#kinda still feel like cutting and i scratched myself with the sharp screw a bit more but at least venting about this helped a little

[wishchthumblr]

on todays episode of "mental health issues that could easily be solved by one single thing that i dont have", GET A MICROWAVE!!!

i just know SO many of my eating related issues (not all obviously but a LOT of them) would be solved if this house just had a goddamn microwave

today i ate like... 1/4th of those small frozen pizzas, 1/3rd of a grilled cheese, and 1/3rd bowl of macaroni and meatballs. and yall wanna know why i didnt eat the whole thing of any of them? its cause my stupid adhd ass took too long to eat and the food got cold. and then i Cannot Eat That anymore. so even though i was still hungry i didnt eat the rest of it and just went back to rotting on youtube shorts and being too hungry to do anything and feeling dumb and unproductive and being guilty of making food that i dont eat. just... feeling like a big ol' waste

but the thing is, if i just

✨owned a microwave✨

i could just reheat the motherfucking food and still eat it and not feel like ive wasted that food. ((because since that food is wasted i feel guilty about making it, so i dont make any more food until next meal time, but then i didnt finish that either cause im stupid and eat too slow.))

but we dont have a microwave. only an oven. and yeah maybe i couldve reheated the 3/4th pizza or the grilled cheese in the oven, but then again the oven uses a lot of electricity. and my mom is always complaining that i turn the oven on, forget that its on for a while, and that im wasting electricity. and i was too tired and hungry to deal with that possibility. plus with the oven theres a chance i forget it too long or have it too hot and burn the food and that would just make me feel worse

but we dont have a microwave, because my mom thinks having a microwave leads to "eating more unhealthy foods that you just heat up" instead of "real food". so i didnt reheat any of my food. so i didnt eat it. it got to the point where it got cold and gross so i just threw it in the trash and hope my mom or grandma doesnt notice.

but if i had a microwave, i couldve reheated that food. and i couldve eaten it. ((and yeah, maybe i wouldnt have ate the whole thing, but maybe half at least? that counts right? well it dont really matter if it counts or not cause it didnt happen.))

and then maybe i wouldnt have been feeling like im gonna faint the whole day and maybe i wouldve gotten literally anything done instead of just scrolling on pinterest and youtube shorts for hours and feeling worthless. and maybe if i ate i wouldnt have hurt myself today

but nope. no microwave. it leads to "unhealthy" habits. i guess not eating enough to count as even ONE full meal is healthier since its not "microwave food"

thanks mom

[eddsworld-headies]

i was wondering if u could do a tord/tom with a female reader that dresses really baggy-VERY TOMBOYISH but is decked out with all types of rings and chains. doesn’t dress girly but still barely wears makeup and likes to have pretty nails at the same time.

Oh wow what a coincidence my-- OC IS JUST LIKE THAT HAHA WELL SINCE YOU ASKED MIGHT AS WELL RIGHT??

--------

Tom huffed loudly, not noticing that Tord had helped himself to sitting at the kitchen table to watch him press his forehead to the window, looking outside. He simply stayed silent, watching the brit get frustrated while opening and closing cabinets.

"Lose something?"

Tom groaned, slamming the cupboard door and turning round and facing the Norwegian with a sneer. "Screw off. I don't need you chewing my ear off." He replied grumpily, moving towards the living room and giving a quick glance around. " What, did you lose something in the bottom of your flask? Other than your self-worth?"

"EDD!" Tom shouted, making Tord roll his eyes as he stood up, following Tom as he moved up the stairs. "Jesus, don't be such a tattletail. I'll stop bothering you." "This isn't about you, Commie."

The two stopped in Edd's doorway, Tom holding onto the edge of the door trim as he leaned in. The leader of the group was jamming to some tunes at his drafting table, tablet pen in hand and hoodie wrapped around his waist.

His room was messy, seeing as he wasn't the only one occupying the room now that their newest addition moved in from America and needed a place to stay.

"Hey," Tom said loudly, moving in and lightly slapping Edd's shoulder, the tallest of the group shifting his eyes over before lifting his left earbud out. " Where's your sister?" The black eyed man asked." Huh?" "Your sister, dude, where is she?" " I dunno. She's your girlfriend, keep better track." "It's not like I have a tracker on her or something." "Then maybe you should invest in one." Edd retorted, settling his earbud back in his ear.

"Thanks for the help." The dirty blonde scoffed, pushing the second ginger of the house to the side and moving past him. "Oh!" Edd said, pulling out his earbud once more. "If you figure it out, let me know!" "Whatever!"

"You seem ever worried today," Tord started, continuing to follow the other-- much to his annoyance. " What? You fuck something up again?" " Fuck off. I haven't seen her all day. I'm just worried, Dick." "It's not like she can't take care of herself." "I know that. But she's a fucking dumbass with an impulse disorder and a can of pepper spray. Plus 4 years of law enforcement and dumb fucking defense classes in a tiny 5 foot package. The girl thinks she's indestructible and that doesn't go well with her--" "Tendency to do dumb fucking shit?" "That's putting it lightly. I guess getting into trouble runs in the family."

Tom perked up when the front door opened, Matt walking in with his hands behind his back as a much shorter figure following behind.

"Fuck, there you are-- What's with your hair?" Tom asked, moving toward his girlfriend, who's impossibly short cut hair almost replicated her brother's. " It's windy. And of course someone had to put the top down." She said, green eyes narrowing at the freckled ginger who was smiling brightly. "Oh, but look how good my hair is!" Matt whined, trying to get a bit of sympathy from his best friend's sister.

It was times like this that Tom realized, without her snake bites and brow piercing, their were only a few differences to Edd and his sister. Besides the accents, they could be twins if her eyes were a different color. And you know... If she wasn't a fucking twig.

Tom can remember how hilarious he thought the two were where they were younger. Sure, they weren't as big as they were now, but seeing this skinny short stack next to a guy like Edd and claiming them to be siblings was hilarious. But they looked a like, identical traits in each but separate none the less.

He had to admit, seeing his girlfriend without her hair pushed back was a little odd. She rarely wore it in a cowlick like her brother.

"Okay. Where did you two go off too?" He asked, noticing that the only girl in the house hand her hands shoved into the pockets of her blue zip up hoodie. The red long sleeve down to her wrists while the blue sleeves of her jacket were up to her elbows, and her tan pants and sneakers were slightly muddy. Practically all the cuffs of her pants were dirty, since she usually liked to go through puddles and mud rather than walk around a foot or two.

"We went to the mall!" Matt exclaimed, suddenly thrusting his hands into Tom's face. The shorter flinched, grabbing Matt's wrists and pushing them away to get a look at his hands. His nails were long, at least an inch and a half, and bright purple with butterflies and hearts. They were rectangles at the top and wrapped pretty nicely in a white french tip. "Aren't my nails gorgeous?"

"Yeah, their great," Tom said, letting his wrists go. " And why did you need to get your nails done?" "They were so dull before! I can't be this perfect and have dull nails! Plus, we got a 5% coupon!" Matt explained. Tom looked over to his girlfriend. " And how much did this cost?"

" 63 pounds each." She answered, her boyfriend raising a pierced brow. "Each?"

