#lacrosse mom shirts

[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

[annwrites]

trick or treat one-shot collection.

— pairing: jacaerys velaryon x twin!reader

— type: modern!au | (part of a collection)

— summary: you & jace have fun in a pile of leaves & then take a nap together.

— word count: 718

— tags: implied twincest, sharing clothes, napping together

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr @aemondwhoresworld @cecestea

When Jace pulls into the driveway, you jump out of his car excitedly, toss your backpack onto the grass, then practically dive into a pile of leaves your dad must’ve raked earlier, but never got around to packing into an orange trash bag, with the face of a jack-o-lantern printed on the front of it, like he did the rest of the yard.

Jace chuckles, coming to stand over you, hands resting on his jean-clad hips while he gazes down at you.

“Are you five?” He asks with a raised brow.

You giggle, then reach up toward him.

He sighs, sliding one of his hands into yours, so as to pull you up, until you tug him down with you.

Bright red and orange leaves crunch beneath his weight and he sighs in exasperation before rolling onto his side.

“You’ve got leaves in your hair,” he remarks, pulling a few from your curly brown strands.

You shrug, then push him onto his back before straddling his lap.

“Now you do, too,” you say with a smile, running your fingers through his hair.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head while a smirk spreads across his lips—his hands sliding up your tight-clad thighs, beneath the plaid skirt you wear. “We always have to match, don’t we?”

You nod, humming in agreement, and he grins.

“C’mon, let’s go in,” he says, and you stand to let him up.

You and Jace pad across vacuumed carpet, toward the back of the house, where your rooms lie across the hall from one another.

“I’ll use the shower downstairs,” you say, turning into your bedroom.

He tosses his backpack into his room before stepping over to you.

He cups your cheek, and you watch as the corner of his lip twitches.

“What?” You ask with furrowed brows.

“Just thinking of ways to conserve water,” he replies, shrugging, heading into his room to grab a change of clothes.

When Jace comes back into his room, it’s to the sight of you standing in front of his open closet with only a towel on while you sift through his t-shirts.

He leans against the door-frame with crossed arms. “Your closet and dresser are both packed with clothes. Why do you always have to take mine to wear around the house?”

You glance to him over your shoulder and shrug. “We’re twins. What’s yours is mine, etcetera. We share everything.”

Predictable reply, he thinks before flopping down onto his bed.

“And yours are more comfortable,” you add.

He watches as you choose an old t-shirt, with the mascot for the school’s lacrosse team printed on the front and his number on the back, before dropping your towel and tugging it on over your head.

You toss said towel into Jace’s full hamper, frowning slightly at the sight.

“I’ll empty it eventually,” he says.

You turn back to him with crossed arms. “What you mean to say is that me or mom will.”

He smirks without reply before patting the right side of the bed.

You step over to it, then climb in next to him.

He fans out a throw blanket, drapes it over your bare legs, and you curl into his side.

You rest your head and left hand on his bare chest before twining one of your legs around his.

He tangles his fingers in your hair—massaging your scalp—and your eyes flutter closed.

It’s nearly two hours later when your mom and dad get home, and both of your younger brothers along with them.

Your mom knocks lightly on Jace’s door before quietly opening it, and she smiles softly at the sight of the two of you taking a nap together—the waning autumn sun casting long shadows across both of you through curtained windows while you dream.

She grips Jace’s shoulder and shakes him gently awake.

He gazes up at her with furrowed brows and a confused look in his sleepy eyes.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she whispers before glancing to you. “Get your sister up, so the two of you can eat.”

She leans down, pressing a kiss to his forehead before sighing at the sight of his overflowing hamper in the corner.

She grabs it up, lightly shaking her head at her eldest child as she exits, heading for the laundry room.

[erikahenningsen]

Some Cadina headcanons to kill time

Cady finds that she loves Disney movies, and once she’s done watching every iteration of The Lion King 8000 times Regina offers to watch all the other ones with her. Secretly, it’s because Regina refused to watch them once she started middle school because she thought they were too babyish, but she does love and miss them. Watching Cady get adorably excited watching the movies is just a bonus.

When Regina decides to join lacrosse, it becomes Cady’s new special interest. She doesn’t really care about watching lacrosse beyond watching Regina, but she gets really into learning every rule and the history of the game. Soon she knows even more than Regina does about lacrosse. On one occasion Janis has to hold Cady back when the ref cards Regina over a call Cady considers to be bullshit. She wears Regina’s lacrosse t-shirts to all her games.

Cady and Regina go to senior prom together. Cady is the one who asks Regina. She enlists Damian and some of the theater kids to serenade Regina (which she hates but also loves) and Janis to make a sign as a promposal. Regina acts like it’s cheesy and she’s above it but she cries a little. Cady doesn’t call her on it. They get coordinating dresses and ride to the dance in a limo with their friends and kiss on the dance floor. It’s the best night of Regina’s life.

Cady is the person Regina texts when she’s in pain, but she only starts doing it after Cady yells at her for ignoring her body’s warning signs when Cady finds her in a stairwell at school unable to get up or down the stairs. Cady will bring Regina her meds and a heating pad and will give her a massage, even if Regina doesn’t ask for it and sometimes even when Regina isn’t in pain. Sue her.

