this mess.

You wander some more and break away from the group, eyeing the insane amount of weapons, traps, and knives offered in the store. It’s overwhelming and you realize you have no real idea what you’ll even need. Guns unnerve you, the bat Nancy brought just seems silly to use. So what does that leave you?

Your eyes land on a knife with both its ends extended. Its handle in the center is a polished wood that’s a deep ember and the blades themselves are sterling silver that glisten in the dim store lighting. It’s a beautiful weapon.

As you reach for it to inspect it, one of the store employees, an older man, walks up behind you.

“That’s a switchblade. It was donated to us years ago.” You jump at the man’s words and he flashes you an apologetic smile. “Sorry, miss. Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. I’m just more skittish than usual this week.” You’re not sure why you admit this to the man, and when he gives you a curious look you clear your throat and change the topic. “You said this was donated?”

“Oh, yes! Here, have a feel for it.” Before you can stop him, he places the knife in your hands.

Your fingers skim over the smooth wood and you notice some words engraved in it. The letters are scuffed, presumably from age. “Was there writing on it?”

The old man’s smile becomes a sad one. “The switchblade was from this old man, he made it for his wife and claimed she loved to keep him on her toes. So, he had the word ‘button’ engraved in the handle because–”

“She always pushed his buttons?”

“Yeah,” the man laughs. “That’s exactly what she did.”

There’s a far off look in the man’s eyes, as if he’s remembering a warm summer day from his childhood; bittersweet and filled with fondness. He reminds you of your grandpa whenever someone brings up your grandma who died when you were young. You roll the blade over in your hands. “You knew the woman, didn’t you?”

“I did, but she’s long gone now,” he confirms, his voice wobbling.

“I’m sorry for your loss, sir.” You reach over and place your hand on his forearm, which he smiles at.

“Don’t be. Martha would be glad someone like you has her knife, now.”

You immediately drop your hand and try to give the switchblade back. “Oh, no, I can’t possibly take this–”

“It’s yours. You’re the only one who has paid any attention to it. I’ll show you how to use it if you make me a promise.”

Before you can argue more, Jonathan calls out from a few aisles down. “Bug? Where’d you go?”

“I’ll be there in a second, bee!” You turn back to the man. “What kind of promise are we talking about?”

“Bug and bee? Martha called me birdy because a bird swooped on me the first time I ever met her,” the old man chuckles with affection. “Anyways, promise me that you’ll use this with love. I may own this store, but violence never leaves much room for love.”

The agreement comes easily to you. “Of course.”

And with that, the old man shows you how to flip the switchblade open. It only takes a simple flick of the wrist for the blade to glide back into the handle in the center, and with another flick they smoothly glide back out once more; the way the blades move in sync leaves you in awe.

“You can use both the blades or only one, but I sense that you know that things are always stronger together.” The old man says, a glint in his eyes as he hands the switchblade back to you.

You smile at him and try it out yourself; the switchblade fits perfectly in your hand and you’re easily able to get the blades in and out. As you’re admiring the way the blades balance each other out, Jonathan appears by your side.

“Hey, ready to check out?”

You nod and thank the old man, who waves you off with a friendly goodbye.

“Who was that?” Jonathan asks once you’re out of earshot from the man.

You show him the switchblade. “You remember that theory you had about me attracting old people? You’re gonna love this.”

–

Nancy plops down bear traps, gasoline, and a multitude of other supplies she acquired while you were off talking to the old store owner. The cashier, a significantly younger looking man, looks at the three of you as if you’re insane.

“And I’ll have four boxes of the .38s.” Jonathan says, and you flash the employee your award winning smile just in case. You recognize how insane this all looks.

“What are you kids doing with all this?” The employee asks, and you Jonathan both instinctively turn to Nancy for help.

She shrugs, playing the question off well. “Monster hunting.”

The guy laughs and finishes ringing you guys up before the three of you head out to Jonathan’s car. He’s carrying most of the stuff in a box while you and Nancy start loading the bags into his trunk. You quickly help him with the box once you’ve placed your bags down.

“‘Monster hunting’?” Jonathan teases and Nancy just smirks.

“How do you think that guy would react if he knew we were telling the truth?” You snort and Jonathan can only shake his head in amusement.

Nancy laughs and bumps her shoulder against yours. “You know, last week I was shopping for a new top I thought Steve might like.”

Hearing Steve’s name makes you freeze. You completely forgot that Steve had been there with you last night at the Wheeler’s. He had seen Jonathan and Nancy together on her bed. You remember the anger in his eyes and your heart sinks. King Steve would never just let something like that go.

“Hey, uh, Nancy?” You try to interrupt the girl, but she’s too focused on her story.

“It took me and Barb all weekend, it seemed like life or death, you know? And now…”

“You’re shopping for bear traps with Jonathan Byers and Y/N Henderson.”

You grab at Nancy’s jacket to try and get her attention, but she only has her eyes set on Jonathan. “Nancy, I have something to tell you–”

“What’s the weirdest part? Me or the bear trap?”

“Guys I really need you to listen right now–” Again they ignore you, lost in their own little world that you still don’t have access to.

For a moment you wonder if you even should warn them, but you know it’d be wrong not to. You could be imagining it, but your new switchblade almost seems to warm up within your pocket as if to remind you of your promise to the old man.

Nancy’s eyes shine as she looks at Jonathan and you want to scream. Now is not the fucking time. “You. It’s definitely you.”

You clap your hands in front of their faces, finally breaking the two of them out of their spell. “Hey! Assholes! Trying to save your asses!”

Jonathan bats your hands away from his face. “What are you talking about?”

“Steve, he, uh…” You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how the hell you’re supposed to word this, before a car honks and some creep calls out to Nancy.

“Can’t wait to see your movie.” The boy laughs, which causes your blood to turn cold. The Hawk movie theater, where Jonathan works… In a twisted way, Steve Harrington is a fucking revenge genius.

“What the hell was that?” You hear Jonathan mumble, but your ears are ringing.

Nancy turns to you, now with distrust in her eyes. “Steve. You said his name.”

“Nancy–I, I forgot and–” You stumble over your words as the girl’s eyes harden. You didn’t mean for this to happen, you don’t know how you forgot. She doesn’t wait for you to finish whatever the hell you were about to say and starts running after the car. You’re quick to follow after her, already knowing what you’ll find.

“Where are you guys going?”

“Just come on, Jonathan!” You shout behind you.

Nancy sees the board before you do and the gasp she lets out makes you want to cry for her. There, in big, ugly red letters on the Hawk’s clapperboard are the words spelling out “All the Right Moves Starring Nancy the Slut Wheeler”.

It’s an awful, awful fucking thing.

And it’s Steve’s work, you know it is.

You hear Jonathan gasp out behind you and you see the crowd that begins to form around the three of you. Everyone stares at Nancy and whispers cruel things about her and it takes everything within you not to cause a scene. How fucking dare they. They have no right. Steve had no fucking right.

In the midst of your anger you notice the tears beginning to form in Nancy’s eyes and you immediately run over to her side and grab her hand. You pull her into a hug and whisper reassurances, promising her that it’ll all be okay. She lets you hold her and you feel so fucking awful. You should’ve done more to protect her.

Then, you hear the distinct sound of a spray paint bottle rattling followed by Tommy Hagan’s screech of a laugh. Nancy tears herself from your grasp and runs into the alley where the noise is coming from. You follow after her and see Steve and his gang spraying even more things onto the Hawk walls.

There’s a steely look in Nancy’s eyes and you worry for a moment that she might hurt someone. It’s not that you don’t think it’s warranted, but you’re sure Jonathan’s boss has already called the cops on the teens and they’ll be here soon. Nancy can’t afford to get into any trouble right now.

“Nancy, I don’t think you should approach–”

She ignores you and angrily marches over to Steve.

“Hey there princess!” Carol sneers, and you have to refrain from spitting on her. Right now this is about Nancy, you need to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid and to also ensure she knows that you’re right behind her to support her. She needs to know that you’re here for her.

“Uh oh, she looks upset.” Tommy teases. When he sees you, he lets out another cackle. “Holy shit, Harrington. You were right! Henderson really is a pathetic push over if she’s here with the girl who slept with her boyfriend!”

Tommy’s words enrage you and you’re about to just say fuck it to your no violence policy when Steve shuts him up. “Knock it out, Tommy. I told you Henderson’s with us–”

Nancy’s slap catches both you and Steve off guard. Everyone gasps in shock but you start laughing, immensely proud of the girl’s strength. “Nice one, Wheeler.”

She spares you a quick glance before steering her glare back at Steve. “What is wrong with you?”

Steve clenches his jaw. “What’s wrong with me? No, what’s wrong with the two of you?”

“The two of us?” Nancy asks. Steve juts his chin in your direction and she turns around, now more confused and hurt than ever. “What does Y/N have to do with any of this?”

A lump of anxiety forms in your chest. “Nancy, I can explain–”

“I was worried about you,” Steve lets out a bitter laugh and distantly you remember saying those exact words to Jonathan a mere hour ago. You guess you understand the boy more than you may want to. “I can’t believe that I was actually worried about you.”