"Ah! Well yes, of course! I simply couldn't have a spa day all to myself," The ginger said as Tord took a seat on the couch, messing with his phone. "Sooo, I invited Bridget to come along!" He said, grabbing her hands out of her own pockets and revealing her nails. Long and sharp, deep blue with little piercings on them and a little blue marbling.

She smiled guiltily as Tom's eyes widened. "I mean- I couldn't not." She defended. "Bride- Baby, You're an All-star, really-" "Ah yes, just what every girl wants to hear." She teased lightly, fully knowing neither were at the "I love you stage" yest so finding a compromise was hard. "Yeah yeah- But... You're the clumsiest person I know. And you chew nail polish off your nails. In what world is this a good idea?"

Bridget blew air as her ran her hands through her hair, the front lightly sticking up in her normal do but half deflated without hair gel. " There is none- But! Listen to this!" She said excitedly, moving towards the wall and clicking her nails repeatedly on it with a wide smile, the noise loud and slightly satisfying. " Eh? Right? Isn't that great?" She asked. Tord sat up, laughing lightly. "You game for a living and the first thing you do is get acrylics-?" Bridget shushed him, moving over and running her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp as his face scrunched up.

"Don't think about the future, think about the now." "OH gOd that's horrible!" Tord groaned, cringing but laughing at the odd feeling. "Fuck it feels like your scratching my brains!" Tom rolled his pitch black eyes. " You're gonna hate those in two hours." He insisted, watching her creep closer. "Okay. I'm hearing you," She said. " But in my defense...."

Bridget moved forward, wiggling her fingers in her boyfriends face. "These are fucking sick." She whispered, her nails lightly scratching at his stubble and making his laugh and pull back from the ticklish feeling. " Fuck that's absolute shit." He chuckled, face scrunching as Edd jumped down the stairs.

"Hey! I knew I heard you-" His eyes widened as they landed on his sister, the siblings locked in a staring contest as she slowly moved her hand away, this time towards her brother.

"What the hell are those?" "Edddyyyy," "Don't you dare." "EEEEEddddddyyyy," "Bridget, I swear to god if you touch me with those things-" " I think you need a back scratch, Eddy bo' Beddy." "Get away from me you fucking dwarf!"

///////////

Tom groaned as he scratched his stomach, lazily flipping out the band of his sweatpants so he didn't have to tie them as he went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge door, goosebumps forming over his chest as he reached in to grab the milk. He kicked the door close with his foot and turned to fill his glass, jumping out of his skin at the figure in the arch way to the living room and hall.

"Jesus-! Damn it, Bridget! The hell are you doing?" He asked, hand over his chest as she stared at him, eyes slightly bloodshot and wide as she stood in the arch way, his blue hoodie down to her thighs and the peaks of dinosaur boxers underneath. Her hair was spiked up now, only slightly ruffled. " Did you just finish your stream?"

"Seventy-eight," She said shakily. " Seventy-eight fffffucking run-throughs, because my fucking nails! Keep getting caught!" She whispered- but it was more of a stage whisper with her theatrics as she held her hands out awkwardly. " I want them off, Thomas." Tom stared at her for a moment, eyes wide as she looked at him with a death glare.

"..Uhhhhh," He dragged. ".... There's a Buzzsaw in the attic?"

//////

haha I really just wrote a short with my Oc in it cause I have that kinda power so suck it

( But if ya'll really want an x reader one I can write another one. It'll litterally be the same though I have a bunch more asks to get through)

[icollectyoursins]

Merman Jotaro x Fem!Reader NSFW Part 1

Anon said: "Merman Jotaro merman Jotaro merman Jo... SPICY PLEASE"

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Honestly. I dream about this often. 9/10 times it’s hot. 1/10 times it’s really hot. It’s not gender neutral, I guess, but it’s not a fem!reader. The reader just happens to have a vagina and tits. I could do a reader-with-a-dick version of this, if you want. This one is very long. Couldn’t stop writing! I am the biggest Jotaro simp and I am not afraid to admit it.

Heads up, Jotaro is referred to it as ‘they’ for most of this, only because the reader doesn’t really know what he’s packing on first glance. Anyway, I hope this is in character because Jotaro is one I haven’t quite nailed yet.

For as long as you can remember the ocean would call to you. After a lot of resource managing and hard work, you finally had enough money to get a boat and a small cabin by the beach, free to escape to the vast blue as much as you liked. Which is exactly what you did today. Someone was a little less than happy to see you in his territory.

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Dubious consent (dub con), size difference, fingering, cunnilingus, nipple play (sucking specifically), uh... tentacle dick? Kinda, two dicks, breeding, mention of kidnapping at the end.

Word count: 2506

Rest and Reproduction   

     The smell of the salty air tickled your nose as the mist of small waves splashed your face. You breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the railing and staring out at the land. You could just barely see the sand and your little cabin. The rest was blue. A deep, calming blue. The stars reflected on the surface, twinkling pleasantly. Maybe you should go out a little bit further?

   Maybe tomorrow, you were tired from preparing your boat all day. The sun was just starting to set when you finally got on the water. You deserved a break.

   You sat down on a small fold-out chair you grabbed yesterday. It was comfier than you thought it would be and you sank into it happily, curling yourself into it as you stared up at the stars. A long sigh left your lips. Today was a good day.

   A loud splash to your left startled you, making you sit up quickly and run to the source of the sound. All you saw were the ripples it left behind. Whatever it was, it was big. Then another large splash, this time it was accompanied by a thunk on the metal. The boat rocked from the impact, instinctively, you reached for the railing, holding on so you don’t fall over.

   A third splash comes from behind you. You turn around quickly, catching the glimpse of a tail, pure black and big. It banged the side of the boat again, throwing you off balance. You stumbled backwards into the chair, knocking both it and yourself over. The knocking suddenly stops along with the rocking. Silence never felt more terrifying. You sat, frozen by fear.

   Then the bow started to dip and creak. You scrambled backwards hoping to keep out of the water as long as possible. A large, black, clawed hand gripped the front of the boat, then another. Whatever it was, it was trying to pull itself up. Slowly, you were able to see its face the closer it got to you. 

   Sharp, angular features with piercing blue eyes and full lips. Short, black hair messily stuck to their face. They crawled towards you, eyes narrowing with focus the more they tried to fit themselves onto the boat but their weight kept tipping it. You were holding onto whatever would keep you up, unfortunately, nothing was helping and you slowly began sinking towards your pursuer. 

   You tried to scramble your way up to no avail. The closer you got, the less they moved, waiting for you to come to them. They reached out with one of their massive hands, grabbing your ankle then pulling you towards them. What happened next was a blur.

   Arms wrapped around your torso, holding you close to keep you from struggling. Whoever was holding you was massive, significantly stronger than you, easily trapping you and pulling you into the frigid waters. The salty sea stung your eyes as it whipped around you. Then, just as you were about to blackout, you were pulled to the surface again, gasping for breath. 

   You pushed against what you assumed was a rock sticking out of the water because of the sting against your back. Your arms were pinned down as your attacker shifted himself so your legs were under them. They were cold and wet; slimy. As your eyes gradually focused, you saw fully who this thing was. 