Regina single-handedly turns the mathletes competitions into a hot school event. She makes social media pages for the teams and convinces students to go (some would call it threatening, but Regina disagrees) and cheers loudly for Cady when she gets an answer right. She’s been escorted out from more than one competition for heckling.

Regina is still deeply insecure about her body and it took a long time for her to let Cady see her without clothes on (including when they went to the beach or hung out by Regina’s pool). Cady makes it a point to not only tell Regina how beautiful she is but to show her how much she loves her imperfections by kissing each scar and stretch mark. It’s healing not only for Regina but also for Cady, who feels responsible for Regina’s scars and the weight that Regina gained during junior year.

Shane imprints on Cady like a baby duck because Regina is Shane’s person and Cady is Regina’s person, so in a roundabout way Cady is his person, too. Cady is at first kind of overwhelmed by the intensity of his friendship but she quickly grows to love him. I’m not saying Shane runs a Cady/Regina anonymous Instagram account but if one DID exist it would be his. His math grade is improving, too.

Regina’s mom is overwhelmingly supportive. On one particularly scarring occasion she sits Cady and Regina down to talk about safe sex, complete with props. She has a series of TikToks about her lesbian daughter and her girlfriend that Regina secretly deletes (her mom’s phone password is 1234) and then acts like there’s some weird glitch in the app that does that. Regina is swimming in lesbian pride flag apparel and pins and flags that kind of makes her want to die but secretly makes her emotional. Regina really wishes her mom would stop referring to Cady’s mom as her sister-in-law though.

[billthedrake]

PRE-FROSH (CHAPTER ONE)

This story is a sequel to "Dad's New Life."

I was prepared to take a good amount of teasing, and maybe more, this weekend. But the guys in the Sig Ep house were cool, I had to admit.

I didn't think I was going to be able to visit. But my older brother Connor swore to my parents he'd keep a hawk's eye on me and keep me from drinking or doing anything I shouldn't. I got along OK with my brother, but growing up he was always kind of bossy, taking advantage of being three years older than me and more of the popular kid in school.

He was still that guy, only now I'd grown up, taller than Connor now, and had really bulked up. I'd say it was basketball and lacrosse, but a lot of it was just obsessively working out and keeping my growing teen body fed with enough protein to put on muscle. I still had a young face - and I had a good idea it would be a while before I could pull off a fake ID - but I was starting to get a strong build for my 6'3" frame.

I now sat in a big sofa in the rec room of the fraternity house, watching some dumb TV. Connor plopped himself next to me with a knowing grin. He had two beer cans in his hand and offered me one. "Not a word to Mom and Dad, Squirt," he admonished.

"Course not," I said, gratefully taking the beer. I took a few sips. It was cheap beer but I didn't care, I loved it.

"Hey O'Brien," one of the brothers said. Alan I think his name was. A senior and a stocky, goofy dude who I discovered was one of Connor's close buddies in the house. The Four Musketeers they called themselves, and Alan was the crudest of the bunch. "Is the pre-frosh gonna partake of Mike's services?"

I wondered if Mike was a drug dealer or something. I figured my older brother wouldn't be into anything too wild. He was the studious one in the family.

Connor got an uncharacteristically shy look. "Dude, it's my baby brother we're talking about."

"I'm not a baby," I objected. I'd turned 18 a couple weeks earlier.

This fraternity brother just gave me a sly wink before turning to my brother. "Like your brother doesn't get his dick wet. The young dude's a fucking lacrosse player fer Christsake."

Fuck, they were talking about sex. With a dude. I smirked, and Connor laughed when he turned to see my expression. "You don't even know what you're grinning about, Jase," he teased.

I shrugged, showing off as much teen bravado as I could. "I figured if it wasn't fun, you wouldn't be acting like I wasn't ready for it."

I could sense my brother was frustrated, cause he didn't object or act bossy, he just gave me a pale grin. "All right. Just remember. No talking about what happens this weekend. Promise?"

"Yeah, dude," I said, annoyed. "I fucking promise."

It was a half hour before Mike showed up. I heart his booming baritone voice coming down the SigEp house steps to the basement before I saw him. I don't know what I expected, but the guy was older, a lot older. Like, dad's age. And buff as hell. He didn't quite look like an ex-athlete, not like Coach Carson, but he was big and beefy and muscular, more of a gym-pumped build, but he clearly took real good care of himself. He wore a snug polo shirt and faded jeans and had a Chicago Bears ball cap on. His shirt was all filled out with huge pecs and big guns. I had jerked off to some bi and gay porn, maybe more than I'd like to admit. I never thought of myself as into older dudes, but something about this guy got me going.

Particularly since I was putting two and two together and realizing this buff older man really was somehow providing some kind of services to the fraternity brothers. Maybe just a handjob or something, and I wondered if he was actually a fucking hooker the way the guys acted so nonchalant.

"Hiya, fellas, how's it hanging?" he asked, giving Dale a fist bump. Dale was another one of the Four Musketeers.

"About six inches soft," Dale wisecracked.

It may have just been banter, but this was not what I was expecting for my pre-frosh weekend on campus.

Mike gave a soft chuckle and looked around. "Same room?" he asked.

