#Scott being Scott and eventually putting an end to it

[teddy-bear-d]

Currently rotating angsty Martyn from killing Scott in my head

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 6: Orange Cream and Peachy Sugar

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles pining, slight NSFW, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, talk of scars {good and bad}, dementia, hospital death, abuse

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: I COULDN'T RESIST 😭 Their chemistry is TOO GOOD

Part 5: Mieczyslaw

Part 6: Orange Cream and Peachy Sugar {You Are Here}

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Scott was frantically searching his bedroom for his phone, arguing with Stiles along the way. “The Argent’s plan was to use Derek to get the Alpha. They’re not gonna kill him.”

Stiles sways in a swivel chair, blatantly not helping. “Alright, so then just let them do what they’re planning, you know? They use Derek to get Peter, problem solved.”

“Not if Peter’s going after Allison to find Derek!”

Frown growing on his face, Stiles picks at the weathered wood of the chair, “You know this wasn’t why I came over.” He waits for a reply that doesn’t come – Scott is under his bed, throwing socks and crumpled papers out of the way. Stiles huffs, “We’ve had a major (Y/N) development… hello? Earth to Scott! (Y/N) slept in my bed last night!”

He grinds his teeth at the lack of a reaction, “And she asked me to take Allison to the formal, which is stupid because we could get Jackson or another lacrosse meathead to do that. I should be taking (Y/N) to the formal!”

Scott bangs his head on the underside of his bed, scrambling to get out, “Shut up!” he hisses.

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?!”

Scott hushes him, “I hear voices in the driveway.” He cocks his head to the window and squints his eyes in concentration.

“Who is it?”

“My mom coming home from work… and she’s been crying,” Scott deflates, sinking in on himself. “And (Y/N)’s with her.”

Stiles wheels the chair towards Scott, looking ridiculous with his legs spread out and paddling against the hardwood floor. “What are they saying?”

“(Y/N)’s trying to cheer her up. She’s asking to see me. She’s worried.” He doesn’t even have the energy to groan his sorrow as he sits on the bed, void of dramatics.

Stiles takes a breath, hearing his friends anxiety without needing the words. “Scott, you can’t protect everyone.”

The beat that follows is short and tense, resignation in Scott as he says, “I have to.”

“Well, we’re going to have to put a pause on that because (Y/N) is probably coming inside any second now.” Stiles straightens his jacket, “And she doesn’t want to be involved in any werewolf stuff, remember?”

“I don’t know how we’re supposed to be friends with her and keep her from all that,” Scott sighs, laying on his back and covering his face with his hands.

“Like it or not, she may be the eventual love of my life, meaning you have to suck it up and deal with it.” Stiles chokes on his breath as you knock on the wall before entering the open door.

You wince at the coughing fit Stiles is in, “Good morning.” Your eyes fall on Scott, “I hear something went down last night,” you fold your arms, “Melissa just told me outside. She’s seriously torn up about it.”

Scott finally is able to groan his frustrations, “Everything is going to shit.”

“Someone’s down in the dumps,” you smile, but stop upon seeing the lack of enthusiasm on Stiles’ face. “Any updates?” You play with your fingers, worry evident in your stance as you look between the boys. “Look, just because I don’t want to be there for the werewolf crap doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about it afterwards.”

“Derek took Jackson to the Hale House and drew Scott out,” Stiles resigns, “It turned into a giant werewolf battle that ended with Scott being shot by the Argents and Derek going missing.”

You whip your head to Scott, lines of worry in your brow, “Are you okay?”

Scott lifts his shirt in a silent reply – no bullet wounds in his torso. He rolls over onto his feet and grumbles, “Deaton patched me up.”

If it was possible, your brows arch even closer to your hairline, “Deaton like your vet boss Deaton? He knows about all this too?”

“Evidently,” Stiles shrugs his shoulders.

“And Peter showed up to threaten Allison’s safety. He thinks the Argents have Derek and now I have to be on guard 24/7 to make sure she’s safe. Not to mention my mom went out with the maniac last night and you are the number one first target should a werewolf want to kill my pack…” Scott was tangling his fingers in his shaggy hair, “And with not going to the dance I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep her safe.”

You walk to stand in front of him, “Scott,” you say softly, “Noone expects you to be a guard dog for all your friends 24 hours a day. That’s impossible and too high an expectation for yourself. You’re just a sophomore in high school.” You raise your arms to grab Scott’s wrists, easing them from his head, “You shouldn’t have to be worrying about all this – it’s why you’re failing your classes.”

He lets you hold onto his arms between you, “But I have to worry; it’s all my fault. And I’ve screwed myself in the long run because now I’m banned from a whole night where anything could happen to you guys.”

You listen, eyes soft and sad, “I wanted to talk to you about who you think should take Allison to the dance, just so you feel more at ease about it.” You finally let go of his arms, returning to your finger picking. “Any ideas?”

“Jackson,” he says, ignoring the silent cheers coming from Stiles behind you. “He likes her, and they have a decent friendship, even if he won’t admit it.”

You nod, “Sounds good. Do you need me to help in any way?”

“Are you going to the dance with Andrew?” he asks, checking all his boxes.

“I don’t know,” you say, “He hasn’t asked me yet, but I have a feeling he might after our date tomorrow.” The smile on your face says it all and Scott again ignores the despair hitting Stiles – the poor boy banging his head into his crossed arms on the chair.

“Let us know,” Scott says, now fixated on finding a way to protect his mom, “We still have a week until the dance.”

You smile, but your eyes are pinched with empathy, “I’ll try to have as many sleepovers as possible with Allison and Lydia this next week,” you say determinedly, “I know you were thinking about stalking her house at night.”

“Only to keep watch,” he says with a slight upturn of his lips.

“But you need your sleep,” you pat his shoulder, turning around, “Doctor’s orders.” You spy on the last remnants of Stiles’ despair as he wipes his face of emotion. You grimace at the terrible unevenness of his hoodie strings. “And have you figured out someone to ask to the dance?”

You move to pull on his hoodie strings, evening them out as you adjust the fabric around his neck. He gulps and takes a second to respond.

“Not yet,” he gasps out a laugh, “We’ll see.”

“There’s always Lydia,” you smile, flattening the fabric against his wide shoulders. “Or you could just go stag.”

~~~

You drive with Lydia that night. It had been so long since the two of you hung out that it was almost awkward visiting the strip mall together – the same one you went to on your first date with Andrew.

The white fairy lights were just starting to turn on as you enter a beauty shop. Lydia goes right for the latest face serums while you follow along. “Don’t you already have every skincare product alive?”

“You can never have too many,” she says, holding up something pink and shiny.

“Actually, too many products can mess with your skin barrier and…”

Lydia holds up a finger, “That doesn’t stop me from having them sit pretty on my vanity.”

You giggle, running your eyes over the pretty packaging of various bottles. They really knew how to draw your attention. “I need a new lip gloss,” you say, encouraging Lydia’s shopaholic tendencies.

“Let me show you some of my favorites,” she says quickly, purse hanging from the crook of her elbow.

Shopping with Lydia was fun, especially when she made you feel beautiful and offered to buy things for you. She had you holding a few things for herself, but also a couple products for you that she refused to let you buy.

“Have you found someone to go to the formal with?” you ask nonchalantly, checking Lydia’s mood.

“I’ve narrowed it down to a couple lacrosse players. We’ll see who asks me by tomorrow.” She purses her lips and leads the way to the checkout line. “Do you know who Allison is going with?’

You hum your response, “Um… I think Jackson might ask her.”

Lydia takes a deep breath, “Sure. Why not.”

“Are you not okay with that?” you ask quietly, “I’m sure Allison will say no if you want her to.”

“I’m not going to control what that conceited little man wants to do. He was a moron to let me go – clearly I’ve been doing better than him since. You know after every lacrosse practice he just goes home? I haven’t seen him at a single after practice party.”

You pull your card out to pay for your things and she smacks your wrist. “How often does the team meet after practice?”

“Like once or twice a week,” she shrugs, “Jackson never liked to go, though. He doesn’t like doing things for popularity’s sake.”

“I’ve noticed he kind of just does things that serve his own best interests.”

“Exactly,” she says a little exasperatedly, handing you the shopping bag. “He’s so full of himself. I don’t know what’s going on with him.”

You hold open the door as Lydia storms out, shoulders tense at the thought of him. “Hey, crazy thought…” you say with a giggle, “Do you want to go spy on him?”

Lydia stops on the cobblestone sidewalk, giving you a dose of skepticism. “Are you crazy?”

“Come on, we could just drive past his house,” you say, still smiling, “It’s what girls do after a hard breakup.”

Consideration fills her gaze, slowly starting to walk again. The click of her heels builds a rhythm as her confidence grows, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to see what he does on a weeknight. I swear he’s become so boring now.”

You laugh, linking arms with her and going for the car. You think about what Stiles said at the hospital. Jackson was focused on getting the werewolf bite. He was becoming an obsessive recluse in his hunt for power. It was no wonder that he avoided people that wouldn’t help him with his mission.

The drive to the upper class part of town was fast and full of loud music. Lydia looks determined as she turns into the neighborhood, headlights blinking off. You turn down the radio and look upon the grand estate that was the Whittmore house.

It looks renovated in comparison to some of the other houses on the street.

“They sure like a clean and modern look,” you remark at the plain white walls and geometric windows.

Lydia scoffs, parking across the street a little away. “He was always so proud of his money. Like it made him something he’s not.”

You feel a twinge of pity. “The poor thing. His Porsche is here – I bet he’s brooding in his bedroom.”

Pointing a finger, Lydia picks the window to Jackson’s room, “He’s up there; the lights on.”

The pair of you deduce what the reclusive boy might be doing. You were just laughing about anime porn and edibles when a loud voice starts yelling within the house you’re parked in front of. Lydia stops her laughter, looking to her right to peer out your window.

“Someone’s having a fight inside.”

You wince at the persistent yells, “Sounds pretty serious.” There was a crash and a boom. It made you jump being the closer of the two to the house. “Oh my god, what are they doing? Breaking things?”

A breath catches in Lydia’s throat when another bellowing yell seems to shake the windowpanes. “Maybe we should get out of here.”

Your mouth falls open when it sounds like someone slams into the front door. “Maybe we should call someone for help.”

The front door opens and a teenager falls out onto his side. He scrambles to get away from whatever was happening within. He trips down the concrete stairs of the front porch and finally makes it to his feet.

You audibly gasp, recognizing the teenager as Isaac Lahey. “Holy shit, I know him!” You go to open the door and Lydia cries out.

“Wait! We should…”

“Lydia…” you spot something bleeding on the side of Isaac’s face, “He’s hurt and he needs help.” You don’t even let her begin a retort as you leap out of the car at Isaac’s retreating form. “Isaac!”

He flinches, turning around in a frenzied motion. He looks wild with fear, holding his hands out like he was going to stop whatever was after him. In a second he looks even more uneasy, “(Y/N)?”

“Get in the car,” you say, keeping your distance, “We’ll get you out of here for a while.”

He looks at the slightly open front door and the look of desperation on your face. He swallows hard and seems fidgety with adrenaline.

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, taking a step forward. “I can help, Isaac. I work at a hospital – I can fix you up. Let’s go take a break somewhere else. Somewhere safer.”

Isaac looks to be choking on something – whether breath or words, you weren’t sure – but you feel a drop of relief as he follows your lead into the car.

Lydia looks petrified as she faces forward, two hands on the wheel. “This is not how I expected tonight to go.”

You put on your seatbelt and ask her firmly to drive to your house. “Is that okay, Isaac? My dad is at the firehouse and my mom is probably napping on the couch. She always does after having some of her tea.”

“Um…” Isaac wraps his arms around himself, trying to hide just like he did in the computer lab. “Yeah, sure.”

In those few seconds you look over your shoulder, you check the bleeding to the side of his face. The skin must’ve split open from some kind of force. In another second you notice the bruise around his eye.

It was yellow and green with age.

It’s quiet as Lydia tensely drives the car to your house. You try to silently thank her for going along with your plan. You were concocting scenarios in your mind as to why Isaac was so hurt. The yells, the bruises, the crashes and bangs, the fear as he scrambled away.

You think, sadly, of how alone Isaac always was. You realize that there wasn’t a single instance you could think of when he was with anyone. There was just that one time you spoke with him in the computer lab.

What was he actually dealing with at home?

Lydia was curt as she drove away from your house, no doubt brewing a passive aggressive text for you. Isaac, though extremely tall, seems to shrink beside you. He doesn’t look up as he follows your footsteps.

“Is this okay?” you ask gingerly, stopping at the door. “I just want to take you upstairs and have a look at that cut. It’ll be a quick bandage and then we can do whatever you like. We’ll take a break for a while.”

He seems to stew for a few seconds, not daring to look you in the eye. You suddenly wish to see them bright blue with the smile he got from laughter. The one you complimented him on. He finally speaks in a quiet tone, “Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Good,” you say, opening the door and going for the stairs. Peering over the banister you see just as you predicted. Your mother is fast asleep with a book resting open on her chest, and an empty mug of tea on the side table. “I swear that chamomile one she has puts her right to sleep.”

You walk upstairs and to the hallway bathroom. You put the toilet lid down and gesture for him to sit. Under the sink, and next to an array of things that sometimes help you when you feel faint, is a first aid kit.

Isaac looks wary as he holds his hands in his lap. It seems pretty plain what was going on. Something to do with an angry dad at home. You suddenly remember how apprehensive he was when you mentioned asking his dad for permission to go on the spring retreat.

“What was it that split your cheek open?” you ask gently, just a few inches taller than him as he sits.

He looks fearful to admit the truth. “I uh… fell.”

You nod, knowing it was a lie. “Pretty hard fall,” you give him a sad smile as he appears relieved you don’t question further. “I’m just going to clean it and put a butterfly bandage on, okay?”

He swallows again, wringing his hands, “Sure.” He winces as you swab a disinfectant wipe along his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly.

“It’s okay,” is his reply. He continues to be on edge as you pinch the cut closed and place a butterfly bandage on it. You let the silence continue if that is what he wants to do.

You’re throwing away the used wipes now, “Is that what happened to your eye?” you ask, “Another bad fall?”

He looks at you and seems to soften at the understanding in your gaze. It was warm and safe. He takes a deep breath, “Yeah. Another fall.”

“Would you consider yourself pretty clumsy?” you ask vaguely, stating the obvious without saying it out loud.

He catches on pretty quick, “It depends. Some days are better than others.”

You nod again, “Would you like something for the pain? I’ve got some ibuprofen or Tylenol.”

He agrees and follows you down the stairs again to find your mother groggy on the couch.

“Oh, hello sweetie,” she says, rubbing her eyes, “Who’s this?”

“This is Isaac,” you introduce, filling a glass with water. “He lives by Jackson Whittemore.”

Angela smiles though her eyes are droopy, “Nice to meet you, Isaac.” She suddenly squints, “What happened to your face, dear?”

He freezes as you open the medicine cabinet, “Oh, just lacrosse practice.”

He looks grateful, adding quietly, “I uh… got tackled without my helmet.”

“Boys,” Angela says funnily, “Well, hopefully it heals fast.”

Isaac gives a half smile before accepting the medicine from you, “Thank you.”

You’re still gentle as you reply, “You’re very welcome.”

~~~

The next night turns into a better one as you go on your second date with Andrew. He takes you to a Barnes & Noble, buying you a book and a coffee inside. Sitting in the little indoor café, sipping hot drinks and nibbling on pastries, you discuss your favorite genres.

Andrew listens to you with bright eyes, a sweet smile on his face. He takes you back to his house after that, turning on a Disney movie like you agreed on the last date. It only took about twenty minutes before he was pulling your chin towards his.

The night ends with a long-winded makeout and a winter formal proposal.

You were fit to burst with the information the next day, wanting to talk to the girls about the whole thing – but Allison had been off the radar the last couple of days and Lydia was attending after practice parties with the lacrosse team.

No doubt scouting for her next boyfriend (and date to the formal).

The next best option was Stiles. He picks you up and takes you to the nearest gas station for drinks and treats. You grab all your favorites, including peach rings and a large orange creamsicle.

The perfect summer treats to remind you of your favorite season.

Stiles insists on paying for the load, throwing his gummy worms and sodas on the counter. “I’d slip you cash anyway if you tried to pay.” He’s amused by your sweet smile as you open the creamsicle.

He even opens the jeep door and holds all the packages before dumping them on the floor between you.

“You’re going to step on them as you drive,” you cry, reaching down to shove all the snacks towards your feet. You almost lose a line of melting orange from your creamsicle. You lick a long stripe up the cold pop, “Should we just stop at the park?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah sure,” he says, putting the jeep in gear. “You enjoying that popsicle?”

Your lips kiss the tip of the pop, embarrassed when it makes a slurping sound, “Of course, it’s the best desert besides cheesecake.” The park isn’t far from the gas station, Stiles parking in front of the field and playground, turning off the engine. You continue to kiss and lick the creamsicle until orange and white ice cream is coating your lips.

Stiles wonders what it would taste like to kiss it off.

“My mom used to take me to this park when I was little,” you say, settling against the door and kicking your feet onto the seats.

Stiles does the same, one leg bent onto the seats and the other off the edge, able to bounce if needs be. “My mom did too,” he adds, a finger at his temple and thumb at the beginning of his jawline. He considers you, “I can see you just dying to tell me what happened.” He says it with convincing eagerness, but his face is placid as he says it.

He chooses to focus on how you lick the last remnants of ice cream off the wooden stick. It made him squirm within five seconds.

“Well, Andrew did ask me to the winter formal,” you say in hushed tones, “But that isn’t the best part. We kissed again and not just a goodbye on the doorstep kind of kiss – like a on the couch with a movie in the background kind of kiss. It must’ve been like forty-five minutes before his parents got home.”

And before you knew it, you were delving into the details of the entire night, focusing on the exciting kiss at the end. You start to compare the kissing with other boys you’ve been with before, critiquing the skill level and any corresponding downsides.

You open the sugary peach rings, chewing on them as you say, “Overall, I’d give it a solid B or B-.”

“You’re kidding!” Stiles retorts, stretching a gummy worm between his fingers, “You just went off about how great it was.”

“Yeah, but…” you shrug, sticking a peach ring on the tip of your finger like it was a life preserver for it. “… his technique was a little much.”

Stiles bites the head off his gummy worm, “What do you mean?”

“He was kind of abrasive, I had to keep telling him to slow down.” At the look of confusion on Stiles’ face, you keep going – you forget that he’s never kissed anyone before. “From the first kiss it was like he was eating my face. They were very open mouthed, and he kept trying to use tongue. I finally told him to slow down after I felt our teeth knock a couple times.”

Stiles grimaces, “That doesn’t sound fun.”

“I didn’t peg him for being the aggressive kisser,” you shrug, “It might’ve been nice if I wasn’t so surprised – like I could’ve matched his energy a bit better.”

“So, you… wait – what kind of kissing do you like?”