Nancy opens her mouth to respond but Steve cuts her off, now walking towards you. “And you… I always knew you were too nice for your own good, but defending the girl who stole your boyfriend?” He hovers over you; you can smell his expensive cologne this close as he says his next words so low that they almost come out as a whisper, “well, I expected more from you, Y/N.”

You freeze, overwhelmed with his presence. He lingers, you’ve never been this close to him, his eyes are darker than Jonathan’s and filled with more disappointment than anger. You know he can see right through you in a way that fucking terrifies you; he knows.

“What are you talking about?” Nancy exclaims, effectively breaking whatever moment was going on between you and Steve. He backs away, his eyes still lingering on yours, before facing Nancy once more.

Your words catch in your throat, still reeling from your encounter with Steve, so it’s Carol who breaks the silence. “I wouldn’t lie if I were you. You don’t want to be known as the lying slut now, do you?”

“Don’t call her that,” you manage to say, though you can’t seem to stop looking at Steve, who is looking right back at you.

“Speak of the devil,” Tommy’s voice alerts you of Jonathan’s arrival. You look up and see what the idiot has written on the wall behind him.

“‘Byers is a perv’? Wow, you guys are geniuses when it comes to insults.” You snort, feeling Jonathan place his hand on the small of your back to steady you. He can sense your anger brewing.

“It’s okay, bug.” He whispers. You relax a bit into him, but you’re still fuming. Steve watches the interaction with an interest in his eyes that lets you know Jonathan’s tenderness with you has only pissed him off more.

Steve points at the two of you, looking around at his friends. “Aww, how sweet. You guys see that? Tell me, Henderson. Did he whisper sweet nothings into your ear after he slept with my girlfriend?”

Both Jonathan and Nancy speak at once. He denies you two being together while Nancy now understands that Steve had seen her and Jonathan in her room last night.

“Henderson and I both, actually.” Steve corrects, and you want to punch him.

Jonathan turns to you, guilt creeping into his voice. “You saw?”

“Now isn’t really the time, we need to help Nancy–”

“Look, I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t like that.” Nancy says, looking at Steve and then you. “I promise, Y/N. Nothing happened.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Right, that’s what Henderson said. You just let him into your room to… study?”

“I was telling the truth.” You grit out, but Steve and the others ignore you.

Tommy steps in front of you and Jonathan. “Or for another pervy photo session?”

Jonathan steps towards the boy but you grab his jacket, not allowing him to go any further. You understand he’s angry, but just like how he won’t let you do anything stupid: you won’t let him, either.

Nancy shakes her head furiously. “We were just–”

“You were just what? Finish that sentence,” Steve steps closer to Nancy now and you find yourself preparing to step between them if needed. “Finish. The. Sentence.”

The only sound in the alley is the sound of Nancy panting. She can’t think of what to say, what can she even say? Steve won’t believe her regardless. To him, she’s already done the unspeakable and hurt him in the worst way imaginable. You feel for the two of them, no one can possibly win in this situation.

When Nancy doesn’t say anything, the angry expression on Steve’s face slips for a moment and you see the heartbroken boy underneath his mask. It happens only for a second, but you see it. You know you saw it.

“Go to hell, Nancy.” He scoffs.

“Harrington, you don’t mean that.” You say, trying to help him out. He’ll regret burning this bridge with Nancy, you can see how deeply he cares for her. He loves her, even if he can’t admit it. If he walks away now, he could lose her.

While you’re talking to Steve, Jonathan breaks free from your grasp and pulls Nancy away, which only seems to upset him more.

“You said yourself that we aren’t friends, Henderson. You don't know me. As for you, Byers, I always took you for a queer. I guess you’re just a little screw-up like your father.”

Steve begins to push Jonathan now, but Jonathan has harshly grabbed your arm to pull you away. He doesn't want you involved in this, you know he just wants to get you and Nancy safely out of the situation, but you resist him anyways and try to push at Steve.

“What, you're gonna help your douche of a boyfriend?” Steve sneers at you, and Jonathan will definitely leave bruises on your arm with how tightly he has to hold you back. “Oh, yeah. That house is full of screw-ups.”

He pushes Jonathan again and this time you manage to spit at his feet. “Shut the fuck up, Harrington.”

“I’m just telling the truth. You know, I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised. A bunch of screw-ups in your family.”

Jonathan stops now. You do the same. Nancy sees this and urges you to keep walking, but you and him exchange a look. You hate violence, you really do, but the Byers family is your own family. Aside from how protective you are of them, you also know the anger that Jonathan has buried within him. If Steve keeps pushing it, you’re afraid of what Jonathan may do.

“I mean, your mom? I’m not even surprised what happened to your brother.”

You hate violence. You could never, ever hurt anyone. But you’re starting to feel really fucking close to understanding why people seem to enjoy it. “Leave his mom and Will out of this.”

Steve ignores you and continues spewing bullshit. Jonathan is tense next to you and it’s only now that you notice his clenched fists and his ragged breathing. Steve has gone too far.

“Steve, shut up!” Nancy begs as you now leave Jonathan’s side to begin pushing Steve back. A fight cannot break out. It’s broad daylight and too risky. You can’t let Jonathan put himself in danger.

“Harrington, you need to leave.” You urge him as you push against his chest, but he just gently pushes you aside and follows after Jonathan.

“But the Byers?” He keeps hitting Jonathan’s back and you have to use all your weight to pull him away. It’s no use. “Their family, it’s a disgrace to the entire–”

Jonathan’s punch lands perfectly upon Steve’s face.

In any other moment, you’d find the accuracy incredibly hot.

Instead you push the thoughts aside and rush over to him while Steve regains his composure. “Bee, listen to me. Cops could be here any second, you can’t fight–”

You scream as Steve tackles Jonathan onto the car and then the ground. Nancy begs them to stop and has to wrap her arms around you to keep you out of the fight. The sound of skin hitting skin sickens you.

“Nancy let me go,” Steve lands another punch on Jonathan and the sound his head makes when it hits the ground causes you to cry out.

“Y/N, Jonathan wouldn’t want you to jump in–”

“I have to help him!” The pure anguish in your voice is what makes Nancy finally let you go. You immediately rush over and try to pry Steve off of your friend, but he doesn’t see you approach and almost lands a blow at your face.

Jonathan sees this and grunts out, “don’t touch her,” before punching Steve in the face once more and throwing him off. They’re both standing now as Steve’s friends egg the fight on and Nancy pleads for them to stop. You tug at the boys’ clothes to try and break them apart, but you know you’re weak against them. You force yourself to think of something else, and right as you’ve formed a plan, Tommy is the one who steps in and punches Jonathan.

“Get out of here, man.” Steve yells, not wanting anyone to fight his battles for him.

You slap Tommy across the face. “Fuck off!”

The boy raises his fist to punch you and you don’t have time to do anything else besides flinch and brace yourself for the hit, but Steve intercepts it. “Tommy! I said get out of here!”

You’re in a daze as you process what’s just happened, but then Jonathan starts throwing more punches and suddenly Tommy has his arms around you to hold you back. You try to break out of his grasp, but he’s a lot damn stronger than Nancy.

All you can do is helplessly watch as your best friend beats Steve Harrington’s face in. He lands one punch, then two, then three, and for a horrifying moment you’re afraid that Jonathan might actually kill him.

“Jonathan! Stop!” You scream, tears now streaming down your face.

He has Steve pinned on the ground by the time the cops come.

“Shit, the cops!” Tommy lets go of you to help break up the fight right as the two officers arrive. They struggle to get Jonathan off of Steve and somehow he manages to punch one of the cops in the nose. Of course he fucking punches a cop in the nose.

You rush over to try and help, but as soon as the cops have Jonathan you feel yet another pair of arms wrap around you. You don’t know who it is, but they start to drag you away while the cops arrest Jonathan. You try to twist around to face your assailant, thrashing and kicking. “Why do you all keep grabbing me?”

“Fuck, Henderson! Stop kicking me, I’m already bleeding!” Steve groans, still carrying you in his arms as he and his friends flee the crime scene.

You struggle more against him, but you’re exhausted from your previous attempts of breaking up the fight and you’re still crying. You can’t do anything besides making it extremely difficult for him to carry you and throw out a multitude of insults and cuss words. You have to get to Jonathan.

Once they’re a few yards away, they slow down and Steve finally places you back on the ground, though his arms remain around you. You manage to free your own arms and begin punching him in the chest. “Let go of me! Jonathan just got arrested because of you!” Every word you say is followed by a punch.

“Jesus Henderson! I just saved your ass, quit it!”

“Saved my ass? You just beat up my best friend and he’s bleeding and needs my help and–”

“He’s a cheater! So is Nancy! They deserve each other and if you go back there right now you’ll be arrested and they’re sure as hell aren’t worth getting arrested over!” Steve is screaming at you and shaking you by the shoulders, urging you to understand.