"Yeah," Alan replied. "We set it up to make it extra comfy for ya."

Mike smirked but didn't take the bait of the taunt. He just asked. "Who's first?"

"Let the prefrosh have first dibs," said Kyle, a sophomore soccer player who had a whole stoner vibe about him.

I looked over at my big brother Connor, like he was going to object. He just shrugged in a "you wanted it," kind of way.

So I acted like I wasn't some dumb young high schooler and stood up. I felt the guys' eyes on me, almost giggling.

I followed the big guy up the stairs and down the hall. I don't know whose room we were using... one of the brothers', but Mike seemed at home, like he came here regularly. As we stepped in, I started to get nervous, my bravado going right out the window. The man caught on.

"I've not seen you around the house before," he said.

I stood awkwardly in front of him, shifting on my feet some. "I'm just visiting," I explained. "I'm still in high school actually," I added, then immediately regretted it. I was probably blowing my chance for a handjob right then.

But the man didn't seem fazed. His blue eyes twinkled beneath the brim of his ball cap and a smile formed on his handsome face. Up close I could now see the silver flecks in his stubble and for some reason I found that really hot. "Is that right, buddy?" he asked. "Not too young for me are ya?" he asked. Kind of flirty in his question.

"No sir," I replied. Feeling dumb for calling him that. "I'm a senior... just turned 18 a couple weeks ago."

He nodded with that sexy smile of his and now openly looked me up and down. "You're big for 18... you lift regularly I bet."

"Yessir," I said. I wished to hell my parents hadn't instilled that deference to elders thing in me so hard. I probably seemed like an idiot to this guy. "I'm a typical jock, I guess. Hoping to get a lacrosse scholarship somewhere." God, I was blabbing now.

"Nice," was all the guy said and like that he was crouching down in front of me. I'd lost any chub I had with the nervousness and the small talk, but now I knew instantly I wasn't gonna have a problem getting hard. I felt that horny tightness in my chest and throat as I watched this hunky guy get in position and run his hands along my legs.

Mike looked up at me. I tried to gauge his age. Late 40s to mid 50s. He was well preserved for sure, but also had a tan that made his face look more ruggedly handsome. "I bet you get a lot of attention from men."

I shook my head. "I wish," I replied. It was refreshing to be honest, even if I didn't even know this guy.

Mike's paw now massaged the growing boner in my shorts. "Just send out the signals, stud, and I can guarantee you'll get as much attention as you want." It was wild to hear his words in such a deep baritone of a voice, the Chicago accent thick as hell.

"Signals?" I asked. In addition to a handjob, maybe I could get some advice for hooking up. If I had the guts to back in my small hometown.

"Yah," he explained. "Eye contact, body language. Letting a guy know you're open to his advances." His fingers were now undoing my shorts. "I wasn't sure about you, actually. You seem the shy type."

"I've never done anything like this," I admitted.

"Na? Ever have your cock sucked, buddy?" he practically growled.

I shook my head. My heart pounded more. Maybe this was gonna be more than a handjob.

I watched as he pulled my shorts and underwear down. My cock flopped out, hanging in midair for a second before it bounded up into a hard upright position. I was hornier than I realized.

"Hot damn!" Mike gasped. "Cherry and hung as fuck." His hand wrapped around my meat, sending shock jolts of pleasure to my balls. The man's eyes seemed fixed on my dick. "Hell of a cock you got, buddy," he said. Then looking up, he asked, "You Connor's brother?"

"Yeah," I replied. Blushing some. I guess I figured Connor partook of Mike's services, but this was crazy to think about. My dick enjoyed the idea of my big brother getting sucked, though. It jerked in Mike's mitt.

He returned his attention to my crotch. "I could tell. Though you're even bigger than him.... fuck!" He paused and licked his lips. "God, I love virgins."

And like that I watched, almost as if in slow motion, as this middle-aged hunk leaned in and started taking me into his mouth. He used his mouth to wet me down at first, just an inch or two, but it felt incredible. Pleasure but also the novelty of sensation. I'd not been entirely truthful. I'd fucked a couple of chicks, that drunk fumbling at parties kind of fucks, and I'd dated one girl who let me feel her up and she'd give me a handjob. THIS, though, was another world. Mike knew what the fuck he was doing.

The kicker was when he pulled back a second and took in a breath then swallowed me all in one go. His throat felt snug and tight but it was the nastiness of the action which caught me off guard.

Not as much of a shock thought as a voice in the room.

"How is he, Pre-Frosh?" It was Craig, a fit, muscular junior, a kind of typical popular frat dude. The fourth guy in the Four Musketeers group my brother hung out with. I'm guessing he was sent in to keep an eye on things and make sure I was OK.

"Fuck," I gasped. Switching personalities now that I was trying to impress one of Connor's brothers. "Dude knows how work a cock."

Indeed, as I spoke Mike was bobbing up and down on me with slick sounding mouth strokes, his spit running down my balls.

I got a better view of Craig as he stepped up. He always wore his longish dirty blond hair under his ball cap and I saw his cute-handsome face examine my own. "You gonna nut soon, bro?"

I shook my head. "I could. But I want this to last." It was my first time out, and once I got over the fear of a quick trigger I'd settled into enjoying the rising and cresting pleasure without quite orgasming. Though I felt it could come any second now.