   Glaring down at you was some kind of half-man, half orca or shark mix. Their arms up until the elbow were black, then faded to a light flesh tone. You couldn’t quite see the rest of their body, but you imagined the rest was similar. Light skin transitioning to a pitch black. Bright blue eyes started you down, full of rage and confusion. 

   “What are you doing here?” A low, rumbling voice boomed from them. You struggle to speak, unable to think straight with this whatever it was on top of you. Their eyes narrow at you, threatening you without words. You continue to stutter and attempt to free yourself from their grip which only tightens, claws digging into your skin. They snarl, face getting closer to yours. “What are you doing here.”

   “Ah! I’m just- nnf- I didn’t do anything wrong!” You gritted, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. “I was just trying to relax, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.” Their lips pulled back, baring their teeth slightly. It was at this point that you noticed that they were... well. Hot. They were hot. “Who are you?”

   They glared at you, deciding whether or not to answer and you felt yourself shrink under their gaze. After a few seconds, they finally did. “My name is Jotaro and you are in my territory.”

   “I didn’t mean to, I swear!” They snarled again. You could feel your heart race. They leaned into your neck, sniffing. You gasped, trying not to move, hoping you wouldn’t upset them more, but the closer they got to your neck, the more (regretfully) aroused you got. You moved your head away, stretching out your neck, shamefully trying to entice them. Meekly, you said: “I didn’t know.”

   They rolled their eyes, tail swishing in frustration. You could feel them moving against you, which only made your situation worse. You moaned quietly at the slight movement on your groin. They stopped, staring at you; perplexed. Embarrassed, you screwed your eyes shut, praying they wouldn’t notice the blush on your face. They moved again, deliberately this time, deeper and more fluid making you bite your lip to stifle another moan.

   Jotaro leaned in, raking their teeth along your sensitive neck taking in how you shivered. You were ashamed, but it’s hard not to react like this when there’s a really hot, strong, slightly intimidating merman on top of you. They released one of your arms, placing it by your shoulder to get more leverage as well as loosening their grip on the other. Their lips came dangerously close to you, breath kissing your skin, then they sat back again. 

   “You have two choices. I rip open your guts and feed you to the sharks, or-” they lean in, lips brushing against your jawline teasingly, “-satisfy me enough and I’ll let you get out of here alive.”

   “What?”

   “I’m not repeating myself. Now, hurry up before I make the decision for you.” You gulped. I mean... it’s not like he’s giving you very many options... you shyly nodded your head. “Say it.”

   “I’ll uh... satisfy you...” your voice trailed off into a question, not sure if that was the right word.

   “I’ll be the judge of that.” They pushed themselves back, looking up and down your body, probably to see if you were built to satisfy them. “You’re lucky I haven’t found a female yet, otherwise there would be two to worry about. The others of my kind aren’t so forgiving.”

   Okay, so they were a he. Good to know. That meant he had the... parts for everything to work, right? Or, at least most of the parts. He makes eye contact one more time before getting to work. Jotaro rips your bottoms off, slightly scratching your thighs, a low, rumbling sound coming from his chest. What little fabric is left is tossed aside and he holds open your legs, inspecting you.

   You stare at him a little dazed. This can’t be happening, right? He drags his teeth along the inside of your thigh while glaring at you from the corner of his eye, the shivers down your spine prove that this is very much real. When he gets close to your sex, it’s very apparent how aroused you were. He can smell it so strongly. A clawed finger cuts open your underwear leaving you completely open to his stare.

   He quizzically pokes at it, pushing your folds apart. Gently, he takes his thumb and rubs your entrance, eyes flicking up to you as you squirm, moaning quietly. His brows furrow together, testing you further by swiping up to your clit, pressing into it then circling. You moan louder this time, bucking your hips up into his finger.

   He quickly gets sick of your squirming, pulling his fingers away and bringing them to his lips, tongue slipping out for a taste. Jotaro stopped, sitting completely still. You shook, hoping he wasn’t offended. He looked at you with a new fire making you gulp down a breath. He slams one arm down across your hips, pinning you down while he brings his face closer to your cunt, licking along your entrance. Your hands fall into his hair, back arching off of the rock as much as it could in your immobile state. He groans at the taste of you, needing more. 

   He leans into you, lapping up your juices vigorously. His lips then wrap around your clit, lightly sucking. Your body tries to move, buck up into him as you mewl, but his arm is too strong. His eyes flick up to you, watching your cheeks get more and more red as he picks up his pace. Suddenly, he pulls back making you gasp. The two of you make eye contact before he crawls up to your face again, cool body rubbing against your unclothed lower half.

   Jotaro crashes his lips into yours. The kiss catches you off guard and you let out a small, muffled sound of shock, but soon melt into him. The taste of you mixed with the saltiness of the sea had your eyes rolling back into your head. Again, just as you were starting to enjoy yourself, he pulls back, moving onto another area of your body. This time it was your breasts.

   He tore a large hole in your top and bra, wide hands roaming over your now exposed chest, pinching where ever he saw necessary. Immediately, he drags his tongue along your soft flesh, flicking over your pert nipple. You gasp and groan, grinding up into him as much as you could under his weight. He pulls away sharply, baring his teeth as he growls at you.

   “Stay still,” he warns, pinching one of your nipples harder than he probably should have. You arch up into his touch, crying out in a mix of pain and pleasure. He twists. Hard. Your hands come to meet his, trying to pry him off, pain now taking the forefront of your feelings. Obediently, he pulls off, leaning into your face, voice low and dangerous. “Stop moving.”

   You meekly nod your head, still holding onto his hand which he then brings up to your face, wrapping your hair around a clawed finger. A sweet, kind change from the aggressiveness before. Jotaro’s eyes wander over your face, taking in your soft features. Once again, he kisses you, gently this time before shifting so he could focus back on your vag with his other hand. 

   His fingers spread your lower lips open again, middle finger pressing into your entrance. He’s careful, doing his best not to scratch you with his sharp nails. He moves his finger up and down before finally pressing into your warmth. You both gasp as your head tosses back. He starts with a slow pace, gently massaging your walls, coaxing more of your juices to seep out of you, squelching whenever he moves back in.

   Gradually he picks up the pace, testing your limits as well as listening to the sweet sounds that fall from you. He adds a second finger when he thinks you're ready, then three, stretching you open. You were so close, holding onto his hand still, pulling him closer to you as you reached your peak. Unfortunately, you never got there. He pulls his fingers out, licking off any traces of you from his fingers before moving so he was exposed to you.

   Jotaro takes your hand, bringing it to a slit below his waist. Your fingers trace over it lightly next to his, taking into account how he shudders. He leads your fingers, pressing into the top of the slit. Slowly, you watch it grow wide, a small pink nub starting to protrude from it. The more you tease his slit the bigger the nub grows into two full, smooth, tapered cocks. Tentacles? You weren’t quite sure, but they looked... exciting if a little intimidating. 

   You let go of his hand, opting to hold one of his cocks instead. They were slick and warm with a pleasant weight to them. The one you were holding curled around your hand slightly, covering your hand in moisture. You start jerking it with slow, shallow pumps, noticing how his eyes close shut and the slight buck of his hips. You pick up the pace, enjoying how the tip starts drooling what you assume it pre onto your hand. 