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not with Jonathan? And you’re wrong! It wasn’t like that between him and Nancy, you have to understand that.” You scream back at him, faintly aware of Steve’s friends watching in the background.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not a fucking idiot, Y/N.”

“You sure about that?”

“God, you’re so naive.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s always the nice ones who are the most naive.”

His words cut through you; you look him in the eyes, “Get fucked, Harrington.”

Steve lets go of you, surprised by your words while his friends gasp. “I was just trying to help.”

His voice is soft, as if he’s afraid to admit this to you, and you know that in his own way he means it. Steve had only been trying to help, but he hurt the people you love in the process. You hesitate, unsure how to respond.

You want to reach out, to grab his hand and remind him that he’s good, but you don’t.

Instead, you turn away and run back towards the alley and Jonathan.

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#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wdtai #m's writing #bless u steve and jonathan #both are a god damn MESS #anyways #PUNCH STEVE !!!#FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

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justagalwhowrites · 3 months ago

Text

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 8: Making Waves

You start filming Savage Starlight and a conflict brings you and Joel closer together. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 7 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Mild violence. Memory of past childhood sexual abuse, not described. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 11.9k

August, 2002

You stared down at your headshot on your lap, your stomach in knots.

This wasn’t an audition but it felt like one. An intense one at that. Not that you’d ever taken your career casually, you’d always given your best at auditions and rehearsals and on set, even when you were first starting years ago. But that had always just been to make your mom happy and make things better for the people around you and to make something good. You’d never really worried about the practicalities of it. But you had to worry about those practicalities now.

It had been a month since you found out your mother had, essentially, driven your financial life into the ground. You still didn’t know what her endgame was. You were hardly a genius at math but looking at the piles of papers you’d found in her office told you enough and, when you confronted her, she told you the truth: you were more than $6 million in debt, $2 million of that owed to the U.S. government. You may not know much but you knew that was bad. Really fucking bad. You needed money, way more than you’d make for a season of Family Tree. You had, at least, managed to land $100,000 an episode for the season you were filming now but still, that was only $2 million, just enough to cover the past due tax bill and nothing else. You’d been living in your trailer - it was only a matter of time before someone figured that one out - and surviving off craft services for weeks. You needed an apartment, you needed to get a lawyer to get emancipated and those things required money. You needed something else, you needed it to pay well and you needed it now.

You heard your name and your head shot up. The receptionist smiled kindly at you.

“Mr. Wilde will see you now,” she said. “Head on in.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as best you could, your chest tight, and straightened your dress before you headed into the office.

The room was huge, panoramic windows looking over the hills beyond, shelves of awards and pictures of the same man smiling with celebrities on every surface. That man, Henry Wilde, was looking down at his desk when you came in, in a blazer with the top few buttons of his shirt open. You let the door close behind you and you hovered awkwardly, trying to not fidget with your headshot. This was the first time you’d ever taken a meeting like this on your own. Your mother had been your agent but you weren’t about to let her represent you for shit anymore. You needed to find one of those, too. After what felt like a small eternity had passed, you cleared your throat quietly and he looked up, appraising you for a moment before smiling.

“Hey there sweetheart,” he said, standing up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in! Please, make yourself comfortable.”

He gestured to the plush seats opposite his desk and you smiled, relaxing a little as you crossed the room and sat down. He set his Blackberry to the side and laced his fingers together as he watched you arrange yourself, a small smile on his face.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Wilde,” you said. “I know you said I could reach out when I needed something but I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, of course,” he scoffed. “I do my best to make time for rising talent like you. I’ve been enjoying your work, you are a truly gifted actor.”

“Thank you,” you said, sitting up a little straighter, your hands looping around your knee as you crossed one leg over the other. “That really means a lot, coming from you. I mean when you look at the projects you’ve produced…”

“Please, let’s not waste our time talking about me,” he waved you off. “I’m much more interested in what made you reach out, especially on your own without your mother. She’s always been so… hands on.”

“Yeah,” you winced a little in spite of yourself. “She’s… she’s not representing me anymore. That’s part of why I wanted to see you. I… I found out some things about what she’s been doing and how she’s been managing me and…”

He smiled a little.

“You need some help figuring things out on your own?” He finished for you.

“Yes,” you sighed, relieved, and then laughed. “Yes, I really, really do. I don’t really know what I’m doing for this, just that I have some money that I owe so I need to work but I don’t know how to find an agent or a manager and how to find more work and I just…”

“You were right to come to me,” he cut you off, reaching into a tray on his desk, flipping through a stack of file folders before finding the one he was looking for. “We can’t be losing talent like yours to the bureaucratic bullshit of the industry…”

You were silent for a minute, watching as he paged through things, nodding to himself, before reaching into his desk and pulling out a business card. You sat up a little straighter as he looked at you across the desk.

“I think I have a way to help you,” he said. “There’s a part that I can get you an audition for - you’d still have to land it but I’ll get you in the mix - that should solve any of the economic issues you’re having. And I have an agent for you -” he held the business card out to you between two thick fingers. You reached to take it but he pulled it back. You frowned, looking back at him. “But I’d need something in return.”

You deflated a little.

“But…”

“I’m a business man,” he continued, watching you. “I don’t give things away for free. If I did, I never would have reached where I am today. This needs to go both ways, sweetheart.”

You laughed a little in spite of yourself.

“OK,” you said. “But I… I don’t have anything. That’s why I’m here, I don’t have any money, I don’t know anybody - at least not anyone you wouldn’t know - I…”

“I don’t need money or power,” he interrupted you. His eyes ranged over you, slow and sharp. “But believe me, there’s plenty you have that I want.”

You swallowed hard, your stomach clenching.

“I don’t…”

“And there’s plenty I have that you want,” he continued like you hadn’t spoken at all, his eyes lingering on your chest, your thighs. “The only question is what you will do to get it.”

You steeled yourself, the threat of debt and homelessness hanging over your head.

“I’ll do anything,” you said. “Please.”

He smiled, the expression making you want to squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

“Good,” he said, holding the card out again. “That’s the information for the agent. I’ll give them the information for the audition if you come to my hotel tonight at 8 p.m. Sound good?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. It wasn’t like you had any experience with men but you knew what he was asking for.

“Yes,” you said quietly.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll send a car and I’ll see you tonight.”

He looked back to his desk and you took that to mean that you were dismissed and you stood up, your legs shaky and your headshot still in your hands.

“Oh, and sweetheart?” He said and you turned to face him, an almost hungry look on his face. “Wear something… cute.”

You just nodded and made your way out of his office, past the receptionist and to the elevator, trying not to wonder if any of this was worth it.

November 29. 2024

“Christmas Shoes.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true, that’s my favorite Christmas song.”

You scoffed.

“Who hurt you as a child?” You asked, wishing you could turn and look at your costar but you had to sit still for the makeup artists to do their job, your eyes closed as one of them worked on your eyeshadow. “That’s the worst, most depressing song choice in the world.”

“Alright, Miss Superiority Complex,” he said. “What’s your favorite Christmas song?”

“Christmas Wrapping by the Waitresses,” you said without hesitation.

“No,” he said and you could almost hear him shaking his head and you resisted the urge to giggle. “No, I don’t believe you. You’re just trying to sound cool, that’s not actually your favorite.”

“Yes it is,” you said. “Sorry my taste is so much better than yours but…”

“Alright,” your makeup artist said and you didn’t feel her fingers or brushes on your face anymore so you opened your eyes. She smiled, sitting back from you, looking proud of her work. “Ready for the wig?”

“Hell yeah,” you smiled. “Let’s go.”

They turned your chair so your back was to the mirror and you watched as the artists brought in a white wig that looked like it would reach your waist. The prep work for the hairpiece had already been done, a bald cap on your head while the makeup artists did their job, and putting on the wig itself didn’t take too long, a production assistant going to get one of the marketing team interns to come in and shoot the video of you seeing yourself as Starlight for the first time. You got out of the chair, keeping your back to the mirrors as your co-star, Cole Cox, watched from his own makeup chair with a little smile on his face.

“You do look really good,” he said, the marketing person catching everything. “My kid is going to lose her mind when she sees me standing next to you.”

“Wait ’til she sees you flying with me,” you smiled back before jumping in place for a moment to loosen yourself up, the camera fading into the background of your mind. “Alright, let’s do it!”

You turned to face the mirror and gasped in spite of yourself.

You’d seen yourself in costume plenty of times before in your life. Sometimes it seemed like you spent more time dressed up as someone else than you did as yourself. But you’d never seen yourself as a superhero before. Putting the costume on that morning had been an experience in and of itself. It took some help getting into it, the molded pieces and tight fabric a lot more work than you were used to when it came to getting dressed, but you couldn’t deny that the end result looked pretty incredible.

But with the wig and the makeup - highlighting your cheekbones, making your eyes look sharper - it was even better.

“Oh my God,” you said leaning into the mirror to get a better look at yourself. The makeup artist laughed. “This is amazing! I look… heroic!”