"You up for sharing?" he asked. Cautious. I had a sense if it was any other brother, he would have butted right in. But I was Connor's kid brother.

I pulled back and we both laughed as Mike tried to follow me, latching his lips on my meat before I finally broke free.

Craig was already pulling down his sweatpants to reveal his hard dick. He was regular sized, with a good looking cut cock. I enjoyed seeing it but also was proud I outmeasured this college bro.

"Hot," Mike gasped as he moved from his crouch to a kneeling position. Craig played host by offering a folded towel for his knees. The man pulled off his ball cap and tossed it aside. His hair was short and showed a good bit of gray on the temples, but he had enough length on top to give that matted-tousled look from his cap. Mike was still in his polo and jeans and his muscle looked pretty amazing as he scooted toward Craig.

"Fuck yeah," the fraternity brother grunted. "Suck my fucking cock dude."

Craig's eyes were down on Mike, eagerly watching the big guy do his work. Craig's smaller size meant Mike could go wild, battering his own throat with hard and fast movements of his skull.

I didn't know where to keep my eyes. On Mike and his slutty thrill in sucking cock. Or on Craig, who was clearly responding to the sexual stimulation in his face and whole body.

Craig finally reached down and held Mike's head, steadying it and slowly pushing him off.

"It's O'Brien's turn," he said with a chuckle. "I know you like the big ones, Mike," he added.

"I do," the man admitted without shame. He gave Craig's tool one more lick then watched as I stepped up to where Craig had been.

Somehow his BJ now had warmed him up for me. It wasn't just the deep throat that got me off. It was the swiveling motion of his head and the milking suction. Involuntarily I gripped the sides of his head to brace my body.

"Oh SHIT!" I cried. I was entering orgasm now, one that put my previous ones to shame. I saw white for a second and felt light headed. Like Mike was sucking out my consciousness along with my cum.

I heard Craig laughing. "Go for it, bro!" Then. "Niiiccce."

Mike finally spat out my prick. "If you want seconds, stud, you know where to find me," he winked.

Craig meanwhile was practically pushing me out of the way, eager for his turn, his dick reddened and leaking in excitement. "Tell the next guy he's up," he said as he thrust back in between Mike's wet lips. "It won't take me long."

I found my shorts and underwear and put them back on, taking one more view of Craig, who was actively fucking the big burly dude's face.

Everything about this was so crazy and so exciting. A couple of the guys on the team had bragged about gangbanging Kelsey Myers, but I think they were bullshitting. And here was an out-there gangbang happening in my brother's fraternity house.

I was still flush and breathing heavy when I returned to the den. "Who's next?" I said, as I plopped next to my brother on the couch and picked up the beer can, which hadn't warmed up too much. I took a sip of the cheap watery stuff, which for whatever reason tasted like the best goddamn beer I'd tasted.

I could tell Connor was watching me, trying to read me. I turned to him. "What, bro?" I asked, maybe acting more annoyed than I was.

"You OK, Jase?" he asked in a low voice.

I nodded. "Why wouldn't I be?" I said, trying to play it cool. "That was awesome."

He paused and took a sip of his own beer. "You won't mind if I go in there soon?"

"Fuck no," I said, getting the courage to make eye contact with my brother. We were two O'Brien men experiencing the same cocksucker. It was a strange bonding experience for sure. "I'd feel bad if you didn't on my account."

Indeed Connor's turn was next and he got up off the couch, a boner already forming in his sweats. I had never thought of my big bro like this, but indeed he had a pretty big tool.

He was gone about ten minutes. Good for him. When he came back he was flush like I was, the Irish genes making his cheeks rosy pink after sex. I could tell he was embarrassed to have done that with me there, and I enjoyed being the laidback one for a change.

"Seriously, bro," I whispered. "Thanks for letting me do that. You know, for not getting all protective and shit."

He shrugged. "Just don't tell Mom and Dad," he warned.

"What the fuck would I tell them?" I said with a chuckle.

Connor laughed. "You got a point there."

We were watching some dumb MTV reality show, but mostly my attention was on the brothers as one by one they got up to go partake of Mike's services. Alan might have been the last to do so, and when he came back he asked, "Anyone up for seconds?"

I heard the guys laugh as I stood up.

"Pre Frosh is going back!" cried one of the guys. I hoped I wasn't embarrassing Connor or anything, but I had tasted the forbidden fruit and wanted another bite while I still had the chance. I ignored the taunts and made a beeline back to that room.

The door was ajar and I pushed my way in. I saw Mike's polo shirt before anything else. It was on the floor, a few feet away from where that folded towel was, and his discarded jeans.

The man was lying on the bed, face down and ass up in a dreamy quiet repose. I underestimated how muscular he was. That ass alone jutted up in two round hard globes and his back dipped down then swelled up in an amazing mass of lats and rear delts. The back was tanned and totally smooth, a contrast to his pale but furry buns.

I was taking off my shorts and underwear when Mike turned and looked over at me. "I was hoping you'd come back, buddy," he said in his deep soft voice. "You eager for the full ride?"

I wasn't the brightest guy I suppose but it was dawning on me what he meant. At least one of the brothers had fucked him and Mike was now asking me if I wanted to fuck him too.