   Quickly, your hand is pulled away and he moves to align himself with your entrance. Slowly, he slides into you, groaning as he gets deeper. At first, it was okay, but the more that entered, the more full you felt, his tapered tip reaching into every crevice inside you. His other tenta-dick rested between your cheeks, teasing your back door, but never entering. He growls, picking up the pace slowly so you got used to the new intrusion.

   The feeling was driving you mad, whatever warm liquid was seeping out of him added to the pleasure, gradually building up to a tingly feeling that made you babble like an idiot. Jotaro places one of his arms above your head, pressing into you more while the other hand reaches up to your breast, teasing your nipple again. Instantly, you wrap yourself around him, pulling him closer as he gyrates into what feels like your soul. You cry out his name over and over, head tossing back in ecstasy.

   His breath tickles your ear as the two of you chase your release. He groans into your ear, lips trailing down your neck to your shoulder where he kisses you gently before sinking his sharp teeth into you. You scream as pain and pleasure mix together again. He speeds up, the lip of his slit stimulating your clit more and more. 

   “Ah, ah ~aah! I’m cl-hnn. I’m so close!” He laps up the blood from your shoulder, taking your words to heart, somehow getting deeper into you. A few powerful thrusts into you sent you hurtling over the edge, eyes rolling back while your vision when white and you fell limp in his arms.

   Jotaro soon followed you, the feel of your tightness around him made him plunge deep into you, spilling as much of his seed as possible. A vision of you growing round with his pup dances across his eyelids. He looks down at your face, flushed and relaxed. You were more than satisfying to him. He would never allow anyone else touch you after this.

   The last thing you recall was a warm kiss placed on your temple before being swallowed by the cold water and then black...

[searchingforstarss]

written for this anon that sent me this prompt a few weeks ago! i answered the original ask & i promise it was meant to be posted sooner but then i realised it was going to be a lot longer than the 1k i originally planned and then the holidays happened and i forgot about it in my drafts so here we are! i hope you see it and enjoy it x

---

“Shit, Parker, you good?”

That’s the only thing Peter hears crackling through his comms the second he hits the ground.

It’s Bucky’s voice, and he figures it’s probably a fair question. He’s just been thrown to the ground by a blast from a some sort of energy gun that one of the crazy guys on the ground is wielding, and he, Sam and Bucky are trying their best to get them to just stop and go the hell home.

“I, uh, yeah, I think I’m-”

There’s a creaking sound above from where he’s still sprawled out on the ground, trying to catch his breath without exacerbating the twinging in his ribs.

He cuts himself off suddenly to raise his gaze, sucking in a sharp breath as he sees the bodega on the corner of 82nd Street that he landed beside begin to lean, the structure looking like it’s beginning to give way, groaning under its own weight.

Before he can even think about opening his mouth again to call for assistance, for someone to help him out of here, anything, the whole thing collapses and caves in beside him, cracking steel, concrete and ply raining down on him.

He screws his eyes shut desperately, curling in on himself. He tries to bring his arms up to shield his head, but before he gets the chance, his right arm is pinned to the asphalt by a steel support beam. It must have have once been holding the building up but it's now clearly been rendered useless considering the majority of the building is sitting in pieces surrounding him.

He waits for the claustrophobia to set in, for the memories of Toomes to come rushing back and debilitate him but they don’t. He lets out a breathy sigh and lets the fact that he can still see the clear blue of the sky above him, the rubble not entirely hemming him in, comfort him. He’s okay. Someone will come for him.

Slightly fruitlessly, he pulls to try and tug his arm out from where it’s lodged underneath the mangled wreck of steel. Usually, he’d be able to lift it off himself without even thinking twice, but with only one working arm at his disposal and his body worn from a fight they were so close to winning, he’s not exactly at his strongest. He gives one last yank, pulling on his right arm with his left but it doesn’t move. Pain races through his muscles and he lets out a muffled groan. “Ah, fuck, ouch.”

“Language, tiny-tot,” Sam jibes, but when Peter doesn’t answer, too busy trying to steady his breathing, his voice grows serious. “Spider-Man. Peter. You okay under there? We saw that building go down on you, man.”

Awesome. Fantastic. How incredibly embarrassing.

This is what he likes about fighting alongside Sam and Bucky, though. They let him have free rein, they trust him implicitly to make his own decisions and they don’t freak out or fly off the handle the second something slightly varies from how it was meant to go - unlike Tony, who seems to find it difficult to deal with Peter getting hurt while fighting alongside the Avengers. Part of him is glad the man is preoccupied with investor meetings today. He would have lost his mind the second he saw the building go down, probably (no, scratch that - definitely). 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Most of it missed me.”

Sam seems to consider this reply because there’s silence over their line. Peter reaches up with his free hand instinctively to shove his comms deeper into his ear through the mask, to make sure it hasn’t just busted as well. In moments like this, he’s grateful that the team forces him and Tony to wear their own earpieces, despite their undying faith in both their AIs, for moments when things go awry - exactly like this one. He’s almost positive Karen is offline after the blows to the suit - both the initial blast and the impact of the building - because usually, she would be chirping in his ear by now, offering him a blow by blow recap of any damage to the suit or injuries sustained and offering assistance, which usually (or, always) involves calling Tony.

“Are you injured at all? In any pain?” That’s Bucky’s voice now, and Peter pauses to consider. He’s not in any actual pain, really. Sure, the steel that’s pressing against his arm and keeping him pinned down underneath the remnants of the bodega is kinda sore, but he’s not bleeding out. He’s had a lot worse than this.

“Nope, no pain. My arm’s kinda stuck though, so I don’t think I’ll be able to get myself out of this one in a hurry…” Peter admits.

“Don’t worry about it, short-stuff. Buck and I will be down as soon as possible, it won’t be longer than ten minutes, just sit tight, okay? We’ve nearly got this.”

“Will do,” Peter answers in the affirmative, “good luck.” Then, the comms line goes silent again.

He’ll be fine. Ten minutes isn’t that long. He can wait.

---

Turns out he and Sam must have a very different idea of ten minutes because it feels like hours that Peter’s been lying here.

That would be all okay normally - he thinks he would probably have gotten the better end of the deal, settling back under here while Sam and Bucky continue to fight, if it wasn’t for the unforgiving, bitter cold of the clear New York winter day.

He’s lived in New York for his entire life, he knows how to protect himself from the bitingly low temperatures of December and January. He’s spent years bundling himself up in second-hand sweaters, coats, scarves (and then usually a beanie and gloves at Ben and May’s, and then just May’s, insistence) before he steps outside. He can deal with the cold. It got a bit harder after the spider bite, getting used the thermoregulation abilities, or rather, the complete lack of thermoregulation abilities of a spider, but he’s managed it.

Even so, this? This is something else. He’s got nothing but the thin material of the Spider-Man suit to protect him against the elements and it definitely, one hundred per cent, does not help that along with Karen being damaged in the fall, Peter’s certain the energy blast must have short-circuited the whole suit because he’s becoming more and more aware by the second that the heater built into the suit is currently completely nonfunctional.

Peter is freezing, lying under the half-decimated building on the icy sidewalk, frosty cold creeping up around him and wrapping him in its frigid hold, binding his limbs stiff and numb.