“Endure and survive, baby,” Cole said and you laughed.

“Endure and survive,” You smiled, looking over your shoulder to him.

“Alright, let’s get you two to set,” the production assistant said and you took one last look at yourself before you turned to leave.

It was almost hard to believe that you’d been in Austin, making Thanksgiving dinner at this time the day before. It had been a hectic day, getting up early and napping in the car on the way to the airport and again on the plane, feeling oddly safe sleeping in front of people because you knew Joel was there. You’d gone straight from LAX to the studio and into costuming and makeup and even though you were just doing some promo stuff that day, you knew you were going to be exhausted by the time you made it home that night.

Joel, to his credit, had been surprisingly… maybe not kind, but less than surly since your conversation in your office days earlier. While he didn’t seem thrilled about getting up so early, he’d kept his commentary to himself and hadn’t even fought too hard about needing to wait outside the hair and makeup room instead of being glued to your side the entire time. You wondered if he’d be happy being quite that flexible during the rest of your trip. Somehow, you doubted it.

Your bodyguard was right there when the door to the makeup room opened, looking like he’d been pacing the short distance of the hallway for a while, turning quickly as you left.

“Took you long…” he began but his voice trailed off and he stared at you, his eyes going a little wide.

“So cool, right?” You said, popping your hip and planting your hand there to strike a pose. “It really looks like the suit from the comics! Do you think Ellie will like it?”

He snapped his mouth shut and blinked for a moment.

“Well?” You asked, brows raised, suddenly nervous. Joel had come to know Ellie well over the last few months, what if he thought she wouldn’t like it?

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, much of his trademark gruffness absent from his voice. “Yeah, think… You look… She’ll like it.”

You smiled and made your way to set, Joel damn near pressed to your side the entire way.

It was about what you expected for the rest of the day. You posed for promotional photos with Cole and by yourself, the oddly exacting feeling of Joel’s eyes on you while you did. Then, they put you in some rigging and walked you through how to pose like you were flying.

“OK this is trippy,” you said, hanging 10 feet in the air. “Are we going to use any of this footage for anything but promos? I’m not sure of her physicality yet, especially with flight…”

“This is just for your intro video,” the director said. “Kind of like a highlight reel. It’ll circulate online plenty after the announcement but we don’t have any plans to use this anywhere in the final film.”

“So I can fuck around as much as I want,” you said. “Noted.”

You heard Joel stifle a laugh and you looked toward him as he rolled his eyes.

“What, Big Miller?” You teased.

“Nothin’,” he said. “Just learning where that niece of yours got her mouth from.”

“She had to learn it somewhere,” you winked and you saw him try not to smile.

You ended up in the air for a while, the camera slowly panning down your costumed body, capturing you from every angle and you tried not to feel self conscious about that before you focused on looking strong and intimidating with a wind machine in your face.

Then were some fight sequences - mostly just your side of it, almost like you were battling a camera man - and striking poses that felt immensely foolish, your hands out in front of you like you were sending a burst of energy forth but none came. The marketing person followed you around any time you weren’t actively filming, catching you goofing off with Cole and dancing a little to the music that was playing on set as everyone got into position. It was disconcerting, being so observed again. You’d become spoiled in Texas, months since you’d last been on a film set or under the omnipresent eye of a camera. You had to maintain a different persona here, one that was palatable and easily consumed and, by the time you went back to get out of costume, you were exhausted.

“You alright?” Joel asked, his hand on your lower back as he led you to the car.

“Fine,” you said, trying to hide a yawn and failing miserably. “Just tired.”

“Probably hungry, too,” he muttered, sounding irritated. “Didn’t see you eat a damn thing today and you were doin’ all that shit, flying around, fighting… Gonna fuckin’ collapse if you’re not careful.”

You looked at him, a little incredulous as he opened the car door.

“There’s not room for me to eat anything in that suit,” you said. “And since when do you pay attention to my eating habits?”

He rolled his eyes.

“In the car.”

“So demanding,” you muttered but you obeyed all the same, too eager to have room to breathe to fight his orders on principle. Joel climbed in after you, pulling the door closed with a little too much force. The driver started moving almost the second the door was closed. “But the statement still stands, since when do you care what I’m eating?”

“Since you collapsing would make my life difficult,” he said. “And since we were on that set all damn day with that big food table and all you did was drink water and Diet fuckin’ Coke.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“Shove it,” he griped. You snorted. “You got food in that house of yours or are you just planning to go on hunger strike for this whole damn movie?”

You rolled your eyes but unbuckled your seatbelt and leaned between the front seats so you could see the driver. He glanced at you, brows raised.

“Ma’am.”

“Hi,” you smiled. “You don’t have to just go to my house, right? I can tell you somewhere else to go?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“Siren,” Joel said, a warning tone on his voice that you ignored.

“Perfect,” you said. “Then let’s go to In ’n Out, one near the beach please.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said again and you sat back, crossing one leg over the other and looking at Joel, smug.

“Security don’t get a say in this?” He said wryly.

“Nope,” you said.

“You tryin’ to get yourself killed?” He asked.

“Usually,” you said.

He rolled his eyes.

“Seatbelt,” he said.

“Seatbelt,” you said, lowering your voice to parrot his own, bobbing your head from side to side but obeying anyway. “God, isn’t it exhausting being that controlling?”

“You’re exhausting,” he said. “You’re not just going inside a restaurant, you know.”

“I know,” you said. “It’s fast food, Joel. It has a drive through.”

“Jesus,” he muttered and you smiled.

“You forgot,” you said. He looked at you, brows raised and you smiled wider. “You forgot that fast food places have drive throughs for a minute there, didn’t you.”

“No,” he said, defensive and irritated and you had to press your lips together to keep from laughing. “I just always expect you to do the most ridiculous shit, damn the consequences. Don’t see why you’d change that now.”

You just rolled your eyes and watched the city go by, girls in short dresses dashing across streets and ducking into bars, guys clapping hands with their friends, the lights of the city sparkling. You wondered what it would be like to live that life, one where you could just be a face in the crowd that no one paid any mind to beyond the people you loved, where a small economy wasn’t riding on you showing up to work every day, where you weren’t so caged by choices made for you before you could even really understand them.

You did a video call with Ellie on the drive and checked in with her and Elise, who had come to stay at your house for the few weeks you were gone so they would be better protected. She’d had a good day, Esmo helping the two of them decorate the house for Christmas.

“Sissy, look at this shit!” Ellie said, turning the camera so it faced out into the living room.

“Ellie!” Elise scolded. “Language!”

“Fine,” she sighed, exasperated. “Look at this stuff.”

“That looks amazing, kiddo!” You said, watching as she panned around the room, showing off the fat tree that sat against the back wall. “Good eye.”

“It even has the old ornaments, look!” She said, going to the tree and going in close on a bulb that was covered in haphazard glitter paint in the shape of a small handprint, one Ellie and Anna had made when Ellie was a toddler. “Like the really old ones I made with Mom!”

“Yeah,” you said, getting choked up. “Check that out.”

She turned the camera back on her face.

“We saved some for you to put on. But… Wish you could have been here to decorate and sh…stuff,” she said.

“Me too,” you smiled a little sadly. “But I’ll be home before you know it and you can show me everything.”

“Cool,” she said. “Hey, Big Miller!”

“What’s up, trouble maker?” He asked, putting his face next to yours so he was in the frame, too.

“Do you have a tree and ornaments and stuff at your house or are you going to have to use ours?”

You felt him stiffen for a moment at your back for half a moment before responding.

“Not much point in decorating for just me,” he said. “But don’t care about the holidays much, anyway so it don’t matter.”

“You should get some ornaments and a stocking and shit,” she said.

“Ellie!” Elise scolded.

“And STUFF,” Ellie said. “I said stuff, Grandma!”

“No you didn’t,” you and Joel said at the same time.

“Traitors,” Ellie muttered, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, you should bring some Christmas stuff,” Ellie stressed the word “and put it up with our stuff. You’re at our house all the time, anyway.”

Before you had a chance to intervene and force some of the professional distance Joel claimed to have wanted, he answered for you.

“Maybe, kid,” he said. “Don’t… don’t really have much of that kind of thing though.”

“We should head to bed over here,” Elise said, looping her arm around Ellie’s shoulders and giving you a soft smile. “It’s late. You’re taking care of yourself out there? Not stressing yourself too much?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” you smiled back. “And Big Miller here isn’t letting me out of his sight so no scary fans can come run off with me, promise.”

“Good,” she said. “Get some rest. We’ll talk to you tomorrow, honey.”

You said your goodbyes just as the car pulled up to the In ’n Out drive through.

“What do you want,” Joel said, reading the menu as you waited your turn.

“I’ll just order it myself,” you waved him off.

“No, you won’t,” he said. “Don’t need anyone recognizing your damn voice and calling the fuckin’ paparazzi…”

You snorted.

“That’s not a thing you need to worry about,” you said. “We’d be long gone before they showed up. It’s fine. And you’d just order it wrong. If I’m risking this damn costume not fitting tomorrow so I can eat tonight you’d better believe I’m getting what I want.”