"Yeah," I said. Like it was a normal occurrence for me. My dick was rock hard again and I fisted it a little.

Mike gave a smile as he watched me get closer to the bed. "Damn, I'm gonna feel that in me good, aren't I?"

Somehow he knew how to be flirty as hell in a masculine way that got me rock hard. Before this weekend I would have imagined I'd enjoy having sex with one of Connor's fraternity brothers instead. Living out some SeanCody or CorbinFisher fantasy. But this older guy was pushing my buttons big time.

"Yep," I said, trying to act cocky like Craig or the other guys had. Only I didn't know where to start when it came to fucking. Surely it wasn't as easy as in the porn videos.

Thankfully Mike seemed to read my hesitation. "Just climb on buddy. Daddy's all lubed up for that big monster."

I wasn't sure what I thought of the daddy thing. But this man was so hot and so clearly in heat, humping the bed some and hiking his meaty ass up for me as I got onto the mattress.

His muscle felt warm beneath me as I stretched my body on top of his, trying not to put all my weight down on him, but just enjoying this. It was so different than fucking a chick, the complete lack of hesitation as Mike reached back and gripped my tool long enough to guide me in place.

"You have an amazing body, stud," he hissed. "Hot fucking high school senior."

My prick felt the wetness of the lube. Then as I pressed in past his recently fucked folds, I knew it wasn't just lube. I'd heard the phrase sloppy seconds of course but it was insane how sloppy Mike's ass felt. Tons of fraternity cum awaited my dick as I bored inside him. I knew not to just ram it in him, and in a way I savored the slow inching in and the way the man's cuts clung to me.

"You have a great body, too, Mike," I said, now letting my chest press more against his back muscle. A thought occurred to me. "You let guys do this a lot?" I asked.

He leaned his head back up against my neck. It took me a second to realize he was moving his ass back against my hips too, doing some of the work to penetrate his ass with my long cock. "Yeah, I do," he replied, matter of fact. "That bother you, buddy?"

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "I guess it's kind of hot.... thanks for letting me do it."

Mike let out a deep growl. "Anytime buddy... that dick of yours feels AMAZING."

I sawed some inches in and out then decided to go for it. Sending my hips forward I pressed all the way inside him. I'm thick and long and I know Mike really felt that.

"Oh FUCK YEAH, buddy!" he grunted, pushing his chest up a little as if to challenging me to press him back down to the bed. I did, accentuating my movement with another thrust into him. "Love that horse meat ya got."

I would have loved this anyway. Losing my virginity with a man. Having my first ass fuck. But Mike was gonna spoil me, I knew. The man just loved sex and his love was infectious. I held on to his shoulders and started fucking. Not hard but with a steady deep pump. Maximizing the pleasure on my cock but also aiming for that vocal response from him.

"Take that dick, man," I growled in his ear as my hips now worked faster. Mike was bigger and more muscular than me but I had the leverage position to hold him steady while I nailed him, as well as the sex adrenaline pumping in my veins.

I worried I was going too hard, but the harder I nailed him the more he seemed to get into it.

"GODDAMN! High schooler fucks like a porn star," he growled.

I worried the brothers could hear us mate. Then I hoped they could hear everything. I was riding that excitement of my first piece of ass, and I was rising to the occasion. I now knew why my lacrosse buddies were so excited by pussy, but this was even better.

His ass was slick and I could feel the wetness along my cock and balls and had a good idea all that cum was frothing up his furry crack. A few of the fraternity brothers had fucked and bred Mike's hole. Connor was probably one of them, I thought.

That idea I was fucking on my brother’s load made my balls tighten immediately. "Holy fuck," I gasped, my cum working up real quick. A part of me wanted to slow down and enjoy this more. That part of me lost out, though. I held on tighter to Mike's beef and just went to town, cumming deep inside the man's guts.

"Get it, buddy!" Mike cried, eager for my seed. I had no idea if he was going to get off. Maybe he did earlier. Right now it was just about my spurting prick and my pure need.

I rode out the cum and finally slowed my roll, now kissing along the man's neck and feeling up his body.

"Hmmm," the man muttered. "You sure that was your first, Stud? You fuck like a champ."

"Yeah," I chuckled. "Hell of a first time, too," I said. "I'm gonna remember this one for a long time."

"I'm glad, bud," he said. "Damn... it feels like I got a baseball bat wedged up inside me."

"Sorry... I can pull out," I said.

"Don't on my account," Mike said, softly, almost shyly. "I mean, I figure an 18 year old jock has another in the tanks, right?"

My dick wasn't going soft and while I wasn't 100 percent sure I could come again soon, I knew I wanted to get as much Mike time as I could. It might be a long time before I had a chance to fuck a man again. "Yeah," I replied.

I humped him some more, before Mike asked if I wanted to try some other positions. We didn't do them all, maybe, but I had a good number of firsts that afternoon. Missionary, cowboy, reverse cowboy, standing. But we finished in doggy, which might have been my favorite.

I felt like a total stud when I finally dismounted and saw how much cum I'd added to Mike's hole. I gave his rump a gentle pat which made the man laugh.

He watched as I got dressed again. "You around town for long?" he asked.