He’s trying his hardest to not think about this, though, instead trying to focus on the blue of the sky he can still see above him. It doesn’t work that well, not when the tips of his fingers and lips are tingling from the chill in the air and he can barely feel his trapped arm anymore. He’s not so sure that’s a good sign.

He tries once more in vain to pull it free with as much force as he can muster, but that’s not much with the shivers running through him and cold dampening his strength.

He sort of regrets what he was thinking about Sam and Bucky before, and about Tony not being here. If Tony was here he would have had Peter dug out within minutes of the structure collapsing inwards, to hell with anything else he would be meant to be focusing on. It’s a selfish thought, Peter knows, because he shouldn’t want people to sacrifice the whole fight just to save himself from a little discomfort, but god, what he wouldn’t give to be warm right now.

A groan pulls itself from the back of his throat before he can stop it when a gust of wind rushes past, sending a wave of icy air hurtling over him. He bites down on his lip as soon as he hears the sound escape his lips, but it’s too late, and his comms line is crackling to life in his ear again.

“Come in Spider-Man? Are you there? Peter?”

Peter groans again. He’s just cold.

“Mmm, ‘m here.”

Bucky makes what sounds like a slightly unimpressed hum of approval.

“Update us. How are you doing down there?”

Peter briefly considers brushing everything off, but one of the many things Mister Stark has been trying to instil into him, specifically to ‘ask for help when you need it, you self-sacrificing idiot child,’ springs to mind.

“I, uh, just… how long do you guys think you’ll be? It’s kinda super cold down here,” Peter admits, trying to force words out around his numb lips.

“Hopefully only five minutes out now, I’ve just got to take out the last guy on my block then I’ll be straight down to you. Can you wait that long?”

Peter considers. Can he wait five minutes? He thinks so. Plus, he doesn’t want to seem weak. Five minutes is manageable.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. It’s just uh, my suit’s heater broke, so y’know…” Peter says, trailing off when he hears Bucky bark out a short laugh.

“Of course Stark built you a damn heater,” he quips. “I’ll see you in five. Try not to die from such tragic hardship until then.”

Bucky’s teasing like he always does, Peter can tell, but even so, the tiniest spark of indignation rises inside Peter. It’s not his fault that his stupid spidery DNA doesn’t know how to stop itself from freezing completely.

He wants Tony, but his only link to him has been severed so he knows he doesn’t have any choice but to wait this one out.

---

Seconds and minutes seem to freeze in the chill of the air.

Time slows in the cold.

Peter’s just fighting to stay awake at this point, though he can’t really remember why he’s trying to stay awake? Is someone coming for him? That would be nice, he thinks.

He’s reduced to nothing but the shivers that wrack his body and the icy air that feels like it’s stabbing him everywhere he can reach with a thousand tiny knives, biting him right down to the bone.

At one point, he must have tried to curl himself into a fetal position because his knees are tucked up as close to his legs as he can get them, but it’s not really doing all that much and the little body heat he has left that he’s trying to preserve seems to be rapidly escaping him.

Soon there will be nothing but winter inside of him, not a single spark of heat remaining to sustain him.

He still just wants Tony.

He was on a mission, right? He thinks so. Why isn’t Tony here?

Tony.

Peter’s teeth are chattering as he tries to force words out. He can barely move his lips. “K-K’ren? Mister St’rk? Call Mister St’rk. Pl’se?”

No reply. The faint static continues. Cold surrounds him.

---

There are voices in his ear somewhere, drifting around him, and he strains to focus in on them but the cold running through his veins has paralysed him and he feels like he’s far, far away. He wishes that if he has to be this far away, then it could at least be warm wherever he is, but it’s not. It’s cold.

He doesn’t want to be cold anymore.

He’s cold. So, so cold.

Scraps of metal and wood are being lifted from around him, and he blinks slowly a few times behind the mask. Then the steel is dislodged from on top of his arm, but he just stares at it stupidly. He can’t feel anything. Why can’t he feel anything?

“Peter?”

Peter tries to focus his eyes above him. All he can see is dark brown hair hanging across someone’s face, dark eyes with something like worry in them, maybe. Bucky? He was here right?

Peter isn’t sure anymore. He just wants Tony, but Tony doesn’t have long hair. At least he thinks he doesn’t. This isn’t Tony.

He closes his eyes again behind the mask. Maybe if he sleeps then when he wakes up Tony will be by his side. That’s usually how it works.

His mask is being tugged up off his face and he wants to protest but that seems like a lot of effort. He scrunches his eyes up against the brightness of the afternoon, no longer filtered by the mask. Too bright. Too cold.

“We’ve got you, Peter, you need to keep your eyes open. Do you think you can do that?”

No. He feels as if he’s encased in ice and it’s making his whole body feel heavy; his eyelids are hard to keep open. It’s all too hard.

“Can’t.”

“Shit, fuck, Sam, his lips are blue,” the voice - Bucky?- says, sounding worried.

Are lips supposed to be blue? Before he can answer his own question, his eyes fall shut again and the cold wraps around him, submerging him. The voices are drowned out by the steady nothingness of unconsciousness a few seconds later.

---

There’s a slow and steady bumping movement somewhere beneath him. Peter can’t quite pinpoint where it's coming from because his eyes still feel too heavy to drag open but he’s not sure why the pavement is moving until he realizes that what he’s lying on is far too soft to be the sidewalk.

He’s wrapped in a blanket as well. That’s nice.

There’s a low whirring, the rumbling of an engine, rubber on asphalt, and Peter knows he must be in the back of a van. He would panic, it sure seems like a situation to be panicking, but then a familiar voice fills his ears and he relaxes just a fraction.

“We need to call Stark” - it’s Sam’s voice, but that’s not what Peter’s focused on. Stark. He knows that name. Why does he know that name? It sounds safe and he wants them - “otherwise he’ll have a heart attack when he sees Peter when we get back and I don’t really fancy that on my conscience.”

Why is Peter going to give Stark… Mister Stark… a heart attack? He doesn’t want to do that. No, no, no.

Then there’s ringing filling the van. It’s a little shrill and high-pitched. Peter moves to tug his hands out from where they’re encased in the slightly scratchy woollen blanket to press them up to his ears when the sound is cut off by a voice.

“Wilson? If no one is dying this probably needs to wait, I’m in the middle of-”

Peter knows that voice. It’s the Stark they keep mentioning. Mister Stark. He’d quite like to see him right about now. Is he here?

“No one’s dying, but we just wanted to give you heads up about Peter-” - Huh. Peter. That’s him. He wonders distantly what he’s done. Nothing too awful, he hopes - “before we get back. He’s not in, uh, not exactly in the best shape.”

Rude, Peter thinks.

There’s an immediate change in tone, and Mister Stark’s voice becomes sharp at the edges with a tense kind of worry. “What happened? Do you need me down there? How bad is it?”

“We’re on our way back to the tower now, we’ve got him. He was, uh, stuck under some rubble round by 82nd for maybe twenty minutes or so, but he’s a bit out of it, and colder than he probably should be-”

“And you left him there? For twenty minutes?”

“In our defence, we didn’t realise how cold it was going to be for him, he said he was-”

“Fine, right? Is that what he said? For Christ’s sake, have neither of you learnt that the kid is always full of shit when he says he’s fine?”