You ponder the question, eating the peach preserver on your finger, “I like it slow at first, you know – like you hold a cheek and draw each other in. Then it should get heavier, like more firm kisses, and you usually start moving at that point. Like… you get closer and I might sit on his lap or something.” You pull apart another peach ring, playing with the sticky gumminess between your fingers, “Then I like it when… oh my god, this was another thing! He never left my mouth.”

Stiles was only able to listen because of (1) his feelings for you and (2) the possibility that he could get some pointers on how to charm you. He had to listen to your previous encounters – a very real knife of white hot pain stuck in his collarbone and digging down his sternum – but he was getting a front row seat to your kissing preferences.

“I thought that’s how kissing works?”

You throw a candy at him, and he chases it down his chest. “Yeah, one type of kissing. But that gets boring after ten minutes. I like it when they start to kiss my neck and chest. How did you think people got hickeys?”

Stiles grumbles, head drifting to not just your ice cream lips, but the warm pulse at your neck, and the beauty marks on your skin below that. He quickly understood the desire to kiss other parts of the body.

“I get it,” he says, taking another sip of his soda. He kept finding his throat going dry, “So start slow, get more intense, and don’t forget to kiss other areas.” He nods to himself, “And the tongue thing?”

You grimace, “It can be nice if they know what they’re doing.” You sigh, slouching against the car door, “Easton from down the street was a heavy tongue guy. Like he saw one couple frenching on tv and decided that was the best way to kiss. It was like… so so wet. My chin was covered in drool by the time he left.”

Stiles was already hot around the collar, skin splotchy with red and pink. But he was starting to get an awful anxious feeling in his stomach, “There are so many things to remember.”

You look endeared as you lean forward, “But when you’re with the right person, it just feels natural. You click like all the puzzle pieces fit between you. You stop thinking about all the details and just go with what feels good.”

He tilts his head, and he looks so nervous and curious, “Was that Adam from San Fransico?”

The breath catches in your throat for a second, “Nearly. It was like a first love. It did feel natural with him, but our puzzle pieces didn’t all fit right.”

Stiles bites at his lips, “I think I had something similar to that. Never to the point where we kissed, but… I kind of obsessed over Lydia for a couple years.”

Your eyes widen, “You’re kidding, our Lydia?”

He nods, embarrassed, “Our puzzle pieces didn’t fit right either. Come to think of it, it didn’t really feel natural either. I guess that’s a pretty crummy first love, huh?” He smiles like he pities himself.

You frown, so entirely endeared by him that you feel a warmth enter your chest at his somber expression. The desire to hold him and show him what it feels like to be natural and wanted came on hard and fast.

“You can always learn to be a good kisser,” you smile, “But yes, having your puzzle pieces all fit makes all the difference in the world.”

“And how did you learn to be a good kisser?” he asks, crumbling his candy wrappers and throwing them in the back.

“That’s a bold assumption,” you laugh, “I never said I was a good kisser.”

He shrugs, playing with the hem of his shirt now, “I can just tell. There’s no way you’re a bad kisser.”

You feel rosy at those words, “I just learned from trial and error. I never had a teacher or anything.”

“I bet you’d be an excellent teacher,” he mumbles. His eyes go wide, clamping his mouth shut, biting his tongue.

You’re giddy as you laugh, “There’s only one way to find out, I guess.” Your eyes trail around his mole-dotted skin, guiding you to his slightly chapped lips and the cupids bow that leads to his perked nose. You love how red and flushed his skin is.

“What are you implying, Miss. Westbrook?” His eyes are bright, but he is deadly still.

“I don’t know,” your hands go to your temples, laughing a bit breathlessly. “Must be a sugar rush, don’t mind me.” There is something hot and heavy filling the space of the jeep, and you suddenly want to open the window to let in some cold air. You feel Stiles’ eyes on you like a deer caught in the headlights.

The silence is deafening as you turn your peachy gaze to his. He is flushed and breathing heavy and…

You consider it.

“Friends can kiss.” You pout adorably as you reason, “Scott and I kissed.”

“Not willingly,” Stiles says in his breathless voice, a small smile curling his chapped lips.

You wave a hand, “It’s purely a teaching moment.”

“Exactly…”

“But we did already make a kissing pact.”

“We can null and void the whole pact. Make it invalid based on… new circumstances.” He looks deep into your eyes before snapping out of it, shaking his head. “Wait… no, I… kissing you (Y/N)…” he was really struggling, fidgeting in his seat. “I want to but… what if I’m a terrible kisser and you’re so nauseated by it that you never want to kiss me again? I don’t wanna – I don’t want to mess it up.”

You try to decipher the speech, fogginess entering your brain as you focus on the shadows dancing across his skin.

“It’s a chance you have to take,” a smile on the tip of your words, “I did say I would help you get your first kiss out of the way.”

He struggles for breath, “Does that mean the offer still stands… to happen right now?”

You inch across the seats, in the middle now and loving how Stiles was having such a visible reaction. He goes rigid, his mouth open and eyes turning desperate. He looks scared and wanting. It looks conflicting… and hot.

“If you really want a lesson right now.” You whisper it like a newfound secret, “Only if you want to.”

“If I want to?” he sounds disbelieving, “Of course I… I mean, I don’t think I could ever say no to you, (Y/N).”

Something blossoms in your chest and it’s warm and addictive, you chase after it – prompting you to get closer, “C’mere,” you say gently and smile at how responsive Stiles is. He moves forward like a puppy searching for a treat.

You raise a hand and pause right before touching his cheek, “You sure?”

“Positive,” he says immediately, nearly leaning into your hovering hand.

You smile, touching his face and winding your hand to under his ear, your thumb in the perfect position to rub along his cheekbone. His eyes flutter close and an inaudible sigh escapes his open mouth. With the tips of your fingers reaching the back of his neck, you pull his face closer to yours. You position him at a slight angle, and he responds to your direction instantly.

He opens his eyes to find your noses nearly touching. You’re both breathing shallow, sharing the air between you, feeling it breeze and dry against your lips. He smells like candy.

And you… you smell like orange cream and peachy sugar.

“Put one hand here,” you direct his hand to your waist. Your heads stay close, gazes flickering between eyes and lips. “And another here,” you put his other to the side of your neck. His hands are so large – his fingers so long – you feel them shake as they engulf the space between your neck and shoulder. His thumb rests on your jawline while the side of his pinky sits on your collarbone. “Do what feels natural,” you whisper. “It’ll come to you.”

One hand shakes on your waist, testing a light pressure while his other hand rests very warm against the side of your neck, afraid to move.

You tilt your head to match his and find his dark honey eyes illuminated by the park streetlamps. They were still slanted in nervous desperation. He didn’t dare move, but you can tell he wants to – wants to badly.

“Close your eyes,” you say quietly, and your lips barely brush against his as you speak.

His lids close instantly – he is so pliable under your hand.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, nervously twitching his fingers against your skin.

You smile, still looking at his eager expression as you brush your nose against his slightly upturned one. And then you slot your mouth on his bottom lip. You hold it there as he tenses, his hand gripping your waist suddenly – the other digging his fingertips in the soft skin of your neck.

You pull away a few inches and say, “There… you’ve had your first kiss.”

His lips search for you, leaning forward until his eyelids fly open, “What? That’s...” his throat bobs and he clenches his teeth so you see the muscle bulge on his jaw. “Any more things you can teach me?”

You lick your lips, giggles falling out of your mouth until he cracks a small smile. You put your forehead to his, smiling wide, “The night’s still young.” You press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, “You need to relax. You’re super tense, mischief. I’m giving you permission to move your hands to whatever feels natural.”

At his quick question of hesitance, you continue, “I would tell you if anything made me uncomfortable. As long as you do too.”

He nods frantically, eager to go again with less nerves this time. Winding a hand to the back of his neck and into the short crop of his hair, you pull him towards your mouth. You kiss him softly but curiously.

You peck and move. Lip lock and switch sides. Press firmly and repeatedly. And slowly the tension falls from Stiles’ shoulders. He grips you with less anxiety and with more curiosity. A hand drags up your side, feeling the dip of your waist up to your ribcage and the line of your bra beneath your shirt. His hand drags down the same path, feeling all the same things before landing on your hips, thumb feeling the edge of your jeans.

His other hand finally relaxes, long fingers winding around your neck until his thumb is resting right on your artery. The pad of his thumb tickling under your jaw. He was being light and soft near your face, only using the pads of his fingers – while his other hand was searching with more pressure.

He was just going down to put his hand on your thigh to squeeze when your breathing hitches. He pulls away instantly, lips pinker than before and eyes wide with worry. His hands are off you in a second and you almost… almost… whine in protest.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Did I do something you didn’t like?”

You take a calming breath, slumping your shoulders, “No, in fact you’re taking my advice beautifully. You relaxed and started exploring – that’s one of the best parts about kissing someone new.” You brush a few strands of hair behind your ear, made loose when Stiles moved his hand to the back of your neck.

“Then why did…”

“I…” it was your turn to be shy, “I liked when you gripped my leg.”

Stiles widens his eyes with wonder now, “I made you make that noise?”

“Like I said, you take advice beautifully… and it works.”

He smiles wide, his turn to laugh at your endearing shyness. “Can we keep going?”

You match his smile and reply by going in for more kisses. This time you cup both his cheeks between your hands and Stiles squeaks in surprise. Both his hands land on your thighs, squeezing them under his larger palms.

You take a sharp intake of breath instead of making a noise, and Stiles fucking smiles against your lips.

Your hands touch his abdomen, and he sucks in taut, probably never having been touched there before. You quickly move up to his chest to find the expanse of his pectorals. Like you expected, Stiles isn’t rippled with worked muscle, but there’s a kind of lanky natural muscle beneath his shirt. You trail your hands up past his collarbones and around his shoulders. With your arms there you can pull him even closer.

He has to move his hands to the small of your back to remove any more space between you. He’s able to press you into him from that position.

Your hands search for his shoulder blades, fingers applying pressure there. His fingers were spreading wide against your lower back, thumbs wrapping around your waist while his fingertips touch your spine.

Your lips still fall into an easy pattern of firmly pressed kisses, switching sides and from top lip to bottom lip. Some are quick and rapid, others are longer and deeply felt. Your noses brush and press into cheeks as you struggle for air at times.

“When can I…” he kisses you, “…move from your mouth?”

You smile, kiss him, smile again. “Whenever it feels like…” you kiss again, “…the right thing to do next.”

He hums deep in his throat, moving his hands up your spine beneath your shoulders. Then he moves his lips. He places two quick kisses along your jaw and lands on your neck, right beneath the bend in your jaw. Your head falls back as he leaves chaste kisses there.

“Is this good?”

You breathe with your chest pressed against his, “You see how my head fell back? That means I like it and I’m giving you more access.”

He makes another low sound and it sends tingles of pleasure down to your core.

You keep a hand on his shoulder, supporting yourself while the other hand scrapes against his head, short hair bristles tickling your palm. You love the sound it pulls out of him.

“Open your mouth a little more,” you say, “Bigger kisses.”

He responds eagerly, excited to see what the change will do to you. His mouth opens more, leaving big, wet kisses under your ear and down your neck. A shiver runs through you, making your shoulders tense a little.

Then your watch starts to blare with an alarm.

Stiles flies off you like he was killing you, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he cries, backing away to assess you. “I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry.”

You steady yourself by gripping the back of the chair, realizing too little too late that your breathlessness was catching up to you. Your heart was working overtime. You lift your free hand, eyes scrunched as it gets harder to force air into your lungs.

“God, shit…” Stiles mumbles, coming closer again. He puts one hand on your chest, over your sternum. And his other hand holds the side of your face, thumb resting at your temple. “You feel my hand? Do you see it moving with your breaths? You need to move your breaths to your belly – your belly should move with breaths, not your chest. Try to make my hand stop moving.”

You look at him with watering eyes, your heart beating erratically in your ears. Stiles was counting the seconds until you start belly breathing – breathing with your diaphragm.

“There you go, that’s better.”

You slump into his neck and his hand wraps to the back of your head, the other to your back.

“That was unexpected,” you say quietly, lips tickling his neck.

He laughs, “I’m guessing you liked the other kisses more than the grabbing the thigh thing?”

“Maybe just a tad bit,” you say, “I told you I liked it beforehand.”

“You did,” he says, pulling you back to get a good look at your face. “You’re okay.”

You smile, “I’m okay.”

He starts to get this giddy look, “We kissed.”

“That we did.”

“Like a lot.”

“It was a lesson in many things.”

He screws up his lips, “And you liked it.”

“You take direction well.”

“I don’t know why guys don’t ask more,” he marvels, “It would make every makeout exactly what you want.”

“You are a rare breed,” you bite your lip and his eyes dart to look. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it.”

His quick answer pulled a laugh out of you. And once you start, you can’t stop. Stiles finds it cute and finds himself laughing too. Just two friends giggling in the car after an impromptu round of kissing. It was warm and light and felt… good.

“I don’t think you need to worry about messing things up with the next girl,” you say, scooting back to your side of the car, “You’ll do just fine.”

His laughing stops abruptly. “The next girl?”

“Yeah…?” you smile with a furrowed brow. “You wanted to learn to be a good kisser, right? To have your first kiss out of the way for any future girls?”

He looks put out, slightly angry, and… defeated. “Right, we had that pact.”

“Right,” you say, wondering what was miscommunicated between you two. “Maybe we should… head home for the night.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, looking for his keys, “Andrew will probably be sending you a goodnight text any second now.”

You scrunch your brow, lips resting in a frown as he turns the jeep on. You’re quick to notice the steamy windows from your hot and heavy kissing. You would’ve laughed at it if you didn’t feel like something was off in Stiles.

With the air conditioning and heater broken, you roll down the windows and Stiles tells you to stay in the car as he wipes down all others outside.

You watch him with a finger between your teeth. Did you just mess up?

~~~

You spend the next couple days trying to convince yourself that kissing Stiles was simply practice kissing. There wasn’t anything past friendly feelings between you two. It was a no strings attached kind of makeout.

It had to be.

You didn’t have feelings for Stiles. You were going out with Andrew Wickstrom for gods sake.

And again you feel guilty. If you acknowledge any interest in Stiles, then kissing him was a betrayal to Andrew.

But it’s not like you were seriously dating Andrew.

But maybe to him you are.

You hadn’t found a reason to talk to Scott and Stiles outside your friendly conversations at school. Scott didn’t usually text you, but Stiles? If he couldn’t think of a good enough reason to climb the garden trellis, he would text you about the most random things.

Facts about honeybees, star wars memes, updates on a Dateline investigation you were following, werewolf puns, and links to things he thought would make you smile.

Recently? He hasn’t texted you at all. While he wasn’t avoiding you at school, he sure as hell was when you were home.

You are currently in the mall with Lydia and Allison, picking out dresses for the winter formal. All three of you are acting distant and suspicious of each other, which is not a good look for the pretty girls club.

Getting onto an escalator, you question Allison about her frequent absences.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she says, “I just have a lot on my mind.”

You wonder if there’s been a recently discovered secret in her family – maybe like a kidnapped werewolf?

“But Jackson’s taking you to the formal,” you say, “That was nice of him.”

“Yeah, just two recently broken up friends supporting each other by going to the school dance,” Allison says with smiling sarcasm. “And what dumb, roided-up jock did you say yes to?” she asks Lydia.

“Ben Manley,” Lydia sighs, “More of a himbo if you ask me, but he’ll look good in the pictures.” She drags you two towards the prom dress section, quick to pull dresses to try on. She’s four hangers in by the time you find one you like.

“Advice,” you say to Allison, “Do I care if my surgery scars show, or do I go with a collar that climbs up to my neck?” You hold up one deep blue dress that has a lower heart-shaped neckline and another soft purple dress with a small v-neck shape that stops just under the collarbone.

Allison considers for a second, “The blue is more flattering, and you’d look great in that color. I’d say screw whoever doesn’t like you for your scars. They’re the reminder that you’re still alive.”

“Damn, okay,” you smile, “I’m going to try the blue one on.” You fling the purple chiffon dress onto a mannequin display and head for the dressing rooms.

Lydia is there with a small pile of dresses she’s already said no to. You talk to her loudly between the dressing cubicles.

“How’s it looking?”

“The cream chrome one is promising,” she says, “Hey, are we hanging out after this? I’ve got a new foot soaker I want to try. We can do mani pedis before the dance.”

You shimmy into your blue gown, loving how it flairs at your waist in beautiful night sky sparkles. “Yeah, I’d love a sleepover! It’ll be the perfect way to get ready for the dance.” There are two thick straps of the same dark blue fabric that go over your shoulders. The neckline falls lower in a heart shape, outlining the curve of your breasts and revealing your arms and chest.

The scar from your heart defect correction is less raised, less discolored, and less noticeable – but you see it run down the center of your chest. The small, three-inch incision scar from last summer is newer and still red and raised above your heart. And finally the four deep claw marks that dig around your left shoulder and arm – they leave actual divots in your flesh, and you can’t help running a finger over them. They went up and down like tiny rollercoasters.

“Get out here, Westbrook. I want to see if it’s a keeper.”

You take a deep breath, shaking your fingers through your hair to give it more volume. You step into the hallway and find Lydia in a shiny cream colored dress, complete with a black flower in her hair.

“You look amazing,” you say, smiling, “And the dress really shows off your legs. You gotta pair it with a heel.”

“I look amazing?” Lydia gawks, “Look at how flattering that one is on you! It doesn’t flair out like a ballgown, but enough to give you an airy look. And the top is stunning, it fits your figure well.” She doesn’t even mention the scars.

You grin, “I think that settles it. We’ve got our winners.” Lydia goes to change, and you agree to show Allison since she picked the dress for you.

You walk out barefoot, lifting your dress a little to give you easier access to walk faster. You find Allison holding a funny feathered dress to a mirror. It takes you a second to realize that she isn’t alone.

A man is there holding a silver dress to her figure. A man you recognize at a second glance.

It was Peter Hale, one of your long-term patients at the hospital – and the Alpha.

You run over, calling for Allison’s attention, “What do you think?”

She looks grateful to be rescued, “Absolutely beautiful, (Y/N). That’s the one for sure.”

“(Y/N)?” Peter says, “Ah, yes – you look stunning.” He goes to shake your hand, “Peter.”

You hesitate. He’s playing the ‘never-met-you-before’ coverup. “I think I’ve seen you before. Maybe… at the hospital? That’s where I work.”

He has a clever smirk on his face as he retracts his hand, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Somewhere else maybe…” you stare him down. “Like the local video store perhaps.”

“Never been much into movies,” but he does look at your exposed skin to admire his handywork to your shoulder, “You’ve got quite the collection there.” He smiles, “Wearing them like badges of honor.”

“Like a friend said,” you say, chin held high. “They’re a reminder that I’m still alive.”

He still has that subtle smirk, otherwise very rigid and unsettling, “Yes, you are.” He sounds like he would add, ‘not for long’ to the end of that.

The PA system comes on and a fuzzy woman’s voice says, “Attention, shoppers. The owner of a blue Mazda, your car is being towed.”

“What?” Allison says, “That’s my car!” She runs to find the front desk or the car outside.

You’re left with Peter, barefoot and in a pretty starry dress. He looks to you with a plain expression that held sinister notions regardless.

“Well played,” he mutters, “Scott.” You don’t dare look away from him as he talks to the thin air. “Just remember… you can’t be everywhere all the time.” He looks to you with roaming eyes, “It’s been nice seeing you, (Y/N). I’m glad you like my addition to your complexion so much. It makes me think you may want more to add to this masterpiece.”

You hate the way he stays there to gauge your reaction. You stand firm, but your fingers dig into the fabric of your dress.

“You really do look stunning in that dress,” he smiles, “It’d be a shame if it got shredded.” He walks away, leaving you feeling strangely violated and targeted. You feel angry and unsafe.

Scott was at your side in seconds, grabbing your arms, “(Y/N)? Are you okay?”

You take a shaky breath, “He’s a persistent bastard.”

“Yeah, and he’s just threatened to attack you – probably at the dance judging by how he complimented your dress.” He stands straight, listening for Lydia or Allison. “Listen, I heard how you’re having a sleepover tonight. That’d leave me free to…”

“I’ll look after the girls,” you smile, still cold and shaky from the encounter. “You look after your mom and the boys.”

He gives you a look, clearing his throat, “Right, course.”

You squint your brow, “What has Stiles told you?”

Scott scratches at his head, looking anywhere but you, “Nothing much, he’s been quiet these days.”

“Impossible,” you snort, “You may be a super cool teenage werewolf, Scott – but you are a terrible liar.”

He looks defeated, “Look, he told me how you guys kissed and he’s… he’s kind of hung up on it.”

“In what way?”

He bites his lip, looking painfully awkward, “He doesn’t want you thinking it was a mistake. He’s… scared you regret it.” Scott shoves his hands in his pockets, “He realizes it might be weird trying to be friends, and you with Andrew… he’s trying to keep the friendship civil.”

“Civil?” you scoff, “It was a no feelings kiss.”

Scott keeps his mouth shut, nodding his head and backing away, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

Your mouth is left hanging open as he walks away. Did you feel regret for the kissing? You put one hand on the silken fabric covering your hip, the other hand going to rub away the worry lines in your forehead.

Did you feel guilty because you had been going on dates with Andrew? Had you ever set clear expectations with Andrew before? If he felt like this was taking a direction into serious relationship territory, you would definitely feel guilty.

And Stiles not being completely himself…? Was that really because he was worried you thought the kiss was a mistake? Or was it because of some other unknown reason.

Returning to the dressing rooms, you knew one thing was for sure. You were in desperate need of a girls night.