"Just the weekend," I said.

He grinned and looked me up and down. "If I give you my number, will you hit me before you go?"

This is not how I expected my college visit to go. "Hell yeah," I said.

Mike slid out of bed, his beefy body looking amazing all naked and some wiry silvery hair in his chest fur. His dick was pretty soft but I could see the trickles of fresh cum dripping down the insides of his hairy thighs. He found his wallet and fished out a card to hand me.

It read “Daddy Mike” with a phone number, Insta and Twitter handle and OnlyFans URL.

"Are you a porn star?" I asked in surprise. I now felt like a small-town hick for sure.

"Just like to have a little fun," he said. "If you're the jealous type don't look me up online," he said. "A couple of dudes learned that the hard way." He seemed weirdly apologetic to be warning me.

"If what we did just now was a 'little fun' I'd hate to see a lot of fun," I joked.

"The weekend is still young, Pre Frosh," he winked.

I was a little lightheaded and thirsty when I got back to the den. A couple of the guys razzed me for taking so long and I notice Kyle and some other dude get up to go into together.

Connor seemed quiet, not pissed off but in a strange mood. Later, after dinner, we found ourselves sitting alone. My big bro decided to check in with me.

"I guess I shouldn't have been so worried about you with Mike," he said. An edge to his tone, like maybe he didn't approve. I don't know.

I sighed. "I'm gonna call him up tomorrow, you know, go hang out with him." It was a weirdly euphemistic way to say I was gonna fuck Daddy Mike again.

That hit my brother the wrong way. "Come on, Jason. I'm supposed to be watching out for you."

"Dude, it's gonna be fine," I countered. I didn't know if I could convince him of that, or if he needed convincing. Maybe he just felt guilty things had gotten out of hand.

"You know," I added. "I'm into dudes, Connor."

"Clearly," my brother laughed. OK, he wasn't THAT pissed off at me if he was joking around.

That made me laugh, too. "I mean, like, I know that's what I want. I'm gay."

"Oh," he said. "That's cool." Then, "you know I still worry about you, Jase. It's what brothers do."

"Yeah," I conceded. I shot him a wry grin. "And thanks, bro. I wouldn't have it any other way."

[runningfrom2am]

the sea around us; chapter two

In which Rafe Cameron has to choose between his dad and a pogue who's changing his outlook on life more and more every day.

(rafe cameron x f!oc)

(eventual!jj maybank x f!oc)

warnings/tags: violence, drug/alcohol use, smoking, sexual content (if you squint), slowburn, older brother’s best friend, (these tags are obv not exhaustive but regardless it’s pretty PG13)

wc: 1.9k

my masterlist, series masterlist, requests

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

After we drove back to The Cut, John B dropped me off at home. I waved a quick goodbye to everyone as I walked up to my porch, ready to get changed for work. Today I wasn't at Heywards or The Wreck, I was working at a coffee shop over on Figure Eight called Making Waves. One of those niche local places, once again, popular with tourists. Initially with locals, but now the tourists have sort of taken it over. I throw on my work shirt over my tank top and jean shorts, grab my water bottle, shoving it in my bag, and head back out the door. No one was home today to chat with anyways.

I get out of my car and lock it behind me, stepping up over the curb and approaching the entrance of the small shop. "Hey! Snowy!" I hear a familiar voice behind me and turn my head to look. "I'll get an Italian soda, blackberry please." It's Kegs, of course. I rotate my body and walk back towards the door.

"Does it look like I'm ready to take orders yet?" I respond with a smile, noting the friends my brother was with. Rafe and Topper. Kooks, of course. My big brother somehow ended up weaseling his way in with the Kooks after we moved into Kildare, if I'm remembering correctly he out-golfed them when he was working at the course and they asked him to tag along. Not the greatest influence on him, but I'm just glad he has friends here.

I stop just out of the way of the door and watch them approach me. "Juliette?" His friend, Rafe, asks me, raising his eyebrow as he eyes my name tag.

"You didn't know my name? Ouch."

He shrugs. "I've never heard Kegs call you that."

"No one does." My brother adds. "Anyway, you hear about the storm?" He asks, Topper and Rafe beginning to talk quietly to each other. I notice over Keg's shoulder that they're still looking at me, but I try to brush it off as I answer his question.

"Uh, yeah I did but I'll be home before it does any serious work. I've got to help block up the windows tonight before I go- we've got a few more hours." I nod.

Kegs looks skeptical. "You're not taking off with those Pogues after work- you actually have to come home this time. Seriously. Mom needs your help with the twins tonight."

"Those Pogues". As if he doesn't live on the cut with us.

I sigh and drop my head back. "I didn't plan on it, you know. Regardless they'll be fine, they're almost twelve, Kegs." I look back up at him and adjust the bag on my shoulder. The twins were a force to be reckoned with, honestly. They're just a handful, it'll probably be harder to keep them inside.

"Really? Anna and Deck? Fine? Give me your keys." He said, getting frustrated now as he holds out his hand.

"What?" I ask angrily, my voice dropping as Rafe and Topper stop talking to listen to us, so I lower my voice. "I'm not giving you my keys I need to get home, do you want me to walk?" I whisper angrily.