He looked at you, his jaw clenched tight, but he still rolled down the window when you pulled up to the kiosk and you let Joel order first because it seemed like the nice thing to do. You had to lean over him to get closer to the window and he stiffened, sitting stock still as your front brushed against him.

“Hi!” You called brightly through the window. “Can I get a double double, protein style and animal style and fries with spread on the side and a Diet Coke?”

“Is that even food?” Joel asked once the man working the window repeated your order back to you.

You scoffed.

“It’s definitely food. And don’t be jealous when mine is better than yours,” you said. “I’m not sharing.”

You ignored Joel when he tried to yank you into the back seat, his hand closing around the waist of your yoga tights as you leaned between the front seat to get your food, the kid working the window gaping at you for a moment.

“Hi,” you smiled.

“Oh my God,” he said, gaping at you.

“Is the spread in there?” You asked, holding up the bag.

“Uh,” he said, his eyes wide. “Yeah… yeah, it’s in there.”

“Awesome,” you smiled wider. “You’re the best. Thank you!”

“You about gave that kid a heart attack,” Joel said, opening his own bag and pulling out a French fry. “That famous face of yours is gonna get someone killed…”

“Ha ha,” you rolled your eyes. “And you’re not allowed to eat yet.”

“Dyin’ to know why not,” he said, popping the fry in his mouth anyway.

“Because you have to wait until we’re at the beach to eat it, that’s the rule,” you said before turning your attention to the driver. “Nearest beach, please. Not Santa Monica, that’ll be too busy by the pier.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“No,” Joel snapped. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes,” you said.

“It’s not safe,” he said, leaning forward to talk to the driver. “Don’t listen to her, do not go to the beach.”

“It’s after dark and I want to see the ocean,” you said.

“It’s dangerous,” he growled.

“No one knows I’m going to be there,” you said, as calmly as you could. “No one is expecting me. It’s after dark, no one will be there trying to swim or sunbathe. This is the time to go.”

“You don’t need to go look at the damn water,” Joel said. “It’s water. Same as always.”

“I miss the beach,” you said, watching him closely. “Come on, Joel. I’m giving up enough, aren’t I? Can’t I have this? Just one little normal thing? Please?”

He watched you back for a moment, those brown eyes of his sharp at first but softening.

“You listen when we’re there,” he said eventually. “If anyone else is there, we leave. You don’t do anything reckless or dumb. We clear?”

“Crystal,” you smiled, practically giddy. “I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.”

“Better not do anything dumb,” he muttered, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest but not protesting any more.

The driver stopped in an empty lot, the horizon dark, the light of the city at your back, Santa Monica Pier bright in the distance. But this stretch of sand was empty of people, just the way you liked it. You looked to Joel all the same, eyebrows raised and one hand on the door handle.

He sighed.

“Go on.”

You couldn’t help but squeal a little, too excited for this little slice of normalcy to hold it in. You damn near threw the door open, all the exhaustion that had weighed you down fading enough that you ran, arms spread wide, toward the water.

The crash of the waves was loud, the air crisp and cool and laden with salt and the harsh tang of wet seaweed and rotting fish. You stopped just at the edge of the waves, the tide high, and whooped out into the night, to where the stars disappeared into the darkness, laughing as your voice faded to nothing in the distance.

“The hell are you doin’,” Joel said more than asked as he came up alongside you.

“Enjoying the ocean,” you said, breathless, watching the waves roll in for a moment, listening to them crash before looking at Joel smiling. “Why, do you do something besides yell at the water when you do it?”

He gave you a look that, even in the dim light of the city behind you and the pier in the distance and the moon overhead, you recognized as at least a little exasperated and you laughed.

“C’mon, Big Miller,” you teased, clapping him on the shoulder before traipsing back inland. “Let’s eat.”

You got the food from the car and you planted yourself down on the sand, midway between the parking lot and the water, taking off your shoes and burying your toes in the cool sand. Joel sat beside you, close enough that his elbow brushed yours when he moved. You got the burger out first and took a bite, giving a satisfied moan when you did, your stomach growling too.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you said, your mouth full. “I was hungrier than I realized.”

“Told you,” Joel said, smug, taking a bite of his own burger. “Shit, think I was, too.”

“You don’t have any damn excuse,” you said, taking another bite. “You can have all the craft services you want, you don’t have a costume that has very little stretch that was made from very precise measurements to fit into every day.”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” he said.

“Suppose it does,” you said, balancing the burger on your knees to open the spread and dip a fry in it.

“So,” Joel said after a minute. “Why’d you want to come to the beach.”

You looked over at him, brows raised. He was staring determinedly ahead at the water as he took a sip of his drink.

“Do you really want to know?” You asked. “Or do you want leverage on me.”

He shrugged.

“Dunno what I could leverage on you about a fuckin’ beach.”

You laughed dryly.

“Suppose that’s true,” you looked at the water, too. “I used to come to the beach a lot when I was little. It’s about the only thing I remember from before I started working.”

You felt Joel’s eyes on you then but you kept looking straight ahead.

“Most people come to Los Angeles but I was from here,” you continued. “And yeah, I might be some rich asshole now but I wasn’t exactly born into money. I’m guessing my mom brought me here because she was flat broke and this was a free way to keep me occupied. But I remember sitting on the sand and eating those saltine crackers - the individually wrapped ones, like you get with soup at restaurants which is probably what she did, swiped them from work when she was waiting tables - and just watching the water and wondering how far my voice would travel if I yelled. I thought it might carry across the world when I was really little because there was nothing there to stop it… Anyway. I still like coming here, I miss it when I can’t. It makes me feel small.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Joel asked, his eyes still on you.

You looked at him then, at his uncommonly soft gaze, tracing the outline of his face with your eyes. You realized that you knew his face so well now, better than so many others. Even in the dark, you knew where the flecks of gray had started in his beard, knew that the creases would be less pronounced around his eyes right now because he wasn’t glaring at you.

“I think so,” you said softly, the waves crashing in their steady rhythm before you. “It’s nice to be reminded that, in the grand scheme of things, I’m actually quite insignificant.”

“Don’t think that’s true,” he said. “Think you’d always matter.”

You watched him for a moment, as though he was going to change his mind or take it back, but he didn’t.

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, looking back to the water and brushing the sand off your shins. “I guess it doesn’t really make much difference, does it?”

“Suppose not,” he said.

You put the paper wrappers and your empty cup in the bag and tucked it where you didn’t think it would blow away before looping your arms around your knees, taking a deep, centering breath.

“You ready for a lot more days like today?” You asked. “Standing around while I play dress up?”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Can’t believe how many times they make you do the same damn thing again and again.”

You laughed.

“Yeah, that happens,” you said. “It’s gotta be pretty boring to watch from the outside.”

You more felt him shrug than saw him.

“Had more boring jobs.”

You kept watching the waves, the energy you had from just being at the beach slowly fading and the exhaustion for the day catching up with you and you leaned your head onto Joel’s shoulder. He stiffened for a moment but, before you moved away from him, he relaxed into you. He was calming, something sturdy about his presence, and he smelled clean and masculine and you had the oddest desire to nuzzle into his neck and breathe him in and commit that scent to memory.

“See why you like the beach,” he said eventually. “It’s… nice. Steady.”

You smiled a little.

“Yeah,” you said. “It is.”

You stayed like that for a while, until you were worried you were going to fall asleep on him and you went back to the car. On the drive home, you fought to keep your eyes open but failed, your head finding the warm comfort of his broad shoulders once again and you drifted off to the steady cadence of his breathing as the world went by outside your window.

***

He shouldn’t allow this.

He knew better. He did. But as you leaned against his side, your head on his shoulder, he slumped down further in his seat so you stayed in that place pressed into him, the artificial scent of hair spray and makeup remover mixing with sand and the salt of the water and your sweat.

He fucking knew better. This was stupid. Arguably one of the stupidest things he’d ever done. He didn’t want to be attached to you. He definitely didn’t want to get any more attached than he already was. He didn’t want to know what your fucking hair smelled like or how soft your skin was or how your body felt when it relaxed against his own.

But.

But you were there. You were close and protected and had unconsciously found comfort in him in a way no one had done in so, so long and he hated how much he enjoyed that. He liked you close, wanted you close. He felt calm, sure when you were close.

This was stupid but he wasn’t sure how to stop it. It felt like when he was a kid, running down a steep hill at full speed and he knew that even if he stopped putting one foot in front of the other he would keep careening toward the bottom, not able to control it.

He felt it when he was with you on the plane and you were groggy and he stopped the flight attendant from waking you to offer you breakfast or a drink because you needed the rest and instead kept the fruit and the granola bar and gave them to you when you woke. He felt it when he saw you in that damn costume, as if the fucking leggings and sports bras weren’t bad enough, you dressed in something made for you - designed to make you look powerful and beautiful and strong - made his heart stutter in his chest. He felt it when he watched your costar touch you in the ways he wanted to touch you. He tried to shove that urge down deep, tried to keep from breaking his damn jaw from clenching it so hard as he watched you work.