~~~

In the second story living room of the Martin house, you three spend hours into the night pampering yourselves and raving about whatever came to mind.

When Harry Met Sally plays quietly on the tv in front of you, Allison leaning onto the couch and painting her toes a white color.

“I hope I don’t smudge these before they dry.”

“Here’s a fast drying topcoat you can put on them,” Lydia tosses a small clear polish. She was stuck in the armchair beside the couch with her feet bubbling in the new foot soaker. “I think I’m going to go with black for my toes. Maybe black French tips with my fingernails.” She admires her hands as you place the black polish bottle near her for later use.

You sit between the two, your toes drying an inky blue color while you prepare to paint your nails. You unscrew a pretty sapphire blue. “Can I ask you guys something?”

“Please,” Lydia pouts, leaning back in her chair.

“Do you consider Andrew and I in a serious relationship?”

Allison frowns, focusing on her brush strokes, “Um… maybe? You guys have been dating exclusively, right?”

“Only two dates.”

“No,” Lydia clicks her tongue, “You guys have had two dates and a few noncommittal kisses. I don’t think that means you’re dating seriously.”

Allison dips her brush again, “But if you’re not seeing anyone else then people will think you’re exclusive.”

“But what if I have seen someone else,” you shrug, “I guess that doesn’t matter if Andrew thinks something different.”

There was a splash, “Hold the phone. Are you saying you’ve gone out with someone else recently?”

You pull an indecisive face, “Well, no – just maybe had a… makeout.”

Allison gasps while Lydia giggles, “Oh my god, with who?!”

“I don’t know if I want to talk about it yet.”

“Well, if you’re kissing other boys then you definitely don’t think you’re seriously dating,” Allison shakes her head, “Does Andrew?”

Your shoulders tense as you focus on your nails, “I don’t know. We never had a ‘what are we’ talk. And I never told him I didn’t want anything serious.”

“Ouch,” Allison grimaces, “I think he really likes you.” 

Lydia has her arms folded tightly, “Was it Josh Arnett?”

“Gross,” you accuse, “Absolutely not.”

“Tanner Humphries?”

“No, Lydia,” you huff, “What do I tell Andrew?”

Allison stretches her legs out and wiggles her newly painted toes, “You tell him the truth. At least, you tell him you don’t want anything serious.”

“I bet it was Lucas McCrary,” Lydia muses.

“Should I do that before the dance?” you ignore Lydia. “I think it’ll hurt him.”

Allison fishes in the bucket of self-care on the couch cushion, “It’s better than leading him on further.” She extracts an avocado sheet mask.

“Was it at least someone on the lacrosse team?” Lydia interjects.

You give a tired smile, “Because those are the only boys you know?”

“The only boys I care about.”

You finish one hand and ask Allison to help with the other, “What if Andrew decides he doesn’t want to take me to the dance anymore?”

“Then…” Allison takes the sapphire blue from you, “You go stag and hangout with us. I have a suspicion that Jackson isn’t going to be the most enjoyable date.”

“Oh! Please tell me it was Tyler O’Connell – no girl can get her hands on him.”

You laugh and faceplant into the couch, “Tyler O’Connell is gay. Danny has had a little crush on him for months.”

“Huh,” she huffs, “I’m usually good at catching those things.”

“I think I’ll talk to him after school tomorrow,” you rub your worry lines with your free hand. “If anything Allison, you and I could just be each other’s dates.”

“I have a feeling I’ll be abandoned by the end of the night with how Jackson’s been acting,” she sighs, doing a second coat on your nails. “I wouldn’t mind a sweethearts dance with you.”

Lydia is having an existential crisis in the armchair, confined with her feet in the soaker. “Well, it can’t be Cameron Sanchez because he’s going with that Brittany girl in homeroom. It’s not Henry, is it?”

“What’s with the tone?” you giggle, “I like Henry Greenburg even if Coach is a little harsh with him.”

“What about…” she widens her eyes, “What about dork #2?”

Allison freezes with the paintbrush still on your nail. You take a moment to decipher what Lydia just asked.

“Who is…” you clamp your mouth into a thin line.

“Oh my god!” Lydia stands with her feet still in the soaker.

Allison flinches, “Holy shit.” She looks at your nails, “Oh, shit – I’m sorry, (Y/N).” She takes a cotton swab to fix the smudge of blue going down your ring finger. “I just… I mean…”

“What was that dorks name?” Lydia squeals, waving her hands frantically and snapping at Allison. “He’s – god, what’s his name!” She looks ridiculous being rooted to one spot but moving her upper torso like a madwoman, “He’s the little weirdo… the idiot in love!”

Your face is positively blooming red, it’s scorching, as you bury your face in a couch pillow. Allison is quick to correct her mistake to your nails, replying in a much calmer and heartwarming voice. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“Stiles!” Lydia cries in triumph before frowning, “That’s his name?”

“Yes,” you cry out, “Yes, Stiles. And it was another noncommittal kiss. It was absolutely no feelings. I was just helping him out.” In your embarrassment you slap your free hand to cover your mouth, “God, don’t ask me why,” you mumble.

Allison waits for Lydia to ask – like she knew she would.

“Why?” Lydia says, still standing in the foot soaker.

“It doesn’t matter,” you pat at your flaming hot cheeks, “What matters is that I did kiss him, and I need to clarify with Andrew that I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“I knew he was going to grow on you,” Allison mumbles with a sweet smile on her face. She finishes doing your nails and sits back on the couch. “He’s been obsessed with you for months now.”

You shake your head, “Stiles is just… very enthusiastic. He was just excited about getting a kiss.”

“From you,” Allison smirks.

Lydia is jumping out of the foot soaker and toweling her feet, “At least he’s on the lacrosse team.”

You blow out a breath and hope it calms the redness in your face. “It’s not like that. He’s…” you hesitate. “He’s a good friend.”

Allison grimaces, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

~~~

You wring your hands as you pace at the end of the hall, next to the vending machines. You wait for Andrew to leave his last class, the bell having just rung. It was eating at you thinking of a way to talk to him without hurting his feelings.

But there was no way around it – even if the dance was in two days, you weren’t going to continue playing with Andrew’s feelings.

The tall, dimpled boy comes out and sees you instantly. He smiles and jogs to reach you, excited to see you waiting.

Shit.

“Hey,” he gives you a hug and a kiss to the cheek, “How are you?”

You swallow hard, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” You pick and pull at your fingers, looking up at him with a face that scares him.

He furrows his brow, nodding his head toward the empty ceramics classroom. There weren’t any art classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. “Then let’s go talk.” He guides the way and opens the door for you.

You have a terrible guilty feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had to let someone down before.

Among the desks with spinning wheels dusted with dry clay, you stand in the middle of the room. “Andrew… I wanted to ask what you see between us… for the future.”

He still looks skeptical, but there’s a smile enveloping his face. “Well, I’ve liked how our dates have been so far. And I really like you, (Y/N).” His dimples are out full force, shadowed by the dim lighting. “I want to see where this goes. I think we could get serious. I’m – I’m looking for something serious. But… I want to hear what you have to say first.”

You pinch your fingertips, “Um… well I’m glad we’re having this talk.” You swallow thickly and the smile on Andrew’s face dips. “I… I’m not looking for something serious.”

“Oh,” Andrew says dryly. His face is in full shadow now. “I see, uh… have you always felt that way?”

You nod while you try to find your voice again. The look of hurt on his face was making the guilt in your stomach flare tenfold. “I don’t want a boyfriend in high school.”

He nods slower, looking to the ground. “I wish I knew that sooner.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I should’ve been more clear in the beginning. I thought we were just having some fun.”

“Fun,” he laughs sardonically. “No, I should’ve been more honest with what I was looking for.” His eyes were sad, but he put a smile on his face. “I’m glad you told me.”

You nod, desperate for his words. “I totally understand not wanting to see each other anymore…”

“That would probably be for the best,” he runs a hand through his curly hair.

“And… and we can go separately to the dance,” you say quickly, “I don’t mind.”

He looks at you with slight concern, “I don’t want you to go alone.”

“I have some friends I can go with.”

The room feels smaller, colder than you remember. It was an awful feeling telling someone you don’t like them in that way. You did not like hurting people.

Andrew was nodding to himself in agreement, “Then I hope you have a good time with your friends.”

He was being so kind to you when you felt you didn’t deserve it. It was your fault he was sad. Your fault that he didn’t have a date for the dance. Your fault that his feelings were being hurt now.

A stinging was building behind your eyes. “Thank you. I hope you do find someone to be serious with. You deserve it.” A lump builds in your throat, “You’re a good guy, Andrew.”

He sighs deeply, “I guess I’ll see you later then.”

“Sure,” you say quietly, voice being overtaken by emotion. And you’re left in the dark, cold room. Guilt eating at you and shame whispering terrible things in your ear. You almost wish he had blown up about it; yelled at you for not being completely honest in the beginning. It hurt worse hearing his quiet acceptance of the rejection.

You’re grateful the classroom is abandoned when a tear falls from your eye.

~~~

“Why didn’t you stop by Lydia’s house?” Stiles accuses, arms in the air, “That was prime time to overhear girl talk!”

“I wasn’t going to spy and eavesdrop,” Scott scolds, leading the way out of their last class of the day. “That wouldn’t be right when I still need to keep you and Jackson safe.”

Stiles rubs harshly at his face, silly noises of outrage spilling out, “But how else am I going to hear how (Y/N) feels about the whole jeep-makeout thing?!”

“I don’t know, talk to her?” Scott deadpans.

“Yeah, right,” Stiles scoffs, “I’m such an idiot. How else is she supposed to feel about it? She told me she doesn’t date seriously, and she told you how it happened with no feelings…” A white hot pain stabs his sternum, his heart roiling excruciatingly. “I just… I wanted it to be real.”

Scott sighs, pulling at his too long hair, “Listen, if she is seeing you in a friends with benefits kind of way, I don’t see why you can’t give it a shot.”

For a few moments Stiles dwells on the thought of having all the benefits of a relationship without commitment. It was tempting but... “I want more than that.”

“Wow,” Scott raises his eyebrows, “I’ve never heard such mature words leave your mouth before.”

“Shut up,” Stiles groans, “I just wish she’d talk to me!” He goes for one of the back doors by the vending machines, “She does this thing where she tells me the truth without the whole truth.”

“You mean with her heart?”

Stiles rubs hard at his eyes, “It’s got to be the reason for everything. I tried to get my dad to tell me about it and he pulled the ‘doctor-patient-confidentiality’ thing on me.” He grumbles, letting his backpack drop from his shoulders, “I’ve never… I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on like this.”

Scott sits on a hallway bench, watching his friend wallow in his self-pity and broken heart. “It starts out that way. But it gets easier.”

“What do you know about unrequited love, genius?” Stiles puts his hands on his hips, “You got to be Allison’s boyfriend with the dating and the kissing and the feeling her up…”

“Watch your mouth,” Scott points a finger.

Stiles slumps to the floor and against the stone wall. “And now we’re all targets in a major werewolf operation. How do you think the dance is going to go?”

“I don’t know. I’m still going to be there,” Scott says with a sad smile, “Even if Coach is up my ass.” He stands from the bench, “I should probably find a suit before my shift at the vet clinic.”

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles, lifting a few fingers in a goodbye, “I’m gonna grab a snack before I go – see you later.”

It took another minute before Stiles could get off the ground. Thoughts of you swirling permanently there. The feel of your warm, soft skin. The pressure of your lips on his. The thrill of hearing you react to the things he was doing. He could still smell the sweet fruity scent of your hair, your lips sticky sweet with sugar.

Had it all been a dream? You sure acted like it with how the whole night was yet to be a topic of conversation.

But the feel of you, as dreamlike as it had been, was grounded in his mind like a chain to a wall. He would never forget how your head fell back, how your fingers went through his hair, how your lips fit so well between his own. Fit like a puzzle piece.

He thought that the kiss would lessen his ache of unrequited love – that he would have at least gotten a taste. But sitting there with the deep ache beating a little stronger in his chest – he knew it was going to be even more painful to be around you and not spout what he was feeling.

Like he told Scott, he wanted more. It was more than the sugar left on your lips. It was the way his dad smiled at the homecooked meal. The way he felt he could mention his mom around you. The fact that you were the first girl he could be alone with and not feel completely at a loss.

He rubs his forehead again, standing as though lead was in his stomach. He felt nauseous. It was making him sick how much he wanted you.

Then an empty classroom door swings open and Andrew Wickstrom walks out, head down and expression bleak.

He walks right out the back doors into the late afternoon light. And the slump in his shoulders made Stiles curious. All thoughts of a snack out of his mind, he stands, abandoning his backpack, and inches toward the empty classroom.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but seeing you standing there, holding yourself as tears fell from your eyes was not it.

The deep ache in his chest pulses like it yearns for you. Having you in his vision was enough to make the roiling in his heart pucker with hope. But the lead in his stomach becomes heavier as he pushes the door open.

“(Y/N)?”

You snap your wet eyes to him, “Stiles, what are you doing here?”

He continues to inch forward, eyes never leaving your face, “I was just going to stop by the vending machines before heading out.” He stops a few feet from you, “What happened?”

You sniff, wiping at your eyes that just continue to stream. “I told Andrew I don’t want anything serious.” Your brow is furrowed into permanent lines, face screwed up like it’ll stop whatever emotion is trying to get out. “And he was pretty hurt by it.”

Stiles takes another step forward, fingers twitching at his sides. Was it okay to touch you? “Andrew doesn’t seem like the type to get real upset by a breakup.”

“He was being so kind to me,” you hiccup as you continue to hold back, “And I was hurting him.”

“But you were being honest, which is better than leading him on,” Stiles says quietly. He’s now just a foot away from you.

“I’ve never had to turn someone away like that,” more tears were cascading down your face, much to your chagrin, “It did not feel good.”

Stiles lifts one of his hands, meaning to touch your shoulder, but you accept it as an invitation for a hug. He almost sighs in relief and wraps his arms around you tightly, keeping you pressed to him like it would staunch the ache in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your strawberry scented hair, “If it had to be with anyone, though – I’m glad that it was Wickstrom. He is a good guy.”

You sigh and it stutters with emotion, “It’s all my fault.” You nuzzle into his shoulder, “If I was braver I would’ve kept it going.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles was holding your waist with one hand and rubbing up and down your spine with the other.

“If I was braver, I’d get into a relationship.” You let the tears run from your cheeks and soak into Stiles’ shirt. “I’m a coward.”

Stiles runs his fingers down your back in a soothing motion, “It’s okay not to be ready for a relationship.”

“That’s not it,” you pull away, wiping at the tears making your skin itch. “I’m sorry, I’m talking nonsense.”

“No! No, wait…” Stiles was getting desperate, “You don’t have to stop there. (Y/N), I want to know what’s wrong. I want to know why. Please don’t brush it off like it’s nothing – I can see how it bothers you.”

You shake your head, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. “Trust me, this is not the time and place for that conversation.”

Stiles pinches his lips together, finding it more difficult to be patient. “What could be so terrible that you avoid it this badly?”

There’s a heavy silence and you open your mouth like you’re about to say something. He can see it on the tip of your tongue, eyes shiny and cheeks raw. It looks painful for you to say it out loud. He feels instant regret for trying to force it out of you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, walking over to pull you into a quick, but firm, apology hug. “I’m sorry, I just want to help. I hate seeing you like this.”

You gulp, “I… I think I’ll be able to tell you soon. I just… right now with… it’s not the right time.”

He nods quickly, “I get it.” He puts some space between you, watching your face carefully, ready to catch you should your heart give out. He puts a thumb between your brows and wiggles it around like it’ll ease the tension enough to remove the lines of worry.

You melt a little, a smile curling the sides of your mouth, “I’m sorry you walked in on that.”

He shrugs, “I’m not sorry at all.”

You take a deep breath, remembering to fill your belly with it and not your chest. “I guess I’m going to the dance without a date now.”

There’s a leap in his chest and Stiles wonders if his heart was the one about to give out. “I can take you!” he says before you even finish your sentence.

You smile wide this time, “I probably shouldn’t go with another boy after just breaking things off with Andrew. I am going with Allison and Lydia, though.”

His leaping heart crash lands, “Sure, right – that makes sense.” He’s grateful for the dimly lit classroom keeping his embarrassment blush in shadow. “I’ll still be there though, for a dance or two.”

“I’d like that,” you grin, eyes bright but no longer tear-filled. “Could I get a ride?”