I suppose I should clue you in on my family situation. First, Kegs is short for Keegan. Kegs' ability to outdrink the Kooks, which he picked up back in Canada, gives him his nickname. Almost two years older than me, thinks he's a Kook. His whole thing is sports, back in Canada it was hockey, baseball, rugby, lacrosse, golf, and honestly whatever else he could do to get out of the house. Here he's settled on golf. Believe it or not, he's pretty sensitive. I've seen him after many-a-breakup, and it's not at all pretty. My mom has employed me as his personal therapist, she'll just cry and not say anything to him to try and help. I wonder where we get our emotional insecurities from. She's never like that with me. Anyway, he's always got my back. Like 80% of the time.

Next, the twins. Annabelle and Declan. They're six years younger than me, and I practically raised them. They hardly have a relationship with Kegs, somehow. Anna, older than Deck by eight minutes, refuses to let that go that she's a middle child. This is crazy because one, she gives off seriously only child energy- I'm friends with enough of them to know and two, she's not a middle child. She has a big personality and no filter, unfortunately. Completely obsessed with Pope. I already see she's going to be a nightmare at 16. Deck, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. He minds his business, as much as an eleven-year-old can. He rocks a mullet like Kegs used to, sticking to our Canadian roots, and now he's flipped gears into surfing. He wants JJ to teach him, JJ is all about it- of course. It is hard for me to watch Deck grow up, he's only eleven, yes, but I miss when he was little; he slept in my bed every night for years.

"Rafe said he can pick you up. I don't want you taking off, mom will tear a strip off me if I don't get you home."

What is he even talking about right now? I look back at his friend behind him, who raises his hand at me in acknowledgment, smiling. "Why can't you pick me up?" I whisper, leaning closer to him. "Why does it have to be one of your Kook friends?"

"Snowy-" He sighs, raising his hand to push his hair back out of his face. "I'm busy, okay? I have to go to Erin's to help them storm prep, then I'm gonna crash there. I need to go like right now, I don't even have time for this." Erin, ugh. Not my favorite girlfriend he's ever had, that's for sure. They've been on and off for years, but rumor has it, she's a chronic cheater. I don't want to get into it with him, so I sigh and hand him my keys, turning to walk inside.

"I'll pick you up at eight!" Rafe shouts after me as I walk inside, mumbling to myself in anger.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

I'm just finishing putting plywood up behind the windows as I hear the bell chime, meaning someone has walked in. I wipe my hands on my blue apron and turn to face the customer coming in. "Just prepping for that storm tonight, we're closing in a couple minutes. What can I-" I stop talking and drop my customer service voice as I see who it is. "Hi, Rafe."

"Will you be ready to go soon, Juliette?" He shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts as he smirks at me. I catch myself staring at him for a second. Normally I would correct anyone calling me that, but I just, don't. I look over to where the owner, Megan, is wrapping up everything at the registers. She nods at me.

"Hi, Rafe, how's Rose doing? And your father?" She smiles at him, looking up from her receipts.

"They're well, thank you, ma'am." I have never heard him be this polite to anyone- ever. Not that I have ever talked to him for more than a couple minutes at a time.

"Alright Snowy, I should be totally fine here. You did great putting those up. You get home safe." Megan says to me and I untie my apron.

"Thanks, Megan." I climb down the stepstool I was standing on, and look towards Rafe. "I'll be right out, give me two minutes," I tell him, jogging to the back to grab my bag and hang up my apron.

I walk back out and Rafe is leaning his shoulder against the door, scrolling on his phone. A customer comes to open the door, and he looks up and taps his knuckle on the window under the sign that now reads "closed", I suppose Megan asked him to flip it so we could close a couple of minutes early. The customer rolls their eyes and walks away. I approach him and take my hair out of the bun I had it in, looking back at Megan as she says goodbye.

"You two get home safe alright?" I nod and smile at her.

"You too." Rafe and I both say at the same time, I instantly turn to look at him and my cheeks burn as I see he's acting like he didn't notice. He holds the door for me and we walk out to his car, I'm assuming he borrowed it from his dad.

"My mom used to drive a Range Rover. Back in BC." I say quietly as we drive out towards the Cut.

"Oh yeah?" Rafe replies, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, despite it not being a manual. He looks over at me. "Were you Canada Kooks? What happened?"

I look back out in front of me. "I guess, kind of, I don't really know what happened." I can see in my peripherals that he's looking at me now, waiting for me to continue.

"We didn't live on The Terrace, but it was decent- mostly property, not a big house. But it wasn't the south side either. I don't know. We had to sell the car before we moved. We all squished into our dad's truck, Deck had to sit on my lap the whole drive. Two weeks." I laugh a little at the memory. Rafe just smiles.

"The Terrace?" He asks quizzically.

"Moose Lake's Figure Eight. It was on a hill overlooking the rest of the city, like a second-story porch. Rich people lived up there." I translate. "I actually was meant to go to school up there, we were at the bottom of the hill, but my parents decided to pull me and put me in a public school closer to home anyways. My mom said it would make me more humble." I honestly think that's when they realized they couldn't afford private school for two kids.

He nods. "Let me guess, Kegs went to the private school?" Rafe asks and I nod my head toward him.