The voice - Mister Stark, Peter’s hazy mind has to remind itself - is angry now and Peter doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want anyone to be angry with him, but he’s not quite sure how to make anything better. He whines, low and desperate in the back of his throat.

“Shit. Bad idea. Take him off speaker,” someone is saying, and then Mister Stark’s voice disappears. He waits a minute for it to return, but it doesn’t, the van only filled by the other two voices and Peter doesn’t like this. Is Mister Stark so angry that he left? He wants him back.

He whines again, stupid and needy. Where did the voice go? Where did Mister Stark go? He wants him back.

“M’ster St’rk,” Peter calls plaintively, finally managing to blink open his eye as wide as he can to search for him but all he finds is Sam and Bucky sitting strapped in opposite him. He frowns when he doesn’t get an answer.

Sam glances at him briefly, before turning his attention back to the phone pressed to his ear. Ah. That must be why Peter can’t see Mister Stark. Doesn’t change the fact that he wants him here though. “Look, we’re nearly back at the tower. We’ll talk to you then.”

The tower sounds familiar to Peter. If that’s where they’re going then that’s okay with him. He hopes they get there soon.

After this, everything falls into silence. Mister Stark’s voice still doesn’t come back.

---

When they pull up in the parking garage, Peter manages to stumble out the back of the van, legs still weak and shaky beneath him as he shivers. Bucky casts a strong arm around his shoulders and he leans into the support to stop himself from pitching forward and ending up sprawled face-first on the concrete.

Tony is the first thing Peter lays eyes on.

The man had been pacing back and forth in front of the elevator when they first pulled in but stilled as soon as he met Peter’s gaze.

He’s wearing a slightly rumpled looking suit jacket and dress shirt, the top few buttons undone. If he was ever wearing a tie, it’s been discarded somewhere along the way. He’s got a navy blue blanket gathered in his arms, as well. It’s worn like it’s had one too many trips through the washing machine, but even so, it’s still stained in the odd place if you look close enough, marks that look suspiciously like hot chocolate, and maybe butter from popcorn spillages adoring the fluffy material. Tony doesn’t seem to mind as he cradles it close to his chest.

He steps forward to meet them, taking a few hurried strides before he extends the arm that isn’t curled around the blanket to sweep Peter out from under Bucky’s arm into his own. Not that it takes much effort, because Peter is reaching for him the second he’s close enough.

They meet in the middle and Peter, the cold having sucked all of the little grace he had in his body, all but falls into Tony’s arms, trusting the way his arms shoot out to catch him, wrapping around him and keeping him close. Tony’s warm and it’s nice.

“Hey, Mister Stark,” he murmurs blearily into the fabric of Tony’s suit, where he’s immediately pressed his face into his shoulder. “‘M fine, I promise.”

Tony hums. He’s got his gaze fixed down on Peter, seemingly ignoring Bucky and Sam, who are standing off to the side. Peter feels kind of bad for them, but he doesn’t have the mental energy to try and deal with too many things at once. He’s tired and he still feels like remnants of cold have hidden themselves away inside of him. He can’t stop shaking. He leeches as much warmth from Tony as he can.

“I’m not all too convinced of that, kiddo,” Tony says softly, “but lucky for you, I don’t think it’s anything we can’t fix. We can’t get rid of you that easy, huh?”

Peter gives a tiny laugh, more sad and worn than joyful. “Guess not.”

Tony pulls away from Peter for a brief second, only to tug the blanket he’s still wrapped in off. It looks like it might be an old SHIELD issue one and Tony wants it off. He replaces it with the worn blue one that he’s holding and Peter instantly recognises it as the one that lives on the sofa (or folded neatly over the back, if Pepper’s home), that they curl up under during movie marathons, or the nights after the particularly hard patrols when Peter stumbles into the living room and collapses next to Tony and can’t find the energy to move to his own room. It's comforting. Familiar. 

“You’re still shivering,” Tony notes as he smoothes the blanket over Peter’s shoulders with gentle hands.

Peter nods defeatedly. “Yeah. ‘M sorry, I messed up. The suits busted. Karen, my heater, all of it.”

Tony glances over at Bucky and Sam briefly with narrowed eyes, before he asks, “wait, your heater?” Peter pulls back at the sharp, biting tone. He didn’t mean to make him angry again.

He nods cautiously. “Uh, yeah. There was a guy with a gun, um, a ray thing, and he got me with his blast.”

Tony pulls his lips together into a tense line. “We’re calling Bruce.”

“I feel fine. A little longer under this,” Peter says, gesturing to the blanket as he pulls it further around his shoulders, “and I’ll be fine.”

“Nuh-uh. You were lying there without your heater for almost half an hour, do you have any idea how cold it is out there?”

Peter furrows his brows. Uh, of course he does. He’s just been lying out there in the same cold Tony’s talking about. “Yeah, it’s cold, but I swear, I’m-”

“Nope. Not doing this with you, buddy. C’mon,” Tony asserts, and Peter is too tired to argue, plus the weight of Tony’s arm hooked around his shoulders is steadying and warm and he kind of doesn’t want to risk doing anything that might make it go away. He takes a few steps forward before he jolts back a little and spins around in Tony’s hold to glance back at Bucky and Sam.

“Uh, I’ll see you later guys. I’m sorry I kinda got in the way and stuff,” Peter offers suddenly. Tony decidedly doesn’t turn around, but he does pause his footsteps to let Peter take the moment.

“Don’t say that, Peter. You did great. I’m sorry we couldn’t get to you sooner,” Sam tells him. Peter smiles, albeit a little wanly.

“It’s not your fault,” Peter says softly. He hopes they believe him, but the forlorn look on Bucky’s face tells him that maybe they don’t. He also hopes they both don’t notice the way Tony stiffens at Peter’s words, as if he doesn’t believe them either.

---

Bruce only hovers over Peter up in the penthouse for ten minutes or so, checking his vitals and running tests for hypothermia, before eventually deciding that if Peter was hypothermic, that he’s fairly stable now. Tony relaxes back into the couch - where he’s sitting next to Peter, almost shoulder to shoulder - at this.

“I’ll be back up in an hour or two, okay Peter?” Bruce tells him, but his eyes flit over to Tony as well. Peter knows what he’s doing, making sure Tony doesn't let him move from the couch. Jokes on both of them, though, because he doesn’t think he could muster up the energy even if he tried. “I just want to make sure that your temperature has stabilized and it’s not at risk of going south again. You’re sitting around 95 degrees at the moment which I’m happy with considering you run a little cool, anyway. If you can maintain that then I’ll let you go.”

“Mhmm, got it, Doctor Banner. Thank you,” Peter says, giving a sleepy nod in additional confirmation against where he’s still resting against Tony’s shoulder. It seems like a lot of words but his tired mind gets the general gist of the whole thing.

Bruce turns to leave the room and Peter turns his gaze up towards Tony. “You gonna stay?”

Tony nods obviously, as if it was a stupid question in the first place. “Course. It’s my living room after all,” he jests, “plus, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t freeze.”

“Thanks, Mister Stark,” Peter says, completely earnestly, ignoring Tony’s sarcastic comments and seeing right through them to see them as what they are. Tony offering to stay with him. Tony wanting to stay with him.