“Always.”

~~~

Melissa trades patient files with you at the newly refurbished nurses station. You exchange some words of note about certain patients on the floor. She reminds you to drink more water and you remind her to take a break.

She smiles at your avoidance, “How are the dance preparations going?”

You show her the shiny blue nail polish on your fingers.

She squeals and admires them, “Ah, I miss dances. And the dress?”

“Like starlight,” you breathe, taking a twirl around the hall, “But with flats because I am not venturing into battle in four-inch heels.”

Melissa sighs, “Dances are so much more fun with girls. Scott refuses to show me his suit and he’s never home anymore.” She leans against the counter, “I hope he’s okay.”

You give a thin smile, “He’s doing his best. With Allison and lacrosse and his grades… he’s doing his best. Trying to do more than that actually.”

“He expects a lot of himself,” Melissa nods. “I’m glad he has friends like you with him.” She checks her watch when she asks, “And the Andrew thing?”

“Over,” you shrug, a day after the breakup and still a little tender. “We wanted different things, and I thought it best not to drag it out.”

“Man, better than just ghosting him,” she says with a bitter tone, “How mature of you.”

You remember the terrible date she went on with Peter Hale. Jackass. “It was the right thing to do. And I’ll just save a few dances for my friends. It’ll still be a nice night.” You sit in a swivel chair, arms folded, “There’s no way I’m going to miss my chance to go to a school dance.”

Melissa gives you a soft, sad smile, “Well, kiddo – I’m off to make my rounds. Mr. Hendrickson has been calling my button for the last ten minutes. I swear I’m going to take his tv away if he keeps asking me how to change the channels.”

You laugh, saluting her off, and returning to the rest of your charting. You were just marking when you administered medications when a soft tap to your counter caught your attention.

Standing there was Scott and Stiles.

“Hello,” you say cheerfully, “How are my boys?”

Both lift their hands to reveal brown paper bags. Scott grins, “We might’ve brought you guys dinner?”

“Greasy takeout,” Stiles corrects, “But edible enough for dinner.”

You sigh, heart warmed, “Well, your mom just went into room 18 down the hall,” you point, “But we can take our break when she gets back.”

“No, I’ll wait for her,” Scott says quickly, already down the hall, “We’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Stiles shrugs at your look of suspicion, “Where do you usually eat?”

You lead Stiles from the elevators to the hospital cafeteria. There you find a round table by the windows to sit. It was dark outside with the perfect view of the moon over the mountains. Stiles seems a little uncomfortable as he follows you through the building.

He keeps looking behind his shoulder and peering into patient rooms with big eyes.

“Burgers and fries?” you ask hopefully.

Stiles lays the meal out on grease stained napkins, “Bon Appetit.”

You lean into him, “Thank you, I wasn’t planning on dinner tonight.” You start with your fries as he looks at you with contempt.

“Because that’s a great idea with your prone to fainting condition.”

“Why did you guys really stop by?” you always start with your fries, saving the main meal for last. You focus on them as Stiles thinks of something to say, eating his hamburger like it was his first meal in days.

He gives a funny half shrug, “Scott needed to check on his mom with his whole ‘patrolling-the-pack’ schedule. He asked if I wanted to come, and we came up with the excuse of getting us all dinner.”

“Brilliant,” you say, finding that the drink he brought was filled with your favorite soda. “Any news from the Alpha?”

“Not since you guys went dress shopping,” he wipes at his mouth with his sleeve. “Which, by the way, I would’ve loved to come to.”

“No you wouldn’t of,” you laugh, “Helping girls carry their dresses and waiting forever to critique every outfit with the same indifferent words… sounds terribly boring.”

He takes a deep breath as he downs his drink. “Sounds like fun. Helping you pick out a dress? I’d run out the red carpet so you could practice your model walk. We’d play montage music with different colored lights. We can make trying on dresses fun.”

“I don’t know how to model walk,” you giggle.

He nods in mock seriousness, “You just have to look like you’re about to sneeze and the thing you’re wearing is giving you a massive wedgie.” He moves his shoulders around in a pretend walking motion, his face slightly pinched like his nose was itching.

You were laughing by the time he coached you into making the same ridiculous face. Then he flinched when a group of resident doctors walked in loudly, ready for their dinner. He looks uncomfortable again, picking at his fries half-heartedly.

You consider him for a minute, “You don’t like hospitals, do you?”

He huffs a laugh, “What gave you that idea?”

“You’re being more twitchy than usual.”

He eyes you, “I’ve been here plenty of times, you haven’t made that observation before.”

“You’re really thinking about it today,” you press, “Is something wrong?”

He ticks his jaw, playing with his fries. “I used to eat in here a lot… when my mom was here.”

Your chest goes tight. Of course it has something to do with his mom, “Stiles, I’m…”

“My dad used to leave me here when he went to work,” he keeps going, “The nurses were all my friends, and I ate dinner in the cafeteria all the time. They would save an extra chocolate pudding for me sometimes.” He smiles in painful fondness, “I was alone when… when she…”

He couldn’t say it.

You scooch closer to him, letting him talk without you interrogating him. He looks at your eager expression with a soft smile, “She had frontotemporal dementia.” He leans closer to you subconsciously, enjoying the security he felt near you.

“It started with little things like she couldn’t pick up her keys and she wouldn’t sleep at night. Then she couldn’t function at her job, so she stayed home. Then she started to get… scary.” He takes a deep swallow, “She started seeing things – hallucinations – and became paranoid sometimes. We had to hospitalize her soon after that.”

You knew the symptoms of frontotemporal dementia. Some of the long-term patients at the hospital had dementia. But you let him continue to talk without your input. You could guess that he didn’t talk about his mom very often, especially her death.

You put a hand on his arm as silent support.

He takes a breath at your touch, “When I’d visit, I didn’t know if I’d see my mom or the patient dealing with dementia.” His eyes look a little glassy as he continues, “It was hard spending so much time here. I knew she wasn’t going to come home. And then one night when my dad was on call… it was just me at her bedside.”

You rub your thumb into his forearm, “How old were you?”

“Eight,” he says, sniffling as the emotion burns his throat. “Seeing her deteriorate that fast… it was awful.” His lip trembles, “That was my mom, you know?”

You move your arm around his back, resting your head on his shoulder. It was a hug you could give while sitting at a table. “I know.” You squeeze him tight, “It must’ve been horrible.”

His breathing was shaky, “It was,” he rubs roughly at his eyes, “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. Not even Derek Hale.”

“What about Mr. Harris?”

He makes a considering face, a smile curling his lips. “Maybe.”

You pinch him, “That’s terrible.” You trail your fingers across his back, looking for more tears, “Why tell me?”

He watches you wipe away a tear before it reaches his chin, “Because I wanted you to know.” He shrugs, eyes a little redder, “I like you, and I trust you.”

You watch him with rosy cheeks. An immense feeling of pride was swelling in your chest. Stiles chose you, out of dozens of people, to talk about the death of his mom. A horribly sensitive subject for him. He had gone out of his way to be in an environment that reminded him of uncomfortable things to bring you dinner. He opened up to you and gave you a large part of his heart.

He was doing it partially to tell you things he wanted you to know – things you needed to know to be close to him – but also to partially tell you that it was okay to open up about horribly sensitive stuff.

He wanted to hear your story too.

But how could you now? You feel a pang in your chest. How could you explain to Stiles that you would reach a similar end before too long. An end like his moms.

~~~

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

[bamboozledbird]

𝕚𝕗 𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall Pairing(s): Stiles x fem!reader, Stiles x you (no use of y/n), Theo x fem!reader, Stiles x ofc Word Count: 7k (bbygurl got away from me oops) Tags: Hurt/a little, itty bit of comfort, angst is my lifeblood i fear, let's play a game of who can find all the noah kahan lyrics Warnings: Underage drinking/drug use (at least in america rip, they're all 19+), suggestive language, some light cheating, i think that's it?, sad girl summer :'(

Request: “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!” for stiles please and thnk you!!!

Part II: after many requests, here’s the happy ending: part two A/N: i am well aware theo is way too nice, and me personally?? could never forgive him for hurting scott mccall, the light of my fucking life. but it's for the plot. the things we must do for the plot of it all. i might make a part two? but this was already long, and i liked the conclusion enough to stop. lemme know if that sounds interesting to y'all. ps: listen to strawberry wine and the view between villages for vibes.

That first night, you drove home—207 miles in less than 3 hours, sobbing the entire way. Didn’t matter that you were right in the middle of finals. Didn’t matter that you had Math 19 at 8:00 in the morning. Nothing mattered except for the ringing in your ears, the blistering echoes of, ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ over and over and over again until you stumbled into the house you grew up in—the house he practically grew up in. He was all over every room, all over your entire goddamn hometown, all over you, and you had this desperate, crawling urge to scrub your skin raw. Strip everything away with turpentine until the shadows of his hands and mouth were gone, until you couldn’t smell cedar and 15 years of summer nights and Sunday mornings. 

That night you cried so hard it scared your sister. She spent most of the night with her back slumped against your bedroom door, fingertips poking through the little crack underneath, just like she did the first night your parents brought you home. She had to know that you were breathing, had to make sure that your little chest was rising and falling in your sweet bassinet—if you were inhaling in-between your fractured sobs. You eventually cried yourself to sleep—like a baby, like a broken heart—and thrashed around sweat-damp sheets and dreams of him kissing someone else on his couch. 

Months later, you finally realize it’s a bit self-involved to think that the universe cares enough about your short, temporal existence to conspire against you…but it certainly feels like it when you tie it all together with red string. After Stiles stopped wanting you, everything just…decayed, rotted, died—so quickly, too quickly for you to bury any of the remains. You’re still grieving Allison, constantly, and currently failing at least half your classes, and, oh yeah, battling literal demons at least three times a week—but mostly, you’re just tired. You’re just so goddamn tired of it all.   

To put it plainly, you’re drowning. 

That must be why the neat lines of text in your Math 20 textbook are swirling into indecipherable whirlpools. It’s just so…frustrating. You get math. Math is your thing. Derivatives shouldn’t ever send you into a bout of angry tears—but you are, you’re angry. Angry at the numbers for blurring into something unrecognizable, angry at yourself for not recognizing them, for becoming a person you don’t know or like. Your lashes clump together, and few mascara-tinted tears drop onto the glossy pages. At least, the cloudy text isn’t a hallucination now. 

 “Are you okay?”

The library is quiet, so quiet that you should’ve heard him coming, but you jump at the sound of Theo’s voice. You don’t know him that well; Theo isn’t really the kind of guy you’d talk to, at least not before everything you knew slipped through your fingers. It’s not like you ever disliked him; it’s just…he’s always been everything you’re not—focused, organized, completely in control. He’s confident but not cocky, smart but not arrogant, ridiculously good-looking but just charismatic enough that you can’t really hate him for all the maiming and scheming he pulled last year. He’s been punished enough, you think, and sure—maybe a part of you feels that way simply because Stiles doesn’t.

You haven’t spoken to Theo much, not really. Scott does most of the talking when he shows up to the occasional pack meeting, and Lydia won’t let him within ten feet of you anyway. Frankly, you don’t realize that he knows your name until he says it. His voice is soft in a way that you know isn’t just because of library conduct. It’s his eyes, you think—they’re warm with a concern you aren’t sure what you’ve done to deserve.

You nod and then blink at the fuzzy pages of your math book, eyes almost vacant, “I just…I don't understand.”

Theo sits down next to you and leans forward, scanning the text briefly, “Which part?”

You flush, “...all of it.”

He doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes like you thought he might. Instead, he pulls his chair closer to yours and reaches for a pencil. “Most people will tell you that derivatives are the ‘instantaneous rates of change.’ That’s what the book says, and it’s kind of true, but you’re right—that doesn’t actually make any sense. Things can’t actually change in a single instant, right? Obviously, change happens between two instances, so what they actually mean is a derivative's the rate of instantaneous change measured as precisely as possible.” Theo’s voice is soft in your ear as he drags his finger across your textbook, connecting the vague definitions to numbers that actually compute through your teary haze.

You sit back and just watch for a minute, a little in awe, as he makes all the squiggles into numbers again—and you haven’t been found more than a few feet away from him ever since. You guess it’s because you’re hoping, against all odds, that he can do the same for your life. At least in some small way, maybe.

It’s definitely easier to show up to Lydia's party with his hand in yours. 

You’re all back in Beacon Hills for the summer, and it’s nice. It really is. During the school year, you’re spread all across the state for the most part—you, Theo, and Lydia at Stanford; Scott, Kira, and Malia at UC-Davis; Liam and Mason, the babies, about to start their senior year of high school (it makes you want to cry if you think about it too long); Derek in…wherever he ends up for a season (it was fun to visit while he was in New York, and you secretly hope he makes a return in the fall); and, of course, there’s Stiles. He’s all the way on the other side of the country for his Quantico internship, and you still can’t escape him. His hands are all over your scent, all over every important moment of your life since pre-school. Sometimes, you think that you’ll always be one breath away from choking on the memory of him. But it’s easier, you remind yourself; it’s easier to be a minute away from home with Theo standing next to you. 

The music is loud in Lydia’s front room, thumping through your chest and sharpening the anxiety crawling through your veins—gnawing at your corneas until all you can see are flashing lights through a haze of vape and weed: pink, blue, green, red, and then pink again.

Theo tightens his grip on your hand and gently pulls you into the kitchen. It’s still loud, but the air is clearer here, and the crowd is thin. There’s a couple you vaguely recognize from high school making out on the granite countertop, too enwrapped in each other’s tongues to notice the mixer-sticky surface, and a couple boys who were on the lacrosse team gather drinks for another round of beer pong behind them. 

“You’re psychic,” you hum, resting your chin against the little dip in Theo’s sternum so that you can grin up at him, “tell the truth.”

He laughs easily and wraps his arms around your waist, the solid weight releasing some of the vague unease stubbornly clinging to your synapses. “I solemnly swear that my supernatural abilities end at claws and fangs. I just know you; that’s all.” 

You hum as he sways with you a little and shake your head, “It’s only been a few weeks. You’ve gotta have some help from the other side.”

Theo shrugs and lifts you onto the counter behind him—a non-sticky patch, thankfully—and brushes your hair out of your eyes, “Maybe I’ve been paying attention for a little longer than a few weeks.”

You tilt your head and purse your lips into a pout you hope is even half as cute as the wicked gleam in Theo’s eyes, “How long?”

He shrugs again and ducks down to murmur in your ear, “Maybe since the first grade.”

His breath is warm against your cheek, but you know that’s not the only reason your face feels hot. You push against his chest, pulling a little face, “Shut up.”

Theo laughs and grabs your wrists, kissing your knuckles, “I’m serious! You were so cute with your little pigtails and missing teeth.”

You whine a little, embarrassed as you are as pleased, and hide your face in his neck. It smells good, a little citrusy from his cologne and a little sweaty from the sheer amount of grinding bodies in the house—like a man, like he can and will take care of you. “Stop it. I hated those bangs.”

He pinches your sides a little, “And the way you’d always shoot your hand up first—with the right answer, of course—I was smitten.”

You pull away from his neck and arch your brow, “Was?”

“Am,” he concedes with a soft smile, cupping your cheek and thumbing along your lash line, “am completely smitten.” 

He dips in to kiss you, lips barely an eyelash-width away from yours, when a prim cough pulls him away from his spot in-between your legs. You peer around his shoulder and roll your eyes, albeit fondly, at the stern look on Lydia’s face. She’s always been protective of you, even more so after Allison and the whole Stiles debacle, but you’re a bit tired of the Theo Raeken witch hunt. 

You slip down from the counter and rock onto your tiptoes to kiss Theo’s cheek—mainly to see the pinch in Lydia’s perfectly tapered brows. “Can you put this in the coat room,” you hum against his skin, shrugging off your baggy leather jacket. He knows the real reason you’re sending him away—of course he does, sometimes it feels like he knows everything—but he goes with a smirk anyway because, despite Lydia and Stiles’s suspicions, he’s trying his absolute hardest to redeem himself. 

“You could be a little nicer, y’know,” you reach for a hard lemonade from the ice bucket dripping a puddle of water onto the tile floor. You uncap it on the lip of the massive island and fold your arms over your chest, “He’s been nothing but the perfect boyfriend so far.”

Lydia matches your stance, brows curving, “Boyfriend?”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears. You haven’t actually discussed labels or exclusivity—you think it’s too early; don’t want to scare him off, but Lydia doesn’t need to know that. “Boyfriend.”

Her curls trickle over her shoulder like the strawberry wine in her cup as she tips her chin and purses her lips into a flat line, “Stiles is here.” 

You try not to react—aren’t entirely sure why you do—and hide your complicated frown behind a sip of lemonade. It’s extra bitter going down. “Okay?”

Lydia shifts her weight from one Jimmy Choo to the other and sighs heavily, “He’s not going to like it.”

A flare of irritation sparks in your gut that you chase with a tip of your bottle. “Okay?” you mutter, wiping the excess liquid away with the back of your hand. A smear of nude lipstick is left behind, and you feel the sudden need to leave some on Theo’s neck for everyone to see. 

“I’m just warning you; it’s going to be a whole thing,” Lydia waves her hand in the air as she takes a dainty sip from her cup. Her pink manicure shines under the lights, and you wonder briefly how she can make every color look good with her red hair.

You hum and lean forward, grin a little sloppy as you sidle up to her side, “That you’ll be on my side for. Obviously.”

Lydia watches you carefully, eyes heavy, and tucks some of the hair falling in your face behind your ear. “Obviously,” she takes your hand, squeezing it tightly, and you feel a little less giggly and a lot more tender. 

You let her pull you into the crowded front room for a dance. It’s a good song, you think. Happy, lots of bass to jump to, and you’re shiny-faced and giddy by the time it’s over. 

Meandering towards the back patio for some fresh air, you pull your tank top away from your torso, gauzy material sticky with sweat and someone’s body glitter. You aren’t entirely sure where Theo ended up, but you take it as a good sign that he’s mingling with your friends—which, bless his crooked little heart, is all he’s ever wanted. 

The night breeze is so nice against your clammy skin that you feel a little lightheaded. You collapse on a padded deckchair and kick your feet up onto a keg, empty, most likely, based on its current state of abandonment. After a moment of hazy tranquility, a red solo cup filled to the brim with an unknown, potent liquid blocks your view of the winking gold embellishments on your boots. 

“You look like you need a drink,” Scott smiles at you from his slight bend over your head.

You take the cup from Scott eagerly and down about half of it to soothe the rawness in your throat—asthma is a bitch in hotboxes, makes you almost consider asking Scott for the bite. “I need about ten,” you hum, licking the little dribble of cherry-something from the corner of your mouth. It’s too sweet, but the ice is easing the beginnings of a headache forming in your temples. 

Scott sits down next to you, and you grumble a little as he nudges your side with his elbow until he has enough room to stretch his legs out too. “You look happy,” he grins at you, eyes crinkly and sweet. “Been a minute since I’ve seen that.”

“I feel happy,” you lean against his side and rest your cup against your cheek. The condensation gathered on the plastic is a godsend against your flushed face. “For the first time in…way too long.”

“Good,” Scott's voice is sincere, in the most genuinely empathic way that only Scott McCall can be, and he gently nudges your foot with his, “I’ve been worried.” He pauses and looks down at the contents of his cup, watches the ice slowly melt into whatever he poured for taste alone—you don’t like the pensive squint in his eyes. “You know I want to trust Theo, right? I really want to believe that he’s changed.”