And now you were asleep against him, relaxed and soft. He should stop it, he knew that, but he couldn’t.

You didn’t wake as the car came to a stop in your driveway, you didn’t even stir.

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging you gently. “C’mon, we’re home.”

Your face scrunched but you just pressed closer to him.

“Hey,” he said again, giving you a little shake. “Gotta get you inside.”

You didn’t respond at all that time and, as good an actress as you might be, Joel could tell you weren’t faking. Back when he thought you were nothing more than a spoiled brat, he’d be frustrated by it but he knew better now. You’d been traveling since 3 a.m. local time, been going non-stop since you were on the ground and it was after 10 now. Joel had gotten to sit there and watch you work all day - the contained space of the movie studio making his job easier than he was used to - and he was pretty damn tired. It was no wonder you were exhausted.

Joel sighed.

“Alright, hang on,” he said to himself far more than to you.

He carefully arranged you so you wouldn’t fall over without him to lean on and slowly, delicately, got out of the car before gingerly pulling you against his body. He tucked your head into his shoulder, one arm going behind your back and below your arms, the other looping beneath your knees. You groaned a little in your sleep, your eyebrows knitting together, but you just nuzzled closer to him, your fingers looping around the collar of his shirt and tangling in the fabric to hold him close.

Dominic, one of the guards at your front door who had been on your detail the last time you were in LA, smirked a little as he opened the door for Joel.

“Shut up,” Joel muttered as he carried you inside.

“Didn’t say a thing,” Dominic said.

Joel carried you to your room, the lamp on your nightstand on when he got there and set you softly on the bed. He carefully removed your shoes and tugged the knit throw draped over the foot of your bed up and over you. You smiled in your sleep, face content and relaxed, and he let himself pretend, for a moment, that that look was for him. He watched you from that reality, one where he didn’t manage to destroy everything he ever cared for, one where he was worthy of your peace and quiet spaces, but stopped himself before he got lost there, in that world that wasn’t for him. He went to turn off the lamp but paused for a moment, looking at a photo on your bedside table.

In any other context, with any other person, it wouldn’t have been anything extraordinary. It was you, Anna, Elise and Ellie at Disneyland. Ellie couldn’t have been more than seven, a gap in her smile as the four of you posed in front of the castle. Your arm was around her front to pull her back against you and Anna’s head was on your shoulder and Elise was beaming on the other side of you. But the best part was you in the middle of it all. You looked… normal. Still so beautiful he was sure people would be staring at you even if you weren’t famous but your skin was shiny with sweat, a pair of sunglasses tucked into the neck of your tank top, cutoff shorts and tennis shoes and Mickey Mouse ears on like you were just any other person. If you’d started the day in makeup it was long gone by the time this picture was taken but you didn’t seem to care. You looked happy. So fucking happy, in a way Joel was sure he hadn’t seen before, like this was all you wanted in the world. Not the movie premieres and awards shows but this, being next to the people you loved, giving your niece something she wanted.

Something about that gave Joel a lump in his throat. That, when it came down to it, the thing you really wanted was probably the same thing he did - more time with someone who was gone.

He tucked the blanket in tighter around you and tried not to think about the disturbingly human version of you that he left behind in your bed when he went to his own.

“Did you put me to bed last night?” You asked by way of greeting the next morning, sitting in your kitchen with a cup of coffee in your hand when Joel got up for the day.

Joel shrugged, getting himself a mug and going for the coffee pot.

“You could have woken me up, you know,” you said, a teasing edge to your voice.

“Tried that,” he replied. “You weren’t movin’. Couldn’t just let you sleep in the car all night, not safe.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t need to haul my ass around today,” you said. “But… thanks.”

“Sure,” he said again. “But… it was fine. Didn’t mind.”

You smiled a little and tried to hide it behind your mug and Joel tried to ignore the way his chest swelled a little when you did, when you gave him some indication that you liked him looking out for you.

That day was more of the same, Joel sitting on a movie set and not fully understanding what was happening, watching you in that perfectly fitted fucking costume as you ran and jumped and threw punches and flew with your all-too-handsome costar pressed tight to your side. He tried to get used to it, to watching you work while he sat on his ass, to seeing you touch someone else in that soft and tender way without a spark of jealousy catching in him.

It was the same the next day, too, and the day after that and Joel was starting to wonder how long you could really keep going at this pace. They had you getting to set at six in the goddamn morning, in hair and makeup and costuming until close to nine and then you were shooting until close to nine at night, often with nothing but a smoothie or fucking Diet Coke in between.

“Acting is… harder than I thought it’d be,” Joel said one day on the ride back to your house.

“It can be a hard job,” you said with a shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m very lucky to do what I do and I love acting but yeah, it can absolutely kick your ass some days.”

“Good to know you earn that damn paycheck at least,” he said dryly.

You laughed.

“Always happy to have your seal of approval, Big Miller.”

He was relieved when things relaxed on Thursday, you apparently having meetings at the studio half the day and you didn’t move from your room for so long that Joel was starting to worry. But, eventually, you emerged, looking almost oddly polished and professional with dark jeans and a turtleneck and a blazer on.

“Starting to think you died,” Joel said dryly from his place on the couch.

You smiled a little.

“Sorry to disappoint,” you said. “Just tired, needed to catch up on sleep.”

“Can’t blame you,” Joel muttered. “Seems like that director is bound and determined to work you to death.”

You shrugged.

“I did ask them to try and squeeze as much filming into a day as possible,” you said. “I don’t want to be away from Ellie for too long. This whole process is going to be tricky when we start shooting with the whole cast next month, we’re just trying to knock out what we can now because we can.”

“Still,” Joel said. “Can’t make a movie if you drop dead from exhaustion.”

“Aw, Big Miller,” you smirked a little. “Look at you, caring. Who knew you had it in you?”

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket. “Before this all goes to your damn head…”

He tried to ignore the pleased little smile on your face on the drive to the studio offices, the sunlight through the tinted windows almost making your skin glow.

Joel stayed closer to you than usual as the two of you headed into the skyscraper in Burbank, this space less contained than the studio lot. It looked so much like a regular office building it was a little disconcerting and he felt distinctly out of place here, especially with you because you were out of place here, too.

Not in the way he was, of course. Joel had never been under the misplaced assumption that he would one day work in a building like this one. This world was different than the one he occupied, he would never be anything more than an interloper among powerful people who dominated the corporate world and made more money than he could even dream of. But you were on the opposite side of the spectrum, so far apart from him that you may as well have been a different species. Things as mundane as a business meeting and an office building seemed so far below you - though, at least, this place seemed to realize that.

A young woman met you at the front door, handing you an iced coffee and ushering you quickly through a turnstile and to an elevator without you needing to talk to anyone or pass through a metal detector like the other mortals that were coming and going from here.

“Do you know your way from here?” She asked as the elevator neared its destination.

“Yes, thank you,” you smiled. “I appreciate your help.”

“Of course,” she said as the door chimed and opened. “Please let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Quinn met you at the elevator doors, which opened onto another lobby - one much more opulent than the one downstairs, looking more like a luxury hotel than an office building.

“We just need to get a few things nailed down,” she said, you and her talking low as Joel trailed along behind you to an office with a secretary waiting out front.

“I think you’re safe to wait out here,” you said when Joel went to follow you inside. “Don’t think there are any big bad monsters lying in wait for me up here.”

“Probably right,” Joel said and you gasped.

“Joel Miller, admitting that I’m correct? I’m shocked!”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, resisting the urge to smile as he watched you head into some oversized office with some overpaid executive before settling in to wait.

He tried to soothe his unease at there being a wall between you in a place he didn’t know by being alert, his arms crossed over his chest, body tense. He could just see some of the lobby outside through the glass in the door and he caught a glimpse of the jackass producer you’d dated in the past, the one who was far too old for you as he went walking past. He tightened his jaw.

Eventually, you and Quinn came back out, some man Joel hadn’t met before following behind.

“Looking forward to sharing this with the world,” he said, offering you his hand.

“You and me both,” you smiled, taking it as Joel looked the man up and down. But you weren’t stiff and uncomfortable like you’d been in the past, instead seeming much more like yourself.

“Seemed like that went well,” Joel said, following you and Quinn back to the lobby.

“It did,” you smiled a little, looking back over your shoulder to him. “Believe it or not, not everything in this town is dramatic.”

Joel snorted.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The three of you were headed for the elevators again when you stopped, looking at a woman and a man talking in two arm chairs not far away.

“Margie?” You said and the woman looked up, blinking in surprise at you before smiling hugely. You smiled back and headed for her, Joel and Quinn trailing behind you. It took him a moment to place the woman and then he recognized her, the mother of the girl who was playing the younger version of you in Savage Starlight. “Hey, how are you! What brings you out here?”

“Oh, we just had some meetings today,” she said, standing so she was on your level, looking a little star struck.