“No problem,” Tony says, and his voice doesn’t sound as easy as it had before, as if he’s slightly taken aback by Peter’s sincerity. “You wanna try to rest your eyes for a bit?” Tony offers, and Peter doesn’t respond. He's tired and he's just been offered sleep, so he lets his eyes fall closed and knows that he can fall asleep safe and warm.

---

Peter wakes up, once again, to the sound of voices surrounding him sometime later. He feels decidedly less lethargic, but he’s still too comfortable to move so he just lies there and listens for a moment. Tony’s speaking anyway, and he sounds terse again, so Peter figures that maybe right now isn’t the best time to interrupt. He thinks maybe he’s on the phone until he hears Sam’s voice.

“We didn’t know. I had no idea about him and the cold, or why he needed his heater, I swear Tony, otherwise we wouldn’t have-”

Tony cuts him off. “It isn’t just about that though. God, he’s sixteen and he was caught underneath a goddamn corner store and you left him there.”

“I know, I know, it sounds bad, and it is bad, but we were all there because we had a job to do, Tony. You know how it works. There were people, civilians, Peter would have killed us if we left them there to go and help him.”

Tony huffs out a sigh and grumbles half-heartedly in a way that tells Peter that he isn’t actually quite as angry as he’s letting on. He must know that Sam and Bucky are right. Because they are, Peter would have been so mad if they chose to put him above everyone else. He’s a superhero, that’s not how it’s meant to work.

“Yeah,” Tony says, a tiny show of concession. “I know what we do is high stakes and I also know what he’s like. He’s irritatingly stubborn, I get it. Other things were going on, he said he was fine, whatever. But when I send him out with you guys, with any of you, I trust you to protect him. He hasn't got the experience that we do. I needed you both to look out for him and you didn’t. He’s a kid - he’s my kid, that means I need him safe, you get that?”

Neither Sam nor Bucky have kids so they don’t look like they particularly understand the exact sentiment, but what they do get is that fierce protection that radiates off Tony whenever he’s close to Peter is not something to be messed with - ever.

“I - we really are sorry, Tony. Let us know when Peter’s awake?” Sam asks tentatively, and there’s silence for a moment.

“Yeah, yeah, will do. Just get out of my living room.”

 Peter waits strategically for a few minutes, staying still as he lies where he’s burrowed up against Tony. He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of faking it until Tony speaks up again eventually, exasperation and amusement lacing his tone. “You can open your eyes now, Pete. I know you’re awake.”

Peter opens one eye tentatively and offers Tony a sheepish grin.

“How d’you always know?”

“Your nose twitches more when you’re awake,” Tony says, as if that’s a perfectly normal observation to be making. Peter figures that for the two of them and the amount of time they spend together, it probably isn’t that far out of the ballpark of normal - whatever the hell that means when it comes to them. 

“They didn’t mean to, you know. They didn’t know. They looked after me real well, once they got me out and all that” Peter offers, changing the subject back to Sam and Bucky in a way that makes Tony’s shoulders stiffen just a fraction.

Tony gives a one-shouldered shrug after a moment. “Yeah, I know,” he says. His voice sounds slightly defeated, and he sucks in a sharp breath of air. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed at them for not protecting you.”

“I’m Spider-Man, I don’t need protecting,” Peter protests, but Tony just raises an eyebrow.

“I think we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on that one, kid.” He pauses for a moment. When he speaks next, his voice is lighter. “I’m making your next suit out of merino. Insulating, temperature-regulating, all that good stuff. With a heater and fabric like that, you’ll never even be able to imagine being cold in the suit.”

Peter rolls his eyes up towards Tony. “That seems unnecessary.”

“I wasn’t asking for feedback. This is entirely non-negotiable,” Tony presses on, but he chuckles when Peter tugs one hand out from underneath the blanket and curls it into a loose fist to bump into Tony’s shoulder.

“You worry too much.”

“You get hurt too much.”

“Part of the job, not my fault” Peter counters, voice lowered slightly as he mutters under his breath in that petulant, teenager-esque way that Tony adores because it reminds him that Peter still knows how to act his age underneath all the superhero-bravado.

Tony pauses. “As it turns out, worrying is part of my job as well,” he says gently. Exactly what job he’s referring to goes unspoken, but at this point, they both know it’s probably gone well past the slightly distant mentor job Tony originally undertook.

Peter pauses and considers this. A barely suppressed dopey smile pulls at his lips. “Maybe we both just can’t help it,” Peter decides. Tony nods. This seems fair - and also kinda true.

“You got that right, buddy.”

Peter leans further back against the couch and curls closer to Tony, letting the man fuss for a second and wrap the blanket tighter around his shoulders. There’s probably no need, the shivers have stopped and he’s perfectly still now, body temperature holding steady. He allows it, though, and just burrows into the fluffy fabric. It feels nice to be looked after, to be protected.

He cracks one eye open again.

“Did you really have to call me irritatingly stubborn?”

---

Two weeks later, the weekend is forecast to be the coldest of the winter so far.

Peter wakes the next morning to find a suit made of merino wool, as promised by Tony, alongside a pair of gloves modified to fit his web-shooters, wrapped and sitting at the end of his bed.

He rolls his eyes but wears it once - partly just to humour Tony and partly because it really is damn cold - and he hates that it’s the coziest he’s felt on patrol all winter. He also just looks straight-up ridiculous.

(If he wears it a few more times - only on the coldest of days - then that’s nobody's business).

[stilinskiimagines]

Good Cop, Bad Cop//Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin, Reader.

“It’s our first day in the field, big deal. It’s not even the actual field..it’s a literal field.” You shrug and look over your shoulder at your best friend Stiles. He adjusts his trainee badge pinned to his belt loop. “I know..I just thought it’d be more exciting.” He says and jogs towards you, walking beside you.

“I bet $20 I make more headshots than you.” You look up at him and smirk.

“Oh, you’re on.” He grins and you two run towards the field. You’re deep in conversation, the two of you building off of each other’s sarcasm.

“Y/L/N! Stilinski! Get over here now!” The chief yells. You both run over and he tosses you both a gun. You catch your and examine it. You glance over at Stiles fumbling with his. He drops it and rubs the back of his neck, the chief rolling his eyes.

“Stilinski.” He grits his teeth and Stiles picks it up immediately. The chief points behind him toward the range.

“I uh-..”

“Now!”

“Yep yep. Going. The range. Going to the range.” Stiles says before jogging towards the range.

“How do you deal with that spastic young man?” The chief asks you.

You shrug. “With a lot of patience and sarcasm.”

He looks deep in thought. “Makes sense. Now get to the range.”

You nod. “Yes, sir.” You walk over to where Stiles is standing.

“Thanks for making me deal with that.” You whisper and he smiles.

“Oh you’re definitely welcome.” He says quickly as he loads his gun.

You cringe and step back. “Stiles, be careful.”

“What? I know what I’m doing.” He waves the gun around as he talks.

“Stilinski. Watch it!” You yell as you duck to avoid the gun being aimed at you.

He squints at you. “Yeah..” He sighs as he put the safety back on. “I’ll be careful.”