You sigh a little, but because he only ever wants the best for everyone and, well, because it’s Scott, you say, “But?”

He gives his hands a small frown and taps his finger against the side of his drink, “Not a but, exactly. I do think he’s different now.” The mostly goes unsaid, and you watch him closely, waiting for him to finish. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to…rush into anything after, well,” Scott scratches the back of his neck a little and winces, “you know.”

“After Stiles dumped me because, ‘he needed space,’ and then started dating someone new two weeks later,” you finish for him flatly. He hadn’t even been subtle about it. His new girl was all over his Insta within the month—and she’s still fucking stunning in his flannels weeks later. Your stomach turns, but you swallow another mouthful of your dri—rum and Cherry Coke, you finally place the flavor, smiling a little at the memory of getting tipsy on the same drink at Senior prom with Scott, Kira, and…Stiles. It’s a good memory, you decide. You won’t let him take it from you.

“Yeah.” Scott sighs into his drink and then takes a long chug, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, you know? None of us do.”

“I know,” you smile at him fondly and kiss his cheek, “and it’s very sweet, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” 

Scott smiles, bright and puppy-like, and then his head cocks with his little sixth-sense tick—also puppy-like, you think with a smirk. Scott’s grin fades and he murmurs, “Three o’clock,” against the rim of his cup.

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

Scott laughs, but it’s strained, and then nods towards something across the pool, “To your right.”

You turn your head, expecting to see one of your friends doing something stupid, and freeze momentarily when you meet Stiles’s gaze. His eyes are a little unfocused, murky with whatever’s in his plastic cup, but they sharpen when he sees you. He backs down first, and you polish off your drink, craving the sweet burn in your throat. “I need another drink.”

“You need to talk to him,” Scott says, and he takes your empty cup away from you, like he’s worried you can magically refill it with the simple power of desire. “If you can’t do it for him, do it for me. His brooding is really getting out of control.”

You don’t bother bringing up that Stiles is the one who ended it or that he brought his new girlfriend home with him. “Maybe,” you shoot Scott a sly grin and try to snag his drink from his hands, but your clumsy fingers are no match for his werewolf reflexes, “I do love and cherish you very, very much.”

Scott laughs and ruffles your hair, approaching noogie territory. “Should’ve gone out with me.”

You can’t help but look for him through the fog rising above the heated pool. Stiles’s face is pale in the reflection of the lit water; the shadows ripple across his cheeks when he tugs his girlfriend into a sloppy kiss—Chelsea, you recall, proud that there’s only a little bitterness coating the thought. “Don’t I know it,” you finally say. It’s the churning reflection and the smell of chlorine, you reason; that’s why you feel a bit like throwing up your last couple drinks.

Scott frowns when you don’t swat at his side or make fun of him, like you’d usually do in the face of such ridiculous teasing, and follows your gaze. “But that was never going to happen, huh,” he says quietly. “Not with the…” he trails off, face scrunching as he searches for the right words, “throbbingly in love since birth thing.”

You laugh through the stabbing sensation in your chest. “Throbbingly?”

He waves his free hand as he takes another sip of his drink, “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t think I do,” you say, a small smile twitching on your face as Scott spills most of his red drink onto his white t-shirt.

He sighs and pulls the soaked material away from his chest, head darting around as he looks for something to mop up the mess. “You guys were just like…always ahead of everybody from the beginning, you know? Brains, love, all of it. I swear you both were actually born like 30—okay, it probably has more to do with the…” 

“Early on-set trauma?” you fill-in for him, sparing him the unpleasantness of bringing up dead mothers and mental illness.

Scott nods and licks his bottom lip before continuing, “I remember this kid had a huge crush on you, like way back in elementary school, and even at nine years old I knew he didn’t have a shot. It was just obvious, you know? It was always going to be the two of you. It was just always gonna end up that way.”

You almost laugh at the sight: Scott dabbing at his shirt with a pink beach towel and oh-so casually confirming that your worst fears aren’t only valid but in fact a reality. Maybe, you really can’t love someone else, not the way you loved him. Maybe, you’re just kidding yourself when you talk about it in the past-tense. Maybe, it really is just the two of you, even if it’s all in your head now. 

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for this,” you try to sound flippant, but your words are as shaky as the hand you're raking through your hair. It’s already a mess, but you can’t stop. Your hands need to do something. 

“Then you’re really not gonna like what’s coming next,” Scott says as he jerks his thumb towards something behind him.

You turn your head, and your eyes widen when you see Stiles trudging towards the two of you with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. The chair’s metal frame squeaks with Scott’s shifting weight. He clamors to his feet, mumbling something about cleaning his shirt, and you give him your most intimidating glower, “Scott, if you walk away from me right now, I swear to fuckin’ god, I’ll never—Hi.” Your tone is clipped, short and to the point, when Stiles stops in front of you.

“Hey,” Stiles’s voice is dull, void of emotion, and so is his face. He stares at you, and you wish you knew what was really flickering behind that burnt umber and citrine honey. There was a time when you would’ve known—when you always knew. It’s so strange, you think, so strange how quickly someone can become a stranger.

You clear your throat and tuck your legs underneath yourself, tugging on the hem of your short skirt to maintain some semblance of modesty. His eyes still dart to your upper thigh, lingering on the strip of skin that’s bared when you sit upright. It’s only for a split second—but it’s enough. He’s seen it before, after all. Felt it with his long fingers and open palms. Dragged his lips across it, and left wet, open-mouth kisses along every inch—but he still looks like he wants to sink his teeth into the supple flesh one last time. 

You swallow, hard, and stand, “So…how’ve you been?”

“Fine,” he replies flatly. “Obviously not as good as you.”

Your lips purse as your eyes narrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“First Theo Raeken, now Scott McCall: True Alpha, God among werewolves, Messiah of Beacon Hills. I’m genuinely impressed—bottom of my heart, babe. I mean, s’quite the body count if we’re talkin’ claws and body hair alone,” he spits. Despite the slight slur in his words, his consonants are barbed and serrated at the edges. They prick your skin and sting long after he finishes, and you know they’re going to follow you all the way home.

“Don’t be a dick,” you snap, wrapping your arms tightly around your biceps. The chill isn’t so pleasant anymore.  

“What? I’m just giving you the props you’ve so clearly earned. You’ve got the magic touch.” Stiles cants his head in a way that distinctly reminds you of someone else—a monster who stole the face of the boy you loved a lifetime ago. “I’d ask how good the sex is, but I already know. It’s that thing you do with your tongue, right? When you’re givin’ head? That’s how you get ‘em, huh. Suckers—” his drink spills on his shoes when he lets out a sharp chortle, “suckers. Didn’t even mean to do that.” 

You stare at him, eyes burning, and try to determine exactly how drunk he is. “Stop it.” You do your best to look more annoyed than devastated—the last thing you need is to start crying like you still care. He can't win; you won’t let him, not like this. “Just stop. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic.”

Something complicated rolls over his face, and Stiles clenches his fists, “Whatever. Guess it’ll be too late to say told’ya so when he rips your heart out and broils it—or whatever the fuck psychopaths do for fun these days.” 

Your face crumples a little—not because you think Theo would ever actually hurt you but because Stiles sounds so ambivalent about the possibility. Sometimes you hate him, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot—but you’ve never stopped caring, not once. You never stop worrying about if he’ll make it out alive, if he'll survive with all his breakable bones and fragile skin intact. You find yourself staring at the ceiling until the sun rises, dwelling on all the horrific, life-or-death situations he’ll end up in when he graduates from the Academy years from now. Stiles was your best friend years before he was your boyfriend. Did all that really not matter now? Just because of something as stupid as a breakup? It’s just so…high school. You really thought it’d been…more. 

Everything. You used to think it was everything.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Stiles,” you shove past him, stumbling a bit over your boots’ chunky heel and a little too much rum. 

He doesn’t follow you, and you should be glad. You should be happy that he isn’t there to witness the black smears under your eyes or the snot you’re trying to hide with a few discreet sniffles. You should be grateful that he doesn’t see Theo pull you into his side and take you home, grateful that he can’t ruin the soft kisses Theo rains down on the crown of your head and the way he doesn’t push to come inside after you say your parents are gone.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it. 

You barely manage to wipe off what’s left of your makeup with a damp towel and throw on some clean clothes before you tumble into bed. You’re still sweaty, grimy with tears and a night of dancing, but the rum is hitting hard, and you just want to go to sleep and forget he ever existed.

You’re halfway between sleep and consciousness in the early hours of the morning when you hear a loud thud against your bedroom window. The thudding continues, and with a great sigh you slip out of your sheets, hissing when your bare feet land on the cold floor. You slowly shuffle towards the bay window, trying to forget it's where you had your first kiss, and kneel on the cushioned bench. You have to rub at your eyes a few times when you see Stiles trying to break into your house. You only unlock the latch after you convince yourself that you’re going to push him off of the roof into the rose bushes two stories below, and then, of course, you sit back on your heels so that he has room to crawl through the narrow opening. 

“When the fuck did you start locking your window?” Stiles stumbles into your room and catches himself against the floor with his palm, feet still dangling over the windowsill. You take great pleasure in shoving his legs off of the window seat and watching him fall face-first onto the carpeted rug. He grunts when he lands and rubs his jaw as he sits up, “Guess I deserved that.” 

His lips part when he gets a good look at you, backlit by the moon and all his worst mistakes. You’re in an old t-shirt from middle school, bleach stains all along the left shoulder, and a pair of baggy sweatpants with ratty holes around the hem from years of dragging against the ground. Your face is still tacky with tears, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

You shift uncomfortably, pull your knees to your chest, and shiver as the night air drifts through the open window, “Still drunk?” 

“Not so much,” he holds up a mostly steady hand.

“Still a fucking asshole?”

“Probably.” Stiles bites his lip and shrugs, “Definitely.”

You stare at him, sniffling quietly, hoping that he can’t hear how pathetic it sounds, “Stiles, what are you doing here?” 

He drums his fingers against his thighs and shrugs again. You want to smack him. And hold him. And maybe drink some more liver poison until the school year starts again. “Dunno, just started walkin’, n’ I ended up here.” Stiles closes his eyes, and his lashes are so strikingly dark against his pale skin. “I always end up here,” he whispers like a vow, like a prayer, like forever. 

You dig your toes into the bench and swallow a hiccup. “Don’t,” your protest is weak, and you blame it on your sore throat. “You can’t say shit like that. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face. He’s in need of a shave, you notice, or…maybe not. You kind of like the stubble the more you get used to it—your tipsy, sleep-deprived mind stupidly wonders what it’d feel like between your thighs. Stiles sighs, returning your attention to far more unpleasant thoughts, “But I just want to.” He leans onto his palms and tips his head back between his shoulders, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I just wanna say it all, all the things I thought while you were gone. Knew I would the second I saw you.”

“You’re—” your tongue is thick as you struggle for words over the conflicting emotions wrangling each other in your throat, “you’re so fuckin’—you can’t just come here and act like—” You rub aggressively at your eyes and push yourself to your feet, “You need to go, Stiles. I want you to go.”

Stiles stands with you and cards his fingers through his hair. It’s long, curling around his ears, and you turn your gaze away from him, staring at the wall and digging your fingers into your forearms to stop yourself from reaching for him. “Can we just…talk?” he whispers, whether it’s for his sake or yours, you’re not entirely sure. He looks small, scared, but you can’t tell if he’s afraid for you or of you. “Just for a little bit. I need…I just need another minute. That’s all, and then I’ll go. Promise.”

I need. I need. I need. It’s always what he needs on his time. You cross the floor with wild eyes and snap, “What do you want to talk about? Huh? How you left me for someone else, or how I’m such a fucking whore for moving on?”

He grits his teeth and grabs your wrists, long fingers overlapping around the delicate bones when you try to yank away from his firm grip. “You think this is what I want?” He doesn’t yell. Somehow, that’s worse. “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!”

You thrash in Stiles’s arms, and his pained expression is blurry through your wet glare, “You had me! I was yours! I was so fucking in love with you, and then you—you just ended it and moved on, like it was nothing.” Your chest heaves, a stark contrast to the gentle quiver in your bottom lip. Your voice drops to something almost inaudible; it's the only way you can get through this while you're crying, the only way you can force the words through your tender throat, “Like I was nothing.”

Your cries turn into sobs when Stiles pulls you into his arms, and they wrack through your entire body when he kisses your hair and whispers sweet nonsense in your ear. You struggle for a moment longer, and then there's nothing left. You've given him everything. You sag into him, legs sinking with your full weight until he wraps his arms around your waist and presses you tighter to his chest. “I got scared,” Stiles whispers against the crown of your head when your cries peter into hiccups, and your next whimper shudders through your shoulders. He rests his palms against the small of your back and inhales the sweet scent of your shampoo, ducking his head down to kiss your forehead, “You were so far away, and so, so perfect, and I missed you all the fucking time.”

Stiles pauses, but it’s not for you. It’s a stall; you can feel his knee bounce and his fingers twitch. You wait, face buried in his collarbone, too busy trying to breathe to even think about speaking. After a moment, could’ve been seconds, could’ve been hours, he squeezes you—almost until it hurts, and it feels like he’s terrified that you’re just another one of the shadows on your bedroom walls. “I couldn’t ask you to transfer from Stanford to some fuckin’ state school in Virginia, so I fucked everything up ‘cause I guess...at least then it was my choice—and I know that just makes it worse. I know that. Because that means I chose to ruin it, I decided to hurt you…and I’m so fucking sorry. Just so unbelievably, life-ruiningly sorry.”

And there it is. The apology you’ve been waiting for, dreaming of, fantasizing about in every shower, in every cafe line, in every early morning class—and it’s just so…hollow. It sits between the two of you, heavy and horridly inadequate. “You found someone else,” you whimper into his shoulder, clasping at his t-shirt and wetting the white collar with your tears and runny nose—and you wish, more than anything, that this could be enough. “How could you find someone else that quickly?”

Stiles freezes, stops rubbing your back and rocking you from side-to-side, and it’s just jarring enough to remind yourself how dangerous it is to be in his arms. You step back and wrap your arms around yourself instead, and Stiles watches you with something hopeless all over his face. “I was just trying to prove that I didn’t make the biggest fucking mistake of my life,” he says, but he says it to his shoes. You wonder who he’s hiding from: himself or you. “Didn’t work, obviously.”

You just stare at him, arms limp by your sides, and shake your head a little. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” your voice is clotted with mucus and defeat, and it breaks halfway through along with your knees. You lean against the wall and close your lids so that you don’t have to see his eyes: so vast, so deep, so damn pretty—you’re suffocating in them. “What do you want from me?”

He’s relentless. Stiles steps forward, and there’s nowhere for you to go. “I want you.” And that’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s the rub. It’s always hunger, no sating. No happy ending. 

“Nothing’s changed.” You tilt your head and wring your fingers in the hem of your t-shirt, tugging every so often, “I’m still going back to Stanford, and you’re still going back east in the fall.” UPenn. Criminology, obviously. You never got the chance to congratulate him. 

“I know,” he’s right in front of you now, waiting for you to push him away. You don’t.

The back of your head hits the wall as you tip your chin up to look at him, “And I have Theo, and you have…her.”

“I know,” he braces his hands next to both sides of your head, watching your lips move without any shame, breath hot against your skin. 

“Stiles…” you plead with him through your lashes, asking for mercy, on hands and knees begging him to turn around and leave.

“Tell me you don’t want me.” Stiles rests his forehead against yours, “Tell me it’s over, and there’s nothing I can do to fix this.” 

“You already know,” you close your eyes and shake your head, nose rubbing against his, “you know I’d be lying.”

“You love me.” It’s not a question. He knows. He’ll always know.

You shake your head again, and Stiles can taste the salt on your lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

“I love you,” Stiles whispers, carding his fingers through your hair.

“Too late,” your lips brush against his, feather-light, and catch on the chapped center of his mouth.

He kisses you, cups your jaw like you’re ineffably precious, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in months. Stiles tilts his head a little, and his tongue is gentle in its prodding, almost sweet—but he grabs onto your hips like he wants to eat you alive. You just might let him, you think, when you feel his stubble scrape against your neck as he trails a balmy line of kisses towards your collarbone. 

You wind your fingers in his hair and tug to keep yourself on your feet. “We ca—ah,” he licks along your pulse, on purpose, and you shiver, “we can’t do this.”

Stiles hums against your cheek. “And yet, here I am, sliding my hands under your shirt, trying to cop a feel.” His fingers dip under your shirt. They’re cold on your bare stomach, and you flinch a little. Dizzyingly, you remember where you are, who you’re with, and who's going to text you in the morning to make sure you’re okay.

“We really can’t do this,” you whisper, slipping your hands from his hair to his arms. You pull them away gently and tip your head back from his persistent mouth, “I’m not going to hurt Theo the way you hurt me, and I’m not going to let you do this to someone else.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, words gravelly and thick. He turns away from you, paces the length of your room a few times and throws his hands around like he can change your mind if he gestures hard enough, “You know it’s not the same.” Stiles stops abruptly and shakes his head, seemingly at nothing—and then he’s back in front of you before you can catch your breath. He places his hands on your shoulders and then slides his palms to your biceps, just holding onto you. Not clutching, not squeezing, just a light touch that you can’t seem to break away from. 

“You’ve been my best friend for 15 years,” Stiles licks his bottom lip, and you watch him with wide eyes and a blitzing heart, “and I’ve loved you for well over half of ‘em—just plain wanted you even longer.” He slips his hand down your arm to your hand and tangles his fingers with yours, lifting them to rest over his skittering heartbeat, “You’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it should be.”

You want to say it back, you do, but you just can’t. Not with all the unresolved details wriggling in your ear. “You brought her home, Stiles. You can’t just…just introduce her to your dad and cheat on her all in the same day.”

“Technically, cheat on and then dump,” he tries to smile, but it’s not convincing. Not with the guilt dimming his eyes.

“That’s not funny,” you snap, but the guilt is good. He wouldn’t be the man you know, the boy you grew up with, if he didn’t feel at least a little guilty about the whole thing.

“Dad’s out of town,” Stiles admits quietly, and for some reason, that means more to you than his apology, than his kisses, than his hand in yours. You didn’t realize how much the thought had been bothering you until now—destroying you one post at a time. “I only brought her because I knew you were going to be here with…him.” He shrugs a little, “Frankly, I think she knows. She aced behavioral science.”

You roll your eyes and huff, “You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” he concedes and kisses the back of your hand, continuing along the row of your knuckles, “but I’m in love with you, and it’s become abundantly clear that I always will be.”

Your bottom lip trembles with the desire to give in to what you want, but your hand twists away from him with what you know is right—even though it feels so horrendously wrong. “I can’t do this to him, Stiles. He’s been through so much, and he’s been so good to me, and he’s trying so hard to—”

“But you don’t love him!” Stiles hisses. It’s the loudest he’s been all night, but you don’t flinch from the volume. It’s the truth of it all, the vile honestly you can’t hide from that makes you recoil.