“Yeah?” You smiled. “Is Catherine here? In talks for another role? I’m not surprised if she is, she’s very talented.”

“Kind of,” Margie said. “Henry Wilde said he wanted to meet her, can you believe that? She’s in with him right now, we’re just…”

Joel felt you stiffen, watched the smile slip off your face.

“She’s with him now?” You asked, all the warmth gone from your voice. “Alone?”

Margie’s face fell, too.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, she is, what…”

You and Quinn exchanged a quick look.

“Go,” she said and you gave Joel a look, almost pleading, before starting toward another door off the lobby.

Joel followed at your heels. In any other circumstance, he’d have stopped you, pulled you back and demanded to know what the hell it was you thought you were doing but he had a feeling about this, one that made his stomach turn.

You shoved the door open and the secretary jumped to her feet, her eyes wide, you not even slowing down as you stalked past her.

“Mr. Wilde is busy right now,” she said. “You can’t just…”

“Oh I bet he is,” you said, going to the other door and giving it a sharp shove. It didn’t budge.

“Like I said,” the secretary said again, sharper this time and standing next to you and Joel. “Mr. Wilde is in a meeting and is not to be disturbed.”

“Oh, I think I can disturb him all I want,” you said, stepping back from the door and looking to Joel. “Do me a favor and open that for me, would you?”

There was something about the look in your eyes, something sharp and earnest and vulnerable, that made him just obey, bracing his shoulder and forcing the door open with a crack.

He stumbled into the room, a huge office with floor to ceiling windows along the back with a desk in the middle of them. Wilde’s head shot up and Catherine jumped from her seat opposite him, her eyes wide.

“What the…”

“Henry!” You swept in behind Joel, back straight and head high, something almost intimidating about you when you did. Joel followed close behind you and you stopped next to Catherine’s chair. “Been a while.”

Joel watched the man behind the desk, ready to move for him, but he just shook his head a little before getting to his feet.

“Too long,” he said.

“Mr. Wilde,” the secretary ran in, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, I tried to stop them, but…”

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “Why don’t you take Miss Ford here back to her mother and her agent, we were just finishing up anyway. Give us some space to chat, would you?”

“Of course,” she said. “Miss Ford, why don’t you come with me?”

“But…” Catherine looked between you and Wilde. Your eyes were raking over her, again and again, like you were looking for something.

“It was lovely to chat with you,” Wilde said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Go see your mom,” you said, a tight smile on your face that didn’t reach your eyes. “Stick close with her, OK?”

“OK,” she said cautiously, watching you for a moment before going to the secretary and doing as she was told.

You watched Catherine and the secretary leave, waiting until you heard the outer office door close before turning your attention back to Wilde.

“That was a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” He asked, coming around his desk and standing close enough to you that it made Joel stiffen. “You know if you want to see me all you have to do is ask.”

“You and I both know that I want absolutely nothing to do with you,” you snapped, your voice so much sharper than Joel was used to hearing it when you spoke to anyone else. Even when you were harsh with him, there was an undercurrent of your typical teasing edge to it or, at least, hurt. This was hateful, pure vitriol, and it felt earned.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true at all,” he smirked. “Why else would you come bursting in here?”

“Because I am not about to let you sink your fangs into that little girl,” you said through gritted teeth, eyes flashing.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do,” you said. “You know exactly what I mean. I know exactly who you are, Henry. I know exactly what you do and you will not do it to that girl, do you understand me?”

“I think you forget which of us is in charge here,” he said, his face shifting. He wasn’t amused anymore, he was angry. Joel stiffened. “Maybe you need a reminder but I fucking own you, sweetheart.”

“Not anymore you don’t,” you said, holding your ground.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “You’d be nothing without me and I could fucking bury you without even trying…”

“Could you?” You cut him off. “Because I remember you trying that before and here I am, the most bankable fucking star in this goddamn town. You think I’d just disappear quietly? That you can intimidate me? I’m not a kid you can push around anymore, Henry, I’m not a fucking Barbie you can play dress up with I’m an entire goddamn industry and I will burn you to the fucking ground if you lay a finger on that girl.”

“You couldn’t shove me out before,” he sneered. “Do you really think you could do it now? Some stupid girl who’s barely got a fucking high school diploma and you think you can push me around? I could buy and sell you 100 times over, sweetheart, and…”

“And no one outside this fucking city knows your name,” you said, chin out. “Go after her and I will eviscerate you in the press, I’ll spill all your dirtiest little secrets.”

“And take yourself down with me?” He asked, brows raised. “I don’t think so.”

“What’s that they say about a woman scorned?” You asked. “Don’t try me, Henry. The entire world cares what I have to say. Do you think they give a shit about some old man who sits behind a desk?”

He just narrowed his eyes at you and you smirked.

“That’s what I thought,” you said. “She’s under my protection, understood? You will stay the fuck away from her or you’ll find out just how far I’m willing to go. And I hear about you taking your little one on one meetings with other girls? I will burn you down.”

You turned to leave but Wilde grabbed your arm, yanking you back hard enough that it made you stumble and something inside Joel snapped.

He moved quickly, putting his body between you and the other man. Wilde’s eyes went wide and Joel grabbed his arm, wrenching it away from yours before shoving him back.

“Keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself,” Joel growled, pressing in closer to the man, forcing him to back up until he was pressed against the window.

He watched Wilde’s expression shift from shock to righteous indignation.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with, son,” he said. “I recommend you step back and let your client and myself handle this.”

“You put a hand on her,” Joel said, the strangely foreign yet familiar heat of rage roiling beneath his skin. He had to fight to not put this fucker through the window. “My job to take that hand off. Whether it’s just off her or off you, too, is your choice.”

“I pay your fucking salary,” he tried to shove Joel and failed, his hands all but bouncing off Joel’s chest in a way that would be comical if Joel wasn’t so ready to put him in the ground. Joel shoved his arm into Wilde’s throat, pinning him to the window.

“Pretty sure it ain’t your name on my goddamn check,” Joel said. “And even if it were, I’m paid to keep her safe from threats. You’re a threat. Try that shit again and you’ll see just why I got the job I do.”

Joel stepped back, letting the other man stumble forward before he turned to look at you.

“You alright?” He asked. You nodded once, your hand covering your elbow where Wilde’s hand had just been. “Good. You done here?”

“Yeah,” you said, looking at Wilde as he straightened his blazer. “I’m done.”

Joel just gave you a nod and he put his hand on the small of your back as you headed back toward the lobby.

The second you were out the door, your breathing picked up, panicked and trembling.

“You’re OK,” Joel said quietly, guiding you quickly for the elevator and looking back over his shoulder to make sure Wilde wasn’t following. “Just keep moving, I’ve got you.”

You nodded quickly and Joel pushed the call button, thankful the elevator doors opened almost immediately. He ushered you inside and pushed the button for the ground floor but, as soon as it started to move he pulled the emergency stop and turned to face you, your eyes wide, hands trembling.

“What…” your voice trailed off, breaths still coming in scared little pants.

“Think you’re having a panic attack,” Joel said. “Or somethin’ like it, anyway. Bought us some time so none of those assholes see it happening, just take a deep breath for me Siren, alright?”

You nodded quickly and closed your eyes, taking a shuddering but deep breath.

“There you go,” he said gently. “You’re doing good baby, hold that for a second.”

You nodded, clenching your eyes shut tighter but obeying all the same. Joel counted for a few seconds.

“Alright, let it out nice and slow,” he said. “Focus on it, get all the air out.”

You obeyed, not shaking quite as badly now.

“Good,” he said when you finished. “Again, in, deep and slow.”

He guided you through it a few more times until your trembling stilled and your eyes opened again, looking at him all open and honest.

“You OK?” He asked, reaching out and cupping your cheek before he could stop himself. You nodded into his palm. “Ready to see other people?”

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath again. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You got any other meetings today?” Joel asked gently.

“Um,” you closed your eyes for a moment, brows knitting together in concentration before you opened them again. “Just Quinn and Leo but…”

“Think they’ll let you cancel?” Joel asked. His hand was still on your skin and his heart was racing. “So we can get you home?”

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly. “Yeah, Quinn will understand, she… she knows.”

“OK,” Joel said. He knew he should take his hand back but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Your eyes stayed locked on his and he felt a pull at the root of him, a drive to bring your body against his own and press his lips to yours. He tried to shake that feeling as you leaned into him but he couldn’t, he just forced himself to stand stock still as you moved to be against him, your face tucking below his chin and burying in his shirt. He moved slowly, cautiously, to hold you, your body warm and soft against him. Joel cradled you there, focusing on you, trying to ignore the feeling that you weren’t quite close enough.

After what felt like no time at all you stepped back, giving your head a small shake and taking another deep breath.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, staring at his chest instead of really looking at him. “You didn’t have to do that and… thank you.”

“Sure,” Joel said gruffly before reaching around you to start the elevator again.

By the time the two of you reached the ground floor, you looked like yourself again, a sense of power in you when the doors slid open. Quinn was waiting for you, looking you up and down.