“You trying to kill me?” You laugh and open your arms.

“I mean…I’d kill for you.” He smiles.

“Like, I’d kill someone for you or like ‘man I’d kill to go on a date with her.” You smirk.

“The latter..but if you want the truth, I’d do either?”

“You ain’t clownin’?” You grin, his face lighting up as you say your inside joke.

“I ain’t clownin’.” he laughs. “But honestly, I’d kill to go on a date with you.”

“Technically, you and I are partners so we’re always on a date.” You throw your hands up.

“Yeah..I guess you’re right. Considering we live together too.”

“Yeah..” You say, scratching your chin playfully. “I’d have to say we’re on a perpetual first date.”

After the field work you and Stiles head home.

You unlock the door and walk in. “I desperately need a shower.” You sigh, putting your keys on the counter.

“Dibs!” Stiles shouts, shoving past you, he runs to his room to grab a towel.

“No!” You chase after him, taking a sharp turn into the bathroom. You look the door and smirk to yourself.

He knocks on the door. “Y/N, come on. I called dibs.”

You were already peeling your shirt off. “You can’t call dibs on something I suggested. For myself.”

“Pleaaaaaase….” He whines.

You unbutton your pants and take them off, adding them to the pile of clothes in the corner.

“No. Leave me alone.”

You hear him sigh. You’re going to have to go back to your room wet and naked, but what’s a girl to do when her shower’s being threatened? You step under the water, the hot stream on your back making you sigh with relief. Your banter with Stiles always made you think he had a thing for you, even though he never acted upon it. He had endless opportunities and never even tried.

You step out, squeezing the water out of your hair before unlocking the door. You step out, looking both ways for Stiles before running across the hall to your room. You hear him talking to a girl in the living room.

“Hey, Y/N?” He yells.

“What?” You respond, already drying your hair with a towel.

“Did you just run across the hall naked?” He says. You can hear the smirk on his lips.

“Possibly. Maybe. Yeah…why?” You feel your cheeks heat up.

“Just thought I’d check.”

You get dressed and come out, a red-haired girl sitting on the couch with Stiles. She has her hand on his leg, smiling at him.

“There’s the naked lady of the hour!” Stiles laughs.

“Shut up. If I’d have gotten a towel like you I wouldn’t have gotten my shower.” You sit in the recliner and cover with a blanket.

He chuckles and looks to the girl. “Lydia, this is Y/N Y/L/N. Y/N, this is Lydia Martin.”

You lean forward and shake hands with her. “You’re the Lydia Martin. Wow.” You smile. “You’re a living legend according to Stiles.”

She laughs. “According to everyone.”

The three of you sit and talk for awhile before you decide to head to bed. You felt weirdly sad. She had a lot of interest in him and he always talked about how great she was. Maybe he still has a thing for her.

You groan loudly and fall into your bed. You lie there for what feels like hours, trying not to think about Stiles.

You hear footsteps out your door and you try to listen. “That’s her?” You hear Lydia say.

“Yeah…just please don’t say anything. Okay? I just..I don’t want to screw this up.” You hear Stiles respond.

“My lips are sealed.”

You don’t hear anything else besides Stiles’ bedroom door opening and closing. You get out of bed and go to the living room. You throw your hair up in a bun and turn a movie on, eventually falling asleep.

You’re awoken by Stiles’ soft voice, his hand caressing your cheek. He’d covered you with a blanket when he woke up. You fluttered your eyes opened and looked at him, immediately squinting when you saw the light pouring in from the window.

“You look adorable.” He smiles.

“God, what time is it?” You sit up and sigh.

“We have to be at school in 30 minutes.” Stiles looks at the clock.

“What? Why didn’t you get me up earlier?” You jump off the couch.

“You looked peaceful.” He shrugs and you run to your room, rushing to get ready.

Stiles pokes his head in your room as you button up your shirt. “Is it okay if Lydia stays here while we’re gone?”

You shake your head and walk out, grabbing your keys. “Nope that’s fine.”

You both go out to the car and go to school. You’re back out on the field again. You run through the same routine before going to the lounge to change.

Stiles is scratching his arm viciously.

“Stop, you’ll draw blood.” You look at him over your shoulder.

“It itches. I think something’s wrong.” He continues to scratch.

You examine his arm. There’s welps up his forearm.

He looks down at them and grimaces. “Oh God…just cut it off. It’ll help.”

“Stiles, it’s a mosquito bite.” You deadpan.

“I just wanted one of those cool robot arms.” He sighs as he scratches.

You pull his hand away and rub the spot for him, making him groan. Which, in turn turns you on just a bit. You continue to rub his arm. “You’re serious? Well, where would you even get one?”

He looks at you adoringly, thankful for your help. “There’s this guy on Craigslist.” He shrugs.

“You’re such a dork.” You laugh. “Let’s get you home, I’ll put cortisone on it.” You smile.

You head home and you go inside, straight to the bathroom. You return with the cortisone. Stiles smiles and rolls his sleeve up.

You’re rubbing it on his arm when Lydia walks in. “How was school?” She smiles.

Stiles answers and you close the lid to the cream, pulling his sleeve down. “Better?” You look up at him.

He nods. “Thank you. I was legitimately hoping we could cut it off though.”

“Oh, I know. Trust me, I know you very well.” You smile and turn, putting the cream down.

He smiles at you, a look in his eyes that makes your stomach twist in excitement. “Thank you. I really mean that.”

“Not to uh…burst your little thankful bubble..but, I just put anti-itch cream on a mosquito bite.” You laugh, feeling your cheeks heat up. Why were you blushing?

“I know.” He flicks his eyes over to Lydia and she smirks.

Later that night you’re spread out on the couch with Stiles, your legs in his lap. “So…you and Lydia?” You raise an eyebrow at him. It’s better to know about them now rather than later.

“What about us?” He rubs his hand on your leg.

“Do you still have a thing for her?”

He laughs. “God no.”

“Well…she seems to be into you, so I thought…” You pull the blanket you two are sharing up around your shoulders.

“I’m gay.” Lydia walks into the room, a smile on her face.

“Oh…Stiles had said you guys were a thing.”

“Yeah, we were. I’d been with a lot of guys to convince myself I was straight but when I met Stiles’ ex-girlfriend I’d kinda decided to embrace it.”

You nod. “Ex-girlfriend?” You look at him.

“She’s talking about Malia. I’ve told you about her. They’ve been dating for about a year.”

“That means you turned two girls gay.” Lydia laughs as she sits with the two of you.

You laugh. “God, that has to be a record. Not only did you turn two girls gay, but they’re dating each other.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “They were in love before I even dated Malia. Besides, you aren’t gay are you?” He smiles and lifts you up, pulling you onto his lap.

“Last time I checked, no.” You look into his eyes.

“Hey, I called for Chinese, I’m going to see if they’re here.” Lydia gets up and exits through the front door.

“Y/N…” Stiles smiles and pushes your hair out of your face.

You lean into his hand. “Yeah?”

“I’m in love with you.” He whispers.

Your heart flutters and you grin. “I’m in love with you too.”

He presses his lips to yours before leaning back. “Remember that bet about headshots?”

“Yeah?” You smile.

“You still owe me 20 bucks.” He kisses you again, making you giggle.