You look at the ceiling through your lashes, an old trick to fight the tears welling in your tear ducts. Some girl in middle school told you about it in the bathroom, and you try to remember her name and what cloying body spray she was spritzing instead of thinking about how easy it would be to let Stiles crawl into your bed and make you forget about everyone and everything that isn’t him. “I should,” you finally murmur throatily, biting on your lip, “maybe I could…someday.”

Stiles whips his head towards your face and takes a little, stumbling step backwards, “You don’t believe that.” You’re sure he wishes that he sounded more confident than he really is, but he wavers with the hand rubbing the back of his neck, “Say you don’t believe that.”

“You need to go, Stiles.” You clutch at your arm with your other hand and step back towards your bed, further away from him and the wet film over his eyes. “I’m serious this time. I need you to leave.”

He opens his mouth and then scrubs his arm over his face, wiping away the incriminating wet gleam on his cheeks with the sleeve of his flannel. “Okay,” his throat bobs with the strength of his swallow, “yeah, okay.”

You wait until he reaches your bedroom door to crawl onto your bed. You curl in on yourself like a child, press your face into your legs, your knees to your chest, your back against the headboard—but he pauses before you can really fall apart.

Stiles rests his hand against the doorframe and chews on his cheek, on his words, on the thought of you, and then he says, “I’m still breaking up with her. You don’t…you don’t owe me anything—that’s fucking putting it lightly, I know—but I’m still breaking up with her.” He lifts a shoulder and smiles, a little sad but so true, “There’s no one else for me. There’s never going to be anyone else…just thought you should know.”

He’s gone by the time you look up from your kneecaps. Good. You were this close to giving in. This close to throwing yourself off the edge for someone who’s dropped once before, and you’re still cleaning up the mess he left behind. You should be proud of yourself, happy that you weren’t weak enough to say yes, yes, a million, billion, trillion times yes.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it.

[romangolden68]

( TF story 4 mah broz @golden-logan10, @scott-golden9 and @toxicafaesthetic) Zeus and Hercules were best buddies growing up. Coming from a small town in rural Texas, they grew up together as their families knew each other heavily. During Easter time, Zeus and Hercules would find shiny, golden eggs together as their families discussed grown-up topics, during the 4th of July they would salute the flag together and play with Roman Candles, but their favorite time together was when they played Football on Thanksgiving. Football soon became their bonding activity, for Hercules was exceptionally strong and made for a great Linebacker, while Zeus was Agile with a capital A and made for a great Wide receiver. They grow up playing football, growing to love the sport to the point of reaching the thresh hold of obsession, but they still had another dream; to travel to the United Kingdom after college. Time passed and they grew up, playing football first in Middle School and being the best players on the team. Then they went to High School and were immediately in first string Varsity. Eventually, during their senior year, they would end up as D1 athletes. As a result of working out and playing football for their entire youth, when they both blew out their candles on their shared 18th birthday, they were truly the strongest people in their small town. Alas, they had to leave the small town and head to a big city college, but they both managed to get to the same college on a sports scholarship. At college they were inseparable. Every class they shared, every schedule was the same, it was as if the gods above didn't want them to separate. They even were able to keep their same football positions on the college football team! Life was truly a dream, and yet they still had one wish left: to visit the United Kingdom. Time passed and they completed their classes. with great difficulty, and they were the posterchildren of the schools football team. They managed to graduate, and the College memorialized them with Hercules and Zeus in their gear posing.

Additionally, their families chose to send them tickets to fulfill their dreams. These shiny, golden tickets were a round trip to the United Kingdom! Hercules and Zeus partied that night, celebrating the fulfillment of their wish.

The next day rolls around, and they pack up their items and head off to the airport. Time passes, they go through security, they get their luggage put away, and they board the plane. Antsy with excitement and anticipation, they begin to sweat in their seats, having to open up their shirts. Unfortunately for the other passengers, they forgot to put on deodorant before getting on the plane, oops.

Anyways, the plane takes off during the sunrise, but little did Hercules and Zeus know, that they would not be returning home to the Texas.

.

.

.

They land in the glorious United Kingdom!

After getting through the airport, they decide to go sight seeing across the city of London. From riding the London eye to watching Big Ben tick away, they loved walking around the city.

However, Hercules and Zeus find themselves in the less developed parts of London after traveling all day. They find themselves taking a short-cut to make it back to the better parts of London. As they are walking through some dirty alleyways, they come across a large, in charge, and incredibly muscular Chav with the name Logan on his clothes. He smirks at Hercules and Zeus, who themselves get a weird vibe from the dude. It also doesn't help that he smells worse than they do, as if he doesn't know what deodorant is. The stranger introduces himself as Logan and asks them if they are in need of some cologne. Hercules and Zeus look at each other, and nod, for they know they do since they themselves left their own colognes at their hotel. The Chav, who introduces himself as Logan, smirks and extends his hand*

And in his hand is the cologne. It looks incredibly cheap and smelling odd, it still stirs the good smell receptors of Hercules and Zeus. They hand Logan some cash and take the cologne.

Logan walks away, stuffing the cash into his baggy pants, leaving Hercules and Zeus to look at the cologne. They both look at each other, and smile. Hercules uncaps the cologne, its smell wafting towards his nose and causing his brain cells to get a bit fuzzy. He then sprays himself and Zeus with the cologne, and puts the cap on again. They both sniff the air, and cough, finding that the cologne has a potent after smell that reeks of... unwashed armpits and jockstraps. They look at each other, worried that they were scammed into buying ineffective cologne.

Unfortunately for them, they did not.

At the same moment, both of their minds clench in an excruciating headache, as if their brain cells were exploding on mass inside their heads. They keel forward and grab their heads, both in pain. Unbeknownst to them however, they are starting to leak golden drool, which is their brain leaving through their mouth. They can only grunt and groan in discomfort and pain as the cologne, stuck and wafting from their skin, keeps flooding into their brains. it is exploding and getting rid of every ounce of brain cell it can find, wanting to purge the brains of the two jocks. Simultaneously, their bodies begin to change. Their muscles expand, the already well-developed coils of muscles flexing and expanding, starting to tear the seams of their clothes. Each muscle fiber ripping and straining, before expanding outwards in a mass growth effect. Their shredded clothes hang to their now overly muscular bodies as thick, blonde hairs sprout from their pits and nether regions. The dense, bushy, blonde hairs already begin to smell, as if they were unwashed and kept sweaty since Hercules and Zeus were 18. Additionally, their feet even tear their white sneakers, leaving them bare-foot!

However, not all is lost, for the headache begins to feel less painful... and actually more pleasurable, as most of the brain cells are completely gone, turned into golden drool that still leaks from their mouths. This pleasure only intensifies as their clothes begin to reform, but they are majorly different. The clothes are now shiny and golden stereotypical Chav clothes. The smell unwashed, and are kind of small, as if Hercules and Zeus never had enough Quid to properly replace their clothes. Their torn shoes soon turn into shiny, golden trainers that reek to the heavens of foot funk and caked sweat. Lastly, their once sizable meat-sticks and fruits expand within their now briefs, their meat-sticks turning into thick, juicy sausage as their fruits grow heavy and swollen with Golden and sticky Chav goo!

After all this, the two find themselves completely and utterly brainless, as the golden drool dries up due to no brain left in their now hollow heads. However, the Cologne fixes that, for it begins to rebuild their brains, but from the ground up. Gone are the former Texan football players, replaced by memories and personalities of two Chav Bruvs growing up in the outskirts of London. Their memories from their childhood are replaced too, for since they were of legal age, they were drinking cheap beer, smoking fags, working out, playing Footie, and being hyper-sexual fuck-bros. Additionally, their personalities change too. They find themselves extremely arrogant, aggressive, cocky, and dominant, with little care for those that aren't their bruvs. The cologne solidifies this by making them drool one gold one last time, and having their eyes turn into golden spirals, leaving their thick, juicy sausages leaking in their now golden and shiny clothes.

They start to chuckle, first softly, then they grab their thick bulges and chuckle like dopes. They look at each other, and smirk. Loving their new looks. For gone are the old Texan Hercules and Zeus, replaced by Chav versions of themselves.

They walk out of the alleyway, cologne in hand, and find Logan facing away from them. He is smirking however, having smelt the putrid musk of his new Chav bruvs a kilometer away. His face straightens as he extends his hand. He asks his new bruv's if they would like to join da chav life, and they smirk like complete idiots and nod their heads.

. . .

Times passes, and Logan, Hercules, and Zeus are all bruv's now. They drink beer. They smoke fags. They work out. They box. They play footie, although their large sizes tend to slow them down, they are hyper-sexual, and they smell each others stank daily! Hercules and Zeus, now nicknamed Chavules and Chavus, are sitting upon golden thrones in the Bruv house. They are going to meet a local gay bro who offered to sniff their trainers and worship their jockstraps, and they couldn't say no. No homo tho! They stare at the doors opposite their thrones, waiting impatiently, their sausages throbbing.

However, they don't wait long, for a knock is heard at the door. They smirk, and give each other a bruv-bump. Life is good now. Life is simple. Being a chav is easy. No thoughts. No worries. Only being a smelly, swole, and stinky Chav.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Naughty Nanny Chapter 6

Summary:  Bucky had a lovechild from a one night stand.  He barely even remembered it, and was surprised to find a baby on his doorstep 9 months later.  But one look at that little girl and he knew she was his and that he’d die for her.  The only problem was, he knew nothing about babies, and being an Avenger meant he couldn’t just drop everything and be a dad full time.  Then he found the perfect nanny…or so he thought.

**In this universe Steve never left, Tony never died.** **curvy reader** Warnings: talk of sexual harassment, unwanted/non-consensual touching/sexual assault, eventual smut

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“How long have you known Wilson Fisk?” Tony asked Y/N pointedly.

“Since he bought the club a year and a half ago,” Y/N answered.  

“And what was the nature of your relationship with him?” he asked.  Bucky glared at Tony across the table as he sat next to Y/N.

She sighed heavily.  “He was my boss.  He felt like he owned me, as a dancer, as a woman, as a commodity,” she explained.  “He constantly pushed for a sexual relationship with me.  I never let him have it.  But he tried…” she trailed off, wringing her hands in front of herself.  “He tried to force me a few times.”  Bucky bristled next to her, trying to keep his breathing calm.  Steve nodded as he watched them.

“Did you know about the weapons?” Tony asked, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I heard rumors of him being like a mobster, but I never saw anything,” she said quietly.  

“And you went back last night because…?”

“I was helping a friend.  Tiffany.  She has a son.  I warned her to get out as fast as she could, find a new club to go to that wasn’t owned by him, it wasn’t safe for her or her kid.  She was auditioning for a new place last night and needed someone to cover her shift, and I went under the impression that he wasn’t going to be there.  He was supposed to be out of the country.  But I guess the manager told him I was coming back for that one night and he…I don’t know,” she shrugged and hugged herself.

Bucky huffed.  “So now what?”

“The intel Scott was able to find will help us knock out all the main sources he uses for moving the alien weaponry.  But getting to him directly before he disappears is a different story.  I say we use what we have,” Tony said, looking at Y/N.

Bucky looked back and forth between Y/N and Tony.  “Wait, you’re not serious.  Use her as bait?” he pointed at Y/N.  Y/N’s eyes widened.

“What choice do we have?”  Tony asked, stepping forward.  “We have something he wants.  He flew in from a completely different country just at the chance to get to her again.  As gross as this dude is, he likes you,” Tony gave her a cocked eyebrow.  “Must be quite a show you put on, naughty nanny.”

Bucky stood and punched the table.  “Watch it, Tony.”

Tony’s head tilted in defiance.  “Or what Manchurian candidate?”

“It is quite a show, Tony, too bad you missed it,” Y/N interrupted them and stood, using her sultry voice on him.  Tony’s eyes widened.  “I’ll do it.  I’ll be the bait,” she said, glancing at Bucky.  

He shook his head at her.  “It’s dangerous.”

“I’m well aware,” she said, then looked at Steve.  “What’s the plan?”

Steve scoffed.  “You’re the expert, what do you think we should do?”

Y/N thought for a moment.  “He loves a damsel in distress.  I can go to him, acting like I want to come back.  That you took me against my will,” she gestured to Bucky.  “Let him think he can claim me.  He’ll love that.” 

Bucky shook his head.  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked her.  Y/N looked at him in confusion but nodded.  He walked out of the room and she followed.  When they were a little ways down the hallway he turned to her.  “You can’t honestly think this is a good idea.”

“I don’t,” Y/N said.  “But if this ends him, I’m all in.  He’s a monster, Buck.”

“I know but, I can’t…” he trailed off, looking at her pleadingly.  “I need you.  Winnie needs you.  There’s gotta be another way.  Something else we can try first rather than putting you in danger.”

Y/N watched him for a moment before looking around to see if anyone was nearby then stepped closer to him.  “Is this because of what happened last night?  When you…?” she looked down towards his crotch.

Bucky recoiled.  “What?”

“You feel some kind of attachment to me because I made you cum?” Y/N said in an accusatory tone.  “Funny thing, Buck, you’re not the first man I’ve made cum from a dance.  That was my whole job.  And I’m good at it.  I sold a fantasy.  You just got to have a first hand experience with it,” she said.  “As fun as that was, I’m not yours, and you’re not mine.  I work for you, remember?  I appreciate you helping me get out of there and caring about my well-being, but I want him gone,” she glared at him, the fire in her eyes staring up at him.  

“Is that all that was? Fun?” Bucky asked, leaning in closer to her face, glaring back at her.

They stared at each other for a long moment.  Y/N’s eyes flicked between his and momentarily down to his lips.  “Yes,” she whispered.

Bucky’s jaw tightened.  “Fine.”

She stared at him for another moment, her eyes slightly softening and she blinked.  “Fine.”

***

A week later Y/N was in place.  She was dressed in her blue bustier outfit again, hugging the robe around herself and clutching her bag as she walked up to the club.  The bouncer took one look at her and motioned for one of the other men to go get the boss.  They let her in without any questions.  Bucky, Steve, Tony, and Scott were all in position.  A tiny camera was sewn into Y/N’s bustier and a recording device in the lining of her robe.  Scott was already tiny and skirting around the edges of the club with his own communication, clocking all of Kingpin’s men and any newcomers that they weren’t sure of.  Y/N was led upstairs to the offices and entered a room where Kingpin was sitting in a large armchair like the one Bucky had sat in before.  He stiffened when he saw it.

“There’s my Big Booty Baby,” Kingpin smiled tightly.  “Come back home to daddy?”

Tony nearly wretched as they all sat watching.  “Bleh, who does this guy think he is?”

“Yes,” Y/N said quietly, sounding remorseful.  “I didn’t even want to leave.  That guy was just…obsessed with me or something.”

“Hm,” Kingpin stood from the chair and rounded the desk toward her.  He lifted a hand and cupped her face.  He at first did it gently, then slapped her hard, making her fall to the floor on her hands and knees.  Steve squirmed and Bucky grimaced, his hands forming into fists.  “Stupid bitch.  You think I didn’t watch that tape of you with him?  You enjoyed it.  You let him have more of you than you’ve ever let me have.”  Bucky’s lips tightened and Steve gave him a glance.  

“Why do you even want me?” Y/N asked as she looked up at him.  “You’re the Kingpin, you could have the pick of any girl here.  With all those connections you have, what do you want me for?”  He stepped toward her and she tried to back up, but he quickly wrapped his hand around her throat.  She gasped as he squeezed.

“You’re mine, do you hear me?” Kingpin growled.  “I own you.  You think you can put up a fight with the likes of me and it wouldn’t drive me crazy?  That your repulsion would make me stop?  I always get what I want,” he growled as he slammed her against the wall.  “Now, behave baby.  I’ve got something special just for you,” he said, an unsettling smile twisting his face.  He slowly held up something in his hand to be face level with Y/N.  She eyed it warily.

“What the fuck is that?” she whispered, trying to squirm out of his grasp.

“Some kind of alien taser,” Kingpin said, giving it a glance.  “I figured the best way to test it would be on your ungrateful pussy,” he threatened, moving it down towards her legs.

“Scott!  Get in there!” Steve yelled through the coms as he, Bucky and Tony jumped from their hiding place and stormed the club.  

They heard a zapping sound and a horrific scream come from Y/N in their earpieces and Bucky lost it.  He barrelled through everyone in the club, not caring who got in his way.  He flew up the stairs and wrenched the door open.  Scott was in the corner knocked out cold.  Y/N was held against Kingpin’s chest facing Bucky, her body jerking strangely from the first shock he’d given her.  Kingpin’s hand was still holding the taser, aiming it between her legs and his other hand holding her by the neck

“Oh look, baby, it’s your knight in shining armor,” Kingpin chuckled.  “I knew I recognized you that night.  Fuck off, Barnes.  I’ve waited this long, I’m not waiting any longer for what’s mine.”  He used the hand that was holding her against him to shove down her bustier and palm her breasts roughly.  Bucky shot.  Y/N screamed as blood spattered behind her and Kingpin fell back with a loud thud.  She fell forward and Bucky caught her before she hit the ground.  

Scott jerked awake from the sound of the gunshot and panted as he jumped to his feet then looked at Y/N and Bucky.  “Shit…you guys okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good, thanks Scott,” Bucky said, covering Y/N so she could adjust her bra to cover herself again.  Her movements were shaky as she tucked her breasts back in and then looked up at Bucky.  “You okay?” he asked carefully.

Y/N nodded and looked down.  “Just take me home, please.”

@angelbabyyy99 @capswife @julvrs @bellabarnes1378 @mostlymarvelgirl @mega-kittyglitter-1 @buckitostan @drdbnkl2008 @wintrsoldrluvr @danzer8705

[emerald-cobracat]

Has anyone considered how none of the winners in the life series actually get to survive past the games.

Grian killed himself immediately after killing Scar. Scott is killed by a command after winning. Pearl dies at most a second after Scott kills himself. Martin is the only one who survives after winning and even he runs out of time.

The games aren’t meant to be survived, even the winners fall victim to the death that plagues the server.

None of the victors go against this. Except Scott and Martin.

Scott is killed almost immediately afterwords. He’s killed by Grian (I think). Grian is a watcher. Wether he left or betrayed them doesn’t matter. He still has the power and knows the power of the watchers. He knew that Scott wouldn’t die after his victory. He knew Scott would move forward and try to save them.

The watchers don’t like Scott.

This would cause them to hate him. To despise him. To make is so that the games would never be kind to him again. But then Grian kills Scott. He uses the power he once abandoned to save Scott from the watchers wrath.

So maybe the watchers don’t like Scott but they approve of him. He got one of their own to use his power again. They would favor him but they’d let him be. It’s why Scott and Pearl survived as long as they did even if they didn’t team up. The watchers left them alone because Scott was part of the pair. In limited life Scott was doing the best he could and very little went wrong for him. He managed a crazy bucket clutch with the entire server trying to kill him. The only thing that went wrong is him being boogeyman first and even then it just meant he had more time.

It’s also why Scott couldn’t win double life. That would get rid of any good will the watchers have for him.