“All good?” She asked.

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Catherine make it down OK?”

“Yeah,” Quinn nodded. “We’ve got her, she’s fine.”

“Good,” you said. “Are they still here?”

“No,” Quinn said. “I sent them home…”

“What did you say?” You frowned, brows drawing together.

“Nothing extreme,” Quinn said quickly, her eyes darting to Joel. “I told Margie to never let Catherine take a meeting alone, ever. She’s talented, there are a lot of people who might want to not give her what’s she’s due, she needs to have representation.”

“Good,” you nodded, taking a deep breath. “OK. If it’s alright with you, can we push our…”

“Of course,” Quinn said quickly. “I’ll talk to Leo. You get home, take a hot bath, just… take it easy. I’ll see you in the morning, alright?”

“Yeah,” you smiled tightly at her before pulling her in for a hug. “Thank you.”

You were silent on the drive home, staring determinedly out the window, your hand over your mouth the entire way, the presence of the driver forcing him to bite his tongue. When you got there, you didn’t wait for Joel to come around and open your door, instead jumping out the second the car stopped and, normally, he’d yell at you for that. It was reckless and stupid and your total lack of care for your own safety drove him insane but, this time, he just followed after you.

“Hey,” he said gently once you were both inside.

“Thanks for your help, Joel,” you said, rushing past him you toward your room. “I appreciate it.”

He sighed, watching you leave, wishing there was something he could do to help you even if he didn’t fully understand what he wanted to help you with.

But he couldn’t bring himself to hide in his room the way he so often did where you were involved. Instead, he hovered in the main part of the house, hoping that you’d come out.

He tried to tell himself it was because he needed to know if you were alright for professional purposes. The convention was tomorrow. If you weren’t going, he’d need to know. If you were, he’d need to know how likely it was that you’d do something reckless, whether or not you’d remember emergency procedure, if you would pay close enough attention to know when something odd happened. That was an acceptable reason for his concern. Not that he could admit the real one even to himself.

It was late when he started debating stretching out on the couch so he would hear you if you got up in the night when you appeared, in an oversized robe and bare feet and you startled then when you saw him. There was something keenly vulnerable about you like this, an odd intimacy in your dewy skin and open expression.

“Joel,” you said quietly, your hand covering your heart. “Sorry, I…”

“You really apologizing for being in your own house?” He asked, brows raised.

You smiled a little and laughed once.

“I guess so,” you said, crossing your arms, looking a little more like yourself when you did. “You’re up late.”

He shrugged.

“So are you.”

“Yeah, well…” you looked down at your feet for a moment. “I was going to eat something…”

“It alright if I join you?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Of course,” you said, meeting his eyes and giving him a tight smile.

He trailed behind you to the kitchen and worked silently alongside you, taking your unspoken direction as you pulled deli meat and cheese and vegetables out of the fridge, piling them on the counter. He even followed you to the pantry, where you got out bread and chips and then froze, a bag dangling from your hand. You were staring at your Oscar where it still sat from the last time you were in town, tucked away at the back of a shelf.

“C’mon,” Joel said, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder and you let him guide you back to the counter.

He watched you out of the corner of his eye as you made a sandwich, almost overly focused on the process of spreading mustard on bread and layering it with turkey and lettuce and sliced tomato. When you were done, you put some carrots on your plate, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat at the bar. But you just stared down at your plate more than anything else, pushing a carrot from side to side and watching it roll. Joel finished making his sandwich and sat beside you. He took a bite - more out of pretense than anything else - before finally looking at you.

“Wanna talk about it,” he said more than asked.

“Not especially,” you replied, pushing the carrot again, watching it wobble on the china.

He was quiet for a moment.

“Meant what I said when I told you I’d protect you, even from him,” Joel said eventually.

You stared at the plate.

“I know,” you said.

“Helps when I know what I’m protecting you from,” he said.

You looked at him then, with that sharp and exacting gaze of yours, like you were seeing through everything to the core of him. All the walls that had built up after the loss of his child, all the protection he’d put into place the first time he met you, all of it meant nothing now.

You looked down at your plate again, your hands drawing into tight fists, the flesh straining over the bone of your knuckles.

“Everything they say about me is true,” you said, your voice thick.

Joel frowned.

“What do…”

“That I fucked my way to the top,” you said. “That I wouldn’t be where I was if I didn’t spread my fucking legs, it’s all true.”

Joel was silent, his jaw clenched tight and you laughed bitterly.

“It’s not because I wanted to,” you said, still staring at your food. “You can judge me all you want, I don’t care, but I didn’t have much choice. I owed a lot of people a lot of money and the only way I could get the job that would pay me enough to take care of it was…”

Your voice trailed off and Joel frowned.

“Owed…” he paused. “Do you mean when… when you were a kid, when your mother…”

“Yeah,” you said, clenching your fist tighter, and Joel’s stomach turned. You finally looked at him then, your eyes wide, a desperate, pleading edge to them. “I made a trade. I did what I had to do. But I know what it’s like to be a teenaged girl in a world full of men and I know what it’s like when the only bargaining chip you have is between your thighs and I know what it’s like to be backed into a fucking corner by Henry fucking Wilde and I will not let that happen to that girl, I don’t care if it’s the last thing I fucking do.”

“Did you tell anybody?” Joel asked weakly, searching your face.

“Who was there to tell?” You asked, brows raised. “I didn’t even fully understand what happened until years later, after we dated because I was stupid enough to pretend like there was something romantic about it. I kept telling myself that he must have really loved me to have wanted me then. But really all he wanted was someone young, someone he could control and when I stopped letting him control me after the Oscars… When we broke up I very famously fucked half of Hollywood while I got dropped by my manager and my agent and no one would touch me with a 10-foot-pole because he controlled all of it, they all answered to him. It would have been my word against his, the impulsive, entitled starlet crashing out because her powerful boyfriend broke up with her. No one would have believed me.

“If it wasn’t for Quinn just getting started and clawing her way up from nothing and desperate to take on a client, I never would have worked again. No one would represent me, no one wanted to work with me. She got me Siren and I took a lot of shit on that fucking job but it was a job. It helped me stay relevant while everything else blew over. It’s not like I could do anything else because Henry was right about that, too. It’s not like I went to college, the degree I have barely even counts as a high school diploma. I’m not sure I could have gotten a job at McDonalds back then. This is all I know how to do.”

You looked back at your plate and took a deep, shaky breath.

“I hate that I put Catherine in his orbit. I hate that he’s on this fucking movie,” you said softly. “I hate having to answer to him again. I have a lot more power now than I did before but… He’s right. He owns me.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Joel said and you looked at him. “He can want to all he damn well pleases but that don’t make it true. May not have known you very long but I know this much about you: No one owns you but you.”

You laughed a little and sighed.

“He must have something on me that I’m forgetting about,” you said. “Something in his back pocket that he’s ready to make public and burn me down. I don’t think he will now that he’s producing Savage Starlight - at least not right this minute - but just the thought that he’s sitting there, ready to destroy my life…”

Joel shrugged.

“Fuck ‘em,” he said. You frowned at him. “It’d be shit but you’d have Ellie and Elise and…” He trailed off. “You’d have the shit that matters is what I’m saying. And if that fucker ever touches you again, I’m gonna put him on his ass.”

You smiled, laughing darkly, before sighing and leaning into him, catching him off guard. You were between his legs, your head nuzzled into his shoulder, the warmth of your breath on his throat. He swallowed, a knot in his throat, and put his arms around you.

“I think you were brave for doin’ what you did,” he said quietly. “Catherine… she’s lucky she has you. I’m sorry you didn’t have that when you were her age. You deserved better than you got.”

“Thanks,” you said softly. “That… that means a lot.”

He held you like that for a while before you sat up from him, taking a drink of your water, and Joel watched for a moment as you took a bite of your sandwich before he, eventually, ate alongside you in silence. When you were done, you went to put your dish in the dishwasher but he stopped you.

“I got it,” he said and you frowned. “You had a shit day. I can… S’fine.”

“Thanks,” you smiled tightly at him. “I… Thanks for not… Thanks for treating me like a person about it. Not everyone would.”

He just nodded slowly.

“Course. See you in the morning, Siren.”

“See you in the morning, Big Miller.”

He watched you go and sat there on his own in silence, trying not to linger on what you’d told him. He cleaned up your kitchen and, before going to his room, he went to the pantry and picked up your Oscar. He had to do something to take care of you, he couldn’t help it. The trophy was heavy in his hand and he carried it to his room, tucking it at the back of the closet where he could protect you from having to see it again.

Next Chapter

A/N: Joel and Siren are getting closer! If Joel's not careful he's going to realize that she's a real person he's got feelings for and not some ethereal being who is so far out of reach she may as well be an alien and who KNOWS what'll happen then 👀

Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying reading these two as much as I've enjoyed writing them.

Love you!

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#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #tsats #the savage and the sanctuary #bodyguard!joel #bodyguard au

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