The watchers want Grian back in their ranks. And so far Scott is the only one that got Grian to use his power.

However Martin doesn’t play the game as he’s supposed to. He betrays everyone and in the end doesn’t play fair. He wins but in the cruelest and most desperate way he could.

Martin also dares to live after he’s won. He dares to not abide by the rules and die. Yes he does die eventually but he had an hour left on his timer. An hour, no winner has lasted that long. What if Martin is doing so badly right now because in that hour he did something. He challenged the watchers or maybe used that time to find something on the server in an attempt to free himself and his friends.

What if he did something so that the watchers couldn’t kill him. They’d have to wait until his time ran out.

They’d hate that.

It could explain why he’s doing so badly now too. Yes Martin might share the canary curse because of him attacking Jimmy but what if it’s more than that. What if the watchers are getting directly involved with everyone because of Martin. What if Martin found something in that hour in limited life? What if he’s so close yet so far to ending the games?

The watchers would hate that. They’d try to stop him.

And what better way then to further control everyone then by putting them against each other with a secret.

I also like the idea that Scott is using his good will with the watchers to learn more about them and try to stop them. During limited life the watchers began to notice so Martin who may or may not have known what’s happening gets involved.

[zahri-melitor]

Ric Grayson, or Tim 'Nightwing' Drake: a story of how Tom King's Nightwing pitch would have functioned.

You can often see the remains of discarded or overruled pitches in comics, if you look at structural decisions and compare them to pitches that you know were made.

One obvious one people might be familiar with is that Helena Bertinelli, back in 2003, was being set up to be removed from the Bat books and transferred over to what eventually became Greg Rucka's Checkmate 2006. There's a whole establishing storyline done in Gotham Knights by Scott Beatty. However, Gail Simone's pitch for Birds of Prey, which was published a mere two months after the Beatty story wrapped up, took Helena and used her to expand the Birds of Prey roster. It's a move that likely redirected Helena's character arc permanently (though the ghosts can still be seen in the choice to use Helena B as Matron in Grayson).

Equally: I hypothesise the reason we got Ric Grayson is because we got Young Justice 2019.

If you look at the storytelling, in terms of cover dates:

Dick was shot in Batman #55, in November 2018

Tynion's 'Tec run finished July 2018

Young Justice 2019 started March 2019

City of Bane started September 2019

King's pitch for Tim to take over the Nightwing mantle would probably have been a 12 issue run, to my eye; with the schedule that Nightwing had at the time, it would have been 6 issues (twice monthly) and then 6 issues (once monthly), ending the run and placing Dick back as a restored Nightwing...in issue #61, August 2019.

City of Bane kicked off the next month, being King's big 'all family-in' storytelling climax arc. It would have been the perfect place to put Nightwing, once again himself, reuniting with people. (I cannot tell how this placement would have gone should King have got his full 100 issue run; but I don't think City of Bane was significantly shifted forwards?)

Now I can't tell if the twice monthly issues dropped to monthly because Ric Grayson went down like a lead balloon with the fandom, but that would have been a very fast turn around in solicits for DC to withdraw support on a new direction (about a month). If it was expected to remain twice monthly, then I still think it would have been a 12 issue story, but might have stretched to 18 to meet plot needs over in Batman (King doesn't seem to have an issue about padding stories to get timing to line up in ways he wants them to)

King's pitch was also made at the time when Tim was still Red Robin, but clearly there was internal interest in transitioning him away from the name and into some other identity as part of the shift away from n52. Putting Tim into the Nightwing suit for 6 months to a year would have been a nice intervening step to use as the prompt to give Tim a new identity.

It's a pitch from King that just...fits in really really well. I can see how he'd have had it interact with things. Especially as King really hadn't had an opportunity to use Tim in his run yet due to the Mr Oz storyline, and he'd been pulling so many other faces through his story.

(I will also note that the 'Drake' identity and costume for Tim appears in January 2010 in Young Justice; Bendis' initial concept was clearly taking Tim back to Robin before he also tried a 'new costume' growth arc).

But instead Bendis wanted to use Young Justice to anchor the whole Wonder Comics initiative, and he wanted Tim as Robin for it because the concept was to pull in all the nostalgia for everyone for Young Justice 1998, thus having everyone in their original identities. And that whole decision probably had more lead time than your average comic, so it took priority over suggestions of moving Tim to Nightwing (because they already had plans brewing).

(And then Young Justice got fucked over with SO MUCH editorial meddling, to the point that I cannot wait until enough people have left DC that we actually get stories about exactly how bad it was, rather than just inferring it from what can be seen in the text itself)

Come back next time for when I instead explain what I think happened with the accepted pitch for Ric Grayson (and how I cannot BELIEVE this was actually an accepted pitch, given the way it was treated as a hot potato; it feels more like an editorial dictate of a concept that was passed off until Dan Jurgens came up with an idea of how to make it into an actual plot)

[starrysharks]

🦈💫PINNED POST 💫🦈

name: ZENO

age: 15-17 (don't wanna share my exact age sorrey)

gender/pronouns: maybe genderfluid, probably just cis girl - use any pronouns you'd like but she/her and he/him are best

race: ghanaian AND PROUD 💯💪🏿🇬🇭 (living in bumfuck britian tho)

MORE ABOUT ME AND MY ART DOWN BELOW!!!

other than that basic info, i am a CARTOON ARTIST inspired by stuff like invader zim, sonic the hedgehog, and moe anime, who enjoys drawing primarily CUTE GIRLS... but also some GUYS too i don't discriminate. i'd say my art covers around 50% fanart 50% OC art. i LOVE my ocs so much and so should you, so check out the tags for them and ask lots and lots of questions about them please.

(HERE is where i'll eventually put links to my OC comics and projects when i finally finish them, so look forward to that!)

i also do COMMISSIONS! i can draw for absolutely anything you want, and these days i've been wishing to be commissioned for a T-SHIRT DESIGN, ALBUM COVER, or MUSIC VIDEO... so if my comms are open when you're reading this, GO COMM ME WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!?!?! (BY THE WAY even tho i am a MINOR all comm money goes into an adult relative's paypal account, so your money is 100% SAFE!)

also, if you're wondering how i draw SO WELL... I HAVE AN FAQ!!! SO PLEASE STOP ASKING ME QUESTIONS ABOUT BRUSH SIZES AND SUCH BECAUSE I'VE ALREADY ANSWERED YOU!!!

other than art, my interests include nintendo games like SPLATOON, POKEMON, and the like, other games like TWDG, SKULLGIRLS, LITTLE NIGHTMARES, WORLD'S END CLUB (the best game danganronpa guy ever damn made), and KATAMARI DAMACY, cartoons and comics like INVADER ZIM, JTHM (which everyone should totally read please it's so good), DUNGEON MESHI, MLP, SOUL EATER, FLCL, SCOTT PILGRIM, and DOROHEDORO, and a million i forgot to name, and movies like THE SAW SERIES, SPIDERVERSE, and PROMARE!!!!

also i don't talk about it much, but i love NU METAL... i love KORN, LIMP BIZKIT, KITTIE, COAL CHAMBER, NOTHINGFACE, AND SLIPKNOT as well as many other music artists nu metal or otherwise!!! (notable ones being MCR and literally every vocaloid producer under the sun.) (i will reblog posts from haveyouheardthisband constantly to recommend my followers music, it's my god-given right)

i also LOVE TO HATE (am a critical fan of) DANGANRONPA and COOKIE RUN from time to time...

anyway even tho this is an account mostly for art posting and question answering, i do actually care about serious stuff going on in the world and will reblog posts talking about it sometimes... AND SO SHOULD YOU!!!

also i don't really have a DNI, just don't follow me if you're like. racist or something man that's fuckin' weird... also don't follow me if you're a TERF, NSFW account, or ED/pro-ana account! (SERIOUSLY)

ok i think we're done? cut the cameras

[intersex-support]

hello! i newly figured out i am intersex, however i haven't been able to find much content talking about intersex experience, history or community, when i first realized i was queer originally i found a lot of content like that and found it helpful, and i was wondering if there's any recommendations you might be willing to give about any content on being intersex or intersex creators who you think people should know about!

Hey!

This ask honestly made me really happy, because when I was searching for people and resources to share with you, I realized how much stuff has been created in the past 5 years. When I was diagnosed as intersex, I felt like there was so much less stuff than there even is now, so it makes me really happy to know there is more stuff, even if it's still hard to find.

Some of the things I've put on this list are outdated or might include perspectives that I don't completely love, but might include important historical context. It is also a very US centric and English language centric resource, although I have linked to organizations in other countries and would love if people added on recommendations to intersex resources in a variety of languages. As always, take what resonates with you and leave behind the rest!

Books:

Cripping Intersex by Celeste E Orr

Bodies in Doubt: An American History of Intersex by Elizabeth Reis

XOXY: A Memoir by Kimberly Zieselman

Intersex (For Lack of a Better Word) by Thea Hillman

In September, Alicia Weigel is releasing her memoir Inverse Cowgirl.

In August, Pidgeon Pagonis is releasing their memoir, Nobody Needs to Know.

Fiction books:

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

Intersex #ownvoices books, collated by Bogi Takács

Films:

Every Body directed by Julie Cohen is in theaters right now, and will eventually be on streaming services.

Ponyboi directed by River Gallo

Intersexion directed by Grant Lahood

Articles + misc:

Hermaphrodites with Attitude newsletter-content note for h slur and some other outdated language. Very important history though <3

Jazz Legend Little Jimmy Scott Is a Cornerstone of Black Intersex History by Sean Saifa Wall

What it's like to be a Black intersex woman by Tatenda Ngwaru

9 Young People on How They Found Out They Are Intersex by Hans Lindhal

Teen Vogue's series of intersex interviews

After years of protest, a top hospital ended intersex surgeries. For activists, it took a deep toll by Kate Sosin

Intersex Awareness Day: A Demonstration that Inspired a Movement

Normalizing intersex: Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics

Music-Ana Roxanne

Youth&I-intersex youth zine

Juliana Huxtable-Visual Art

Youtube channels:

Emilord-videos about AIS and surgery.

Jubilee Intersex video

Hans Lindhal-videos on a wide variety of intersex topics.

What's It Like To Be Intersex? | Minutes With | UNILAD

What It's Like To Be Intersex As/Is

Pass the Mic: Intercepting Injustice with Sean Saifa Wall

Intersex Organizations:

Link to org list

People/orgs to follow:

Sean Saifa Wall

Alicia Weigel

River Gallo

Hans Lindhal

Fàájì/funk

Jahni

Justin Tsang

Intersex Awareness (fabulous direct action organizing in the US-keep an eye out cause we're gonna do more this year!)

Liat Feller

Jubilee

Crystal Hendricks

Mari Wrobi

Intersex people, please feel free to add on more resources, art, writing, and people that you like!!

[honey-minded-hivemind]

imagine Nightcrawler ended up finding Sentinel!Reader's body in the frozen lake, in fact imagine he'd be tracking them down through peices of their body they tore off, probably racing to find them and panicking because they could be falling apart of getting attacked by something, hell maybe some delusions sprout from there

Maybe Kurt's found trying to put Reader back together while he's under the belief that they didn't do this to themself, something else must've attacked them- they wouldn't resort to this- right??-

Cube anon

He's panicking.

His heart is pounding, his hands are shaking, tears are starting to stream down his cheeks with each piece found, each drop of liquid, each frayed wire and muddy print...

He feels his heart go cold, plunging like a rock into his stomach, when he sees the lake... and the hole in it, with small drops of liquid by it, and no sign of Reader.

He goes into a blind terrified panic, clawing at the ice and trying to reach his hands in, trying with all his might to feel for Reader, to drag them up, to see that they can't possibly be gone-

Logan, Rogue, Scott, they- they can't be in there! They won't survive! They're wounded, their wires are exposed, they're missing their heating system, please, please please tell him they aren't in there, please, he's begging them-!

They eventually are able to break through the ice, and are able to drag Reader's body out of the water... damaged beyond repair, and broken all over...

***************************************************

The first thing they do, after getting Reader's body back and finding their memory files intact, decide to look through them to see who killed their friend...

Only, to their horror and guilt, find that it wasn't an unknown assailant or an old enemy... but Reader, who did this to themself.

That their pain was too much for them to handle, and feeling like they had no choice and feeling too hurt inside, decided to end their being.

No one takes it well.

Kurt is praying even more now, fervent and pleading and in misery, trying to find any comfort he can over what happened and why he's lost too many friends.

Rogue is there to comfort him, and tries to apologize, now feeling even more despairing because she's lost both Remy and Reader now.

Logan, Scott, Jean, and Ororo are losing sleep, kept up with the memories of Reader, and wishing they'd waited just a bit longer, hadn't said what they'd said, had tried to see the truth sooner... Reader was their own, a friend, a child to them, and they made them feel so bad, that they did this to themself... They get no sleep...

Hank and Charles and Erik are working on growing the bodies for the passed mutants, getting help to bring their spirits back, working on trying to make things right and not lose everything again. It distracts them from Gensoha, it distracts them from Bastion, it distracts them from Gambit and Reader... But the moment all that remains to be brought back are Gambit and Reader... they're making absolute sure no mistakes are made, and feel just a bit better, just a mite of hope, that Reader's spirit is in the afterlife with Gambit, amd had been with the other mutants...

I imagine a few of the extra friends Reader had made, such as Leech amd Jubilee and Roberto and Emma and Madelyn and Omega Red and Sabretooth (look, Reader's really sweet, so why not let them have really nice and really scary friends too?), are ready to see their old friend, who they've missed greatly, and who they think will enjoy this new home and its weird fruit and delicious juice... It would be nice, for everyone tp forget their worries... if they can even remember what they were worried about in the first place... But they can't wait to finally get their little buddy back-! They've missed them so so SO much!!!

Of course, the X-Men, when visiting the spirit realm, are going to have to somehow talk Gambit into letting himself amd Reader go with them, and breach the topic of Reader being a... sentinel... somehow...

Yeah...

Gambit gonna be p*ssed...

[angelfirstclass]

Cherik- the heart and soul of X-men 97.

So whether you ship them together or think of them as brothers or whatever, the relationship between Erik Lensherr and Charles Xavier is the heart and soul of this show and dare I say the entire franchise in whatever form. We see their friendship and being nemeses and relationship in pretty much all versions of the X-men and Xmen 97 is chock full of Cherik gold.

The series starts out with Magneto inheriting the X-men and Xavier's entire estate which says a lot about their close relationship and Xavier's trust in Magneto. He trusts and relies on him even above his precious X-men as they are caught off guard by this news and are even hurt by it like Scott. In this act, Xavier follows his heart and feels that by doing this he gets Magneto to come to his path and for the X-men to lose an adversary and also be less burdened with leading the team.

Going forward, Magneto loyally follows Xavier's path honoring his memory and legacy. Even reluctantly and with gritted teeth his restraint is "proof of (his) desire to honor Charles Xavier's dream of mutant human coexistence". To see how far he was before as a X-men adversary to one who truly wanted to honor Xavier was very extreme and a testament to Erik's love for Xavier. He goes through a lot in the series even undergoing a massacre and even through that event continues to try to be a X-man and show restraint and be a leader, but eventually it becomes too much for him.

The scene in episode 2 is very telling of their relationship when Magneto speaks of the helmet and how he could always sense Charles as a presence. "I was in his thoughts and he in mine." Romantic or not, this line highlights just how important the two of them were to each other and that's love is it not? Then Rogue hits the nail on the head by stating that Magneto was worried about if he felt how much Xavier still loved him, Magneto wouldn't be able to go through with his crusade. Magneto canonically lays out that he knew/knows that Xavier loves him.

At the end of ep 2, Magneto is seen looking at a picture of Charles and himself when they were young that is kept framed on Charles' desk. Whether that was Charles' picture (which I suspect) or put there by Erik, the implications are clear the two are important to each other despite the past or their differences. Storm is talking about finding connection and pans on Rogue and Magneto and Morph and Wolverine, but also stands for Charles and Erik.

In ep 5, Magneto is considered to rule over Genosha because of his trial and because Xavier trusted Magneto with the X-men. He mentions the pivotal bar scene we will see later and what a moment it is for Magneto. At this moment, he is seeing his and Xavier's dreams coming true which he never thought possible. It turns out Magneto was right, but at this moment Xavier's dream seemed real and it was Magneto that was leading the way to get them there.

At this point I have to mention Rogue in that she is the only other person that is connected to Erik and understanding of his thoughts. I like Rogue and don't think that it gets in the way of Cherik. Rogue has seen Erik's inner thoughts through her absorption powers or by the time spent talking to him. She is the one who gets the Cherik relationship better than most and understands the love the two have for each other and how long and deep their relationship is. She is not an obstacle to Cherik, she may be the Queen Erik wants (particularly when he thinks Charles is gone), but is also someone who gets the Cherik thing and understands. This leaves so much room for love triangles and Magneto bi loveness galore. Rogue GETS it, she's not going to stand in the way.

Then leading to the finale, there is so much Cherik even a non-Cherik fan is left with no doubt that there is something there between the two. Whether its the salty "Welcome home, cheater" vibes about the Bird Queen, the bickering about Genosha and Bastion and Magneto's response, and the scintillating together in Erik's mind sequences, there is so much Charles-Erik action going on that the writers gifted us.

Granted, I was sort of pissed at Xavier in the first part of the finale for not being on Magneto's side and being so harsh on him after all that Erik had been through as well as thinking that going into his head was a violation. I still kind of feel that way, but I'm more understanding of Xavier's flaws (he's not perfect, not by a longshot) and also of how much he loves Erik despite violating his mind. The fact that he was willing to lose his own mind and also endure the tragedies and pain of Erik despite knowing Erik's tragic history is a testament to how much he loves Erik. Magneto may have conflicting feelings about what happened after season 1, but I don't think he's going to ever forget how Xavier basically talked him out of oblivion and made him come back to himself talking about love and family.

Magneto saves the day, but it must be remembered that Professor Xavier did not have to return Magneto back to his mind or the world. Magneto has been a fierce adversary in the past and is currently causing major mayhem to the planet and still Xavier considers him a brother and encourages him to recognize and become Magneto again. In another storyline, Rogue could have absorbed Magneto while he was down and got the planet up and running, but that's not the direction the writers went with because it didn't highlight the Cherik relationship as well. The writers wanted to focus in on Cherik and so I again repeat that Charles and Erik's relationship is the thesis, the plot, the heart of the show and I can't wait to see more.

[cryptidorchid]

Girl, help, I'm seeing symbolism in an improv series where there is none. Anyway, does anyone want to hear about how both Scott and Pearl tamed a wolf in their first episode of Double Life and how those wolves pretty solidly represent their relationship with each other?

Pearl's wolf, Tilly, is the first one she tamed. Scott's wolf is actually the second pet he tamed and did so after the first one, a bird, died. See a similarity to their partnership in Double Life? Pearl was Scott's second partner. Scott was Pearl's first.

Scott gets his wolf relatively early on and has it with him when searching for Martyn and Pearl. He mentions the possibility of leaving it behind once, after it bites Cleo when he hits her to test if they were soulmates. Later, it bites Cleo again and Scott mentions that it keeps doing this and Cleo calls it a bad dog. At which point, Scott actually leaves it behind and decides to team with Cleo instead of his soulmate. [The dog biting Cleo isn't kept in Scott's perspective but on the way to Jimmy, the dog just disappears without explanation and as soon as they leave Jimmy, Scott's like "do we even need our soulmates?"] Like, the symbolism of Scott choosing Cleo over Pearl is very obvious.

On Pearl's side, Pearl tames her dog as soon as she comes up to the surface and thus has a chance of finding her soulmate. And then she left it behind when she went to the Nether, symbolizing that Pearl is neglecting her relationship with her soulmate by going to the Nether. She gets the dog back when she comes back from the Nether. But then Pearl gets rejected at the end of episode 1 and the dog dies at the start of episode 2. More symbolism about the relationship dying for Pearl once she was rejected in episode 1 or perhaps once she decided that she was mad at him and she didn't want to reconcile in episode 2. Either way, the dog (and the relationship) dies in episode 2.

Scott's dog on the other hand is not dead. After talking to Pearl, he goes to get it back and takes it home. And he doesn't interact with it much. Doesn't even name it. But he does keep it on his porch.

And I think that fits with Scott in general seeming to express more willingness to mend their relationship than Pearl does. Scott says he needs time to be friends with Pearl again, he calls their 1st confrontation in the 2nd episode couples therapy, Scott implies that he'd be willing to be friends with Pearl if she stopped being "unhinged" (powdered snow + forcefully moving in), he suggests working through their issues. Scott gives the impression that, as put off by her as he is now, he does want to make up with Pearl eventually. 

In comparison, despite Pearl forcing herself into his life, Pearl does not seem to be entertaining the idea of making up. Despite complaining about them not wanting to be friends with her, she passionately rejects the idea that she wants to be friends with Scott and Cleo when it’s brought up. She spends most of her time with them antagonizing them. Pearl just isn't really open to the idea of making up. Pearl's original dog is dead and Pearl having a new dog that she's calling the same name isn't changing that.

If I had to ascribe a meaning to the second Tilly, I'd call it an idealized version of her relationship with Scott. Like she doesn't just want her friend back, she wants a world in which the rejection never happened/couldn't happen. Which is why she's so antagonistic and unwilling to mend their relationship, because she wants the impossible and she can't have that so she's never going to be satisfied with their relationship.

And then they make an alliance and Scott brings over his dog to make puppies with Pearl's dog, symbolically showing the mending of their relationship. Except not really because Pearl's original dog is still dead so she tries to leave anyway while they were in that red life base. Pearl says it's for strategic reasons but I also think her decision was affected by an argument she had with Scott beforehand where Pearl says she forgives Scott for abandoning her and Scott rejects her forgiveness because he doesn't feel guilty about what he did. And that feels like what Pearl wishes her relationship with Scott was like is coming into conflict with what it's actually like. 

And they part on bittersweet terms in that moment, not as angry as they would've been earlier. Pearl still has their dogs' puppies with her. And then Pearl uses those puppies to kill Cleo in a fun callback to the reason Scott left that dog behind in the first place! But Scott leaves his dog in the red life base for good. And Tilly dies. 

And I feel like from this lens, the ending feels kind of bittersweet in the sense that the two of them have given up on ever getting back the relationship they used to have but on the other hand, they can also see and appreciate each other for who they are now. Even though he wishes she would put more effort into their relationship, Scott can appreciate the work and effort she's put into their survival so he wants to give her the win. And likewise, Pearl can appreciate the kindness Scott's willing to give her rather than focus on what he won't give her. Which is why she acknowledges that he did that for her and says she forgives him at the end.

[thecoolerliauditore]

long post: the neck kisses playlist on joel's spotify is about jimmy (and kind of etho too a little bit)

it's not actually about jimmy it very much is not about jimmy. however I had visions when I listened to it and I know at least one person really wants me to put this into words so

"I Miss Having Sex But At Least I Don't Wanna Die Anymore" is a pretty straightforward song about Awsten Knight's post-break-up life as well as his frustrations with his fanbase.

The feelings post-break-up are described as freeing, hence the title ".. don't wanna die anymore" but the ending of the song hints at some nagging regret despite that, with the desperate repeating mantra of "but I think it's fine, it's cool"

While I don't think all of these songs signify chronology (and some I don't think are literal at all unless c!Joel has some weird daddy issue lore I'm unaware of), I do like to think the start of the playlist calls to pre-3L jimmy/joel, most specifically their relationship in x-life.

In x-life, Joel establishes a totally-not-cult religion he dubs "Jeremyism", Jimmy being his first member after he fails to trick Lizzie into joining. He later gives up his leader title, quote, "for content". Jimmy is unhappy with this development and begs Joel to stay, but Joel refuses. While their relationship in x-life would be hard to define as romantic in any sense, they were clearly fond of eachother before Joel eventually broke away.

Things get a bit hazy here since "for content" doesn't really translate to anything in-universe, but I think it's interesting to note that both the song and Joel mention an audience, specifically one that they feel the need to appease. Whether this is a metaphor or watcher lore or some secret third thing I have no idea but it sure is there 👍

In my mind, it goes like this: Jimmy and Joel meet, they hit it off, Jimmy is affectionate and Joel starts to catch feelings. Joel cuts Jimmy off for making him feel weird.

the second song in the playlist reinforces this, being a much angrier post-break-up song.

While this seems out-of-order (why does the immediate anger come after the song about life after the break-up?), I think it's interesting if you look at it from an angle of this not being fully Joel's feelings towards Jimmy, but Joel's frustration towards himself for messing it up.

with a little bit of frustration being placed on jimmy too:

pictured: joel in third life with a message from jimmy that he very much. does not answer.

personally I like to think Joel held a lot of resentment towards Jimmy in Third Life, both for homophobic reasons (i.e. you made me feel gay and now I'm gonna punish you for it) and for jealousy reasons (start of his number one scott hater arc)

this one's just in the wrong playlist first of all why does he insert this between two waterparks songs. whatever man.

anyway this song's interesting to me because it's literally just about a hot babe getting rejected by some fuck who refuses to be ball-and-chained.

there's two directions this could go imo: one is that this is, once again, evoking joel and jimmy's relationship. Joel acknowledges that he a life with Jimmy would be nice, but he refuses to settle down because it would rob him of his identity/freedom.

the other is that brandy is joel and the sailor is etho, since brandy shows an admiration for the sailor but also an awareness that he loves his job more than her

this storybook like description of how brandy saw the sailor's tales is very smalletho to me idk. very hand-in-hand with joel's child-like view of who etho is.

I don't have much for this one tbh it's pretty much just a love song and Joel really liking waterparks (king)

That being said, there's some fun imagery to play with here:

yellow = jimmy makes a lot of sense (blonde hair, canary imagery, yellow also representing people on their second life in the life series which evokes neither the assumed skillfulness of a late game green name nor the danger of a red name), as does green = joel (the green streak. shrek. yeahg. and while red joel is iconic "green like my insides" could also be read in this context as "deep down, I am safe to be around" which I think is neat)

"natural blue" is a bit harder to interpret (especially considering the original context of this being a joke about Awsten dyeing his hair) but blue is of course scott's colour. this could be read spitefully as Natural blue (was in love with jimmy first) vs scott's dyed hair or it's. joel saying that's he's gay idk man.

"at least I match your eyes" is pretty simple, with both of them having brown eyes, "jealous and hypnotized" once again alluding to some jealousy, likely towards FH again if you believe the blue line is alluding to scott.

however joel has plenty of people to be jealous of in regard to jimmy so. shrugs. hey you can even interpret this line as talking about jimmy's desirability. neat.

there's also this, which again might allude to flower husbands, implying in this fake world I've created that Joel doesn't view them as actually "married"

ok this is getting too long lmao see you guys next time i feel like writing about this stupid fucking playlist again

[hatopixlriffs]

This week, on CHC:

Flowers, trees, and dragons, Oh My!

Welcome to the CHC recap, my name is Pixlriffs, our writer is ZloyXP, our physical copies printed by Lyarrah. So much has happened in the past week and a half since the last recap, so without further ado:

Let's take a look at all the events and mishaps that occurred on Camp Hermitcraft, this week!

Starting with @gem-the-oracle, who caught a nasty bug, and spent most of the week ill in the Big House. Being the Oracle of Delphi of course, absolutely nothing could go wrong! Besides, it couldn't be weirder than her vision of purple flowers that were quickly identified as Hyacinths, the same kind of flower plaguing every Apollo kid and especially Apollo himself! This spirals into madness as @sungod7-fuckyoupearl starts getting texts from none other than Daphne, known to her account name @notoriginallyatreenypmh and the sun god as "The One Who Got Away". Apollo quickly undergoes the five stages of grief as he realizes this isn't a prank and @boatboynr1- who was turned into a cat by Apollo literally ten minutes prior- berates him with yowls.

Oh, and Apollo's dead boyfriend Hyacinthus seems to have been the one sending all the flowers. How @hyancithus is doing this beats all reason as he is stuck as a Hyacinth flower and can only communicate in 🪻 emojis. Daphne claims he's able to channel energy through her and the phone she stole but refuses to elaborate further. After a minor breakdown, Apollo teleports Daphne and Hya from their temporary prison of Italy to Camp Hermitcraft, where Daphne takes her axe- also stolen- and takes a breather in the camp lake. Apollo's hands are full as he does his best to take care of his dead boyfriend, whom is still stuck as a flower. A similar rescue mission is still ongoing, as @askhermesgrian, @camphermithater, and Joel have left on a quest to go retrieve @pearl-likes-hunting from some myserious woods. All at the request of @shutupapolloplease, of course.

And what do you know, a third retrieval is also ongoing! @hatotangoftek's metal dragon, Fotia, is loose in NYC and he scrambles to get her back before he ends up in more trouble than he already is.

@undead-daughter-of-heb attempts to help Tango, but not before blacking out and waking up hours later, with the Hebe cabin rearranged, nice notes everywhere, and people claiming that Gem had briefly possessed her. The strangeness doesn't end there, as she finds and almost adopts a stray cat in camp, before eventually realizing it was @askxisumachc who'd gotten cursed while shifted and couldn't change back. Cleo takes X to Camp Jupiter, where @lovemushroomsandflowers successfully returns him to human form. Ignoring the purring, cat tail, and cat ears that stayed behind, of course. And according to Scott, Xisuma also seems to have retained cat-like attributes, such as the innate need to chase a laser pointer.

(click for better size- couldn't enlarge it w/o crunchiness) Unluckily for Scott, or maybe luckily for X, @goldenqueenfalse ended up putting him in the hospital before he could test catnip on the acting camp director. This does mean that the fashion show, which most demigods have agreed to simply call "Prom", will be delayed some time, which is fine as some campers have yet to pick out outfits.

Some campers may need to re-choose outfits after ending up back as adults, as Cleo has figured out how to control her powers! Yay for Cleo!

Chaos isn't the only thing going on, as @asktheshreeper and @boatboynr2 spend the week hanging out and even make some shopping plans!

@askscarpjo makes head bead bracelets :)

@hatorendiggitydog also wants head bead bracelets. He then proceeds to dream about Tartarus and acts like thats normal. Etho is not convinced.

@askhatoskizz is not immune to his dad's dead boyfriend and after receiving Hyacinths, decides to do something else. He decides to take @erempulse to a musical and manages to get tickets from Apollo before the whole shrubbery shenanigans (see: above) go down.

@spoonsandmustaches spends his free time playing tech support for @hato-grumbot (ooc- run by the creator of the au himself: @ahllohehn).

@askhatokeralis spends the week running camp in Xisuma's absence. He's doing fantastic.

And finally there's @askluckskall, who's been contemplating his gender identity and is seeking help from Cleo. As of writing this, we have yet to see where this is headed.

AND that's about it for this weeks recap, our writer is ZloyXP, and my name is Pixlriff, physical copies printed by Lyarrah. Don't forget to leave a like while you're here, and follow so you don't miss future recaps. Thanks for reading, and we'll see you next week.

[catnipaddictt]

Hi! I’m not sure if requests are still open but I’m currently watching Higher Ground right now and I’m in love with Scott (is anyone surprised)! I was wondering if you could write a short fic about him comforting the reader when he finds out that she’s self harming? Totally get it if not.

scott barringer x gn!reader

wc: 0.8k

cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, angst, mentions of self harm, reader has a history of sh, heavy topics, if you are not doing okay please read with caution

comment: hey anon, thanks for the request <3 This one deals with some heavier topics so reader discretion is advised

You were lying down in your cabin when you heard the loud movement of Scott's feet on the hardwood floors. His steps came closer and closer until you felt the bed dip as he sat down. 

You roll over to face him and are greeted by the blonde’s messy hair and piercing blue eyes. 

Scott had been at New Horizons far longer than you had and he knew his way around. When you had been put into the program by your concerned parents, Scott was given the task of showing you around. Although he wasn't too happy about being your ‘babysitter’ for the first few weeks, you grew on him.

You shared the same sense of humor and had similar taste in a range of things. Eventually you two had become close friends, always sneaking out to the docks together and making fun of the outdoor activities you were subjected to.

You thought you had been getting better, even the counselors believed so. There was even talk of sending you home in a few weeks to test the waters. You were looking forward to sleeping in your own bed for the first time in months. Until you realised that going back home meant leaving your new friends, including Scott, behind. You didn't want to give them up. 

It had started small. Taking too hot showers that left your skin red and raw. Picking at the skin around your nails and chewing the inside of your mouth until it bled. But it wasn't enough for you. You knew relapsing was bad and that you shouldn't be doing this to yourself. But you couldn't help it. You didn't know how to deal with your only emotions any differently.

Scott speaks before you do. “Are you alright? You've been acting off and I don't fucking like it.” He looks at you, studying your face for any signs of anything wrong. You immediately turn defensive at his questioning. Shooting him down with a “I'm fine Scott, just tired.”

He speaks your name. “You're been tired for a week and a half. I haven't seen you at all basically. You haven't even been at dinner for Christ's sake.” 

You turn over, facing the wall instead of Scott's gaze. “Don't shut me out” he responds to your actions, placing a hand on your shoulder to roll you back over harshly. “What is wrong with you?” you practically yell at him, you use your anger to push his hand off of you, “Get out.”

His eyes widen at your outburst, letting you shove his hand off your shoulder and getting to his feet. He is momentarily stunned before his eyes soften. “How long?” Is all he says.

You roll back over to inspect the wall again, ignoring the question. “Y/n How long?” He repeats clearly. Your legs come up to your chest in a fetal position, and you bury your head in them. You feel his weight sit on the end of your bed. “You can't keep doing this to yourself” he says softly.

You stay silent, hoping that he will get the memo and leaving you alone. You didn't want to have this discussion. Scott places his head in his hands, thinking, before he looks at your curled up figure. “Come on, speak to me please, so I can help you.” He practically begs. 

You can help the tears that build up in your eyes, and slide down your face. You didn't want to be like this. Scott hears your racked sobs and his heart shatters. All he knows is that he needs to comfort you and make sure you are alright.

You feel the bed dip again and then a warm body pressing against your back. Scott's arm wraps around your waist pulling you closer to his chest. You let the tears fall as he whispers in your ear that it's going to be alright and that he is going to help. 

His hand rubs soothing circles over your shirt where your hip rests, making you feel more grounded than you had a few minutes ago. His hushed tone and gentle words make you feel safe in his arms, letting you know that he cares more than he lets on. 

He slowly turns you in his arms, so that your head is tucked under his. You sobs shake your frame, and he lets you cry into his cotton t-shirt. Slowly your tears come to a stop and he speaks to you softly, “it's going to be alright, okay? We're going to get you some help and you will be better again.” He places his lips against your forehead after you nod slightly but enough for him to feel. 

You spend the rest of the day flush against Scott as he assures you that it will work out. A glimmer of hope erupts in your chest.

Please please please reach out if you are struggling. You are on this earth and you are loved. Below are some helplines if you are having a tough time. My messages are ALWAYS open if you need someone to talk to. 💙💙💙

Helplines

Taglist: @heartsforanakin @qvnthesia @ysrjune @anisscarletstarlet

[cheyj05]

Okay, the people who are saying The Bad Boys are a disaster waiting to happen... are correct but not for the reason they’re saying!

 They are not going to betray each other! They are one of the least likely to betray each other! 

 First of all, Joel is NOT a lone wolf, the exact opposite in fact! He was only alone in 3rd life. In Last Life he was planning to team up with Scar but he ended up going red life first so he COULDN’T be teamed with anyone. Even then he killed Grian specifically so he could have a friend! He was in the middle of the red life packs in Last Life and Double Life! In Double Life he literally wore a shirt with Etho’s face on it! In the most recent session he protected Grian faithfully! He’s really loyal, he’s just feral about it. Least likely out of The Bad Boys to betray.

   The only time Jimmy betrayed anybody was The Southlands but there were a lot of extenuating circumstances. He wasn’t really close to anybody in that group other than Grian and Martyn but Grian hung out with Mumbo most of the time and Martyn had promised to betray the group with him. When he stole the life he thought Martyn would leave with him! Maybe help him escape! He didn’t expect Martyn to betray him! He only betrayed The Southland b/e he though the odds were on his side. Also the larger the group the easier it is to not feel guilty betraying them, it’s less personal. The Bad Boys are a group but not a big one, and I would definitely say he’s close to Joel and Grian. Also The Bad Boys have more of a group identity than The Southlands. B/e they’re The Bad Boys and The Southlands was more of a loose collection of people who all knew they were going to betray each other eventually.

  Grian is probably the most likely to betray the others but still unlikely. He has a tendency to be loyal to one person specifically regardless of anybody else he teams up with that season. With 3rd Life, it was Scar, Last Life Mumbo, and Double Life BigB. Those are also the ones he ends up killing. He doesn’t really follow this pattern in Limited Life since I can’t say he’s closer to one Bad Boy over the other (Though maybe Joel?) But honestly he makes it pretty clear in his own POV when he’s planning to betray his group and he hasn’t shown any signs of it yet.

The groups most likely to betray each other are as follows(ranked most to least likely)

  1. T.I.E.S

  2. The Clockers

  3. Bad Boys

  4.  Mean Gills

  5. Nosy Neighbors

   I put T.I.E.S above The Clockers b/e I feel like anybody in TIES could betray each other (like Etho, Tango, or Impulse and Skizz) at any time, Bdubs is the only one I think would betray the Clockers right now. Cleo has A Thing about betraying your day 1 ally and while Scar WOULD betray his group, he doesn’t like being alone and would only do it if he knew he wouldn’t be.

    Despite everything I typed here, The Bad Boys are still themselves and are unpredictable.

   Honestly the Mean Gills and the Nosy Neighbors are both pretty much tied b/e Scott and Martyn are both too pragmatic and BigB and Pearl are both too one unit. I put Mean Gills as 4th b/e we all know Martyn only joined Scott b/e Ren wasn’t there and the other groups had already established themselves. He’s also honestly the most lone wolf out of everybody in the server.