"Yep- how could you tell?" I joke. "In all honesty, private school there was absolutely nothing like Kook academy, don't get it twisted. He was always popular though. Everyone only knew me as his sister, I was hardly ever my own person." I explain- why am I telling him this? No way on earth Rafe could give two shits.

"I mean, you've definitely made a name for yourself here. Literally, apparently." He gestures to my name tag.

"Snow is my middle name." Why do I keep talking? He does look shocked at this though, as he does a double-take between me and the road. "Oh, it's actually real? I thought the pogues made it up because you were Canadian."

I giggle at this. "Nope, just a funny coincidence. Kegs has always called me that, Juliette is a busted name."

"I think it's cute. I mean, fine. It's not as bad as you think." He says quickly, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles turning white.

"Thanks."

[telomeke-bbs]

BAD BUDDY – THE BASEBALL MOM T-SHIRT HAS BEEN FOUND!!!

Breaking news – I've just found the maker of the Baseball Mom t-shirt, and best of all you can buy it from them on Amazon! 😍

Tagging @miscellar, @dribs-and-drabbles and @jammy-boy because I know you'll be interested. 😊💖

Pat's Baseball Mom t-shirt is made by a brand called Sports Mom T-Shirts and you can find them on Amazon at this link here. You can also Google "Baseball Mom Shirt for Women Sports Mother's Day Gift" + "Amazon", which should take you to a page with the Baseball Mom t-shirt.

I have no way of knowing if this is the original, but it certainly looks like it, and the seller also looks legit. This is because they also sell other t-shirts that are designed in much the same vein (e.g., Basketball Mom, Team Mom, Lacrosse Mom, Baseball Grammy and Softball Mom). So it looks like part of an ongoing collection, and not a one-time knockoff of Pat's iconic tee. 😍

The t-shirts aren't sleeveless though, so it looks like the sleeves were cut-off before use in Bad Buddy.

So here's how I tracked down Baseball Mom. I'm currently on holiday in Kyoto, and found out from @jammy-boy's post (ரொம்ப நன்றி நண்பரே!) that GMMTV was holding an exhibition in Osaka (I wasn't aware of it before). As Osaka is less than 30 minutes away from Kyoto by train, a little re-jiggling of the travel schedule allowed for a day-trip to Osaka and yes the Baseball Mom t-shirt was there in all her glory. 👀 I'll write up a bit more about the exhibition (and Bad Buddy's corner) in a separate post – for now I'll say that it was a modest affair, yet quite overwhelming for me. 💖

So here is my photo of the Baseball Mom t-shirt:

It's displayed in a glass case together with Pran's coloring set, one of Ink's friendship wristbands, Pran's smiley/frowny notepaper and assorted photos (the glass cover is reflecting the string of spherical lights hung on Pat's Ep.12 memory board just alongside at the right, which explains the orange blotches on the image).

Remembering @miscellar's comment about the shirt tag, I took a photo of it:

The brand is Anvil, and this lightweight t-shirt was made in Nicaragua 👀, suggesting an American origin.

On the train ride back to Kyoto I was all smiles, hoping the manufacturer's website would be where the BM t-shirt lives. But I was wrong.

It turns out that Anvil is one of several brands made by the company Gildan, and they are mostly plain t-shirts (like Hanes). Baseball Mom was nowhere to be seen on their website.

But what this did suggest was that the t-shirt could simply be a plain base that a company (or entrepreneur) was using as a canvas for their artwork. So I checked out Etsy, and there were a ton of similar t-shirts, but not the same one.

And then I checked Amazon. Hello Baseball Mom!

The Baseball Mom t-shirt has been found! 😍

‌

P.S. For an explanation as to why Pat was wearing Baseball Mom for the Ep.5 Kiss (a truly strange choice of attire for such a momentous scene) see this write-up linked here. 🤩

‌

[jjsstars]

Guilty

Scott McCall Week 2024: day 5, good dreams, or bad

|| for @scottappreciation event

|| posted on my ao3 | word count: 1k+ | rated: teen & up

|| tags: scott/liam, scott & melissa, post canon, angst, guilt, insecurities, sick fic, mental health issues, hurt scott mccall

Sometimes Scott had a hard time sleeping, as most werewolves do, but for him it was always his thoughts keeping him awake rather than the heightened adrenaline levels. There was things he could mull over for hours on end: the memory of when he first got bit, dragging his friends into the world of the supernatural without knowing how dangerous it really was, Allison- anything to do with her kept Scott awake, what happened with Theo, but what the most recurring thing was when he gave Liam the bite.

If there was anything Scott’s mind could do it was think that memory into the ground. It doesn’t matter that everything turned out okay and Liam is safely in bed next to him, Scott feels overrun with guilt. He bit poor sweet, innocent, un-expecting, clueless, Liam. For all the problems and issues Liam had going on- Scott knows he never deserved to get bit. If he could’ve done anything else he would’ve, he’d go back in a heartbeat to try and find a solution where Liam walks away perfectly normal and thinks of Scott as the lacrosse captain and nothing else.

No True Alpha title to live up to, he’d never see Scott in his wolf form, never train with him so they could fight for their lives together, he’d never think of Scott McCall as anything important. He’d be seen as ordinary and never thought of twice, like he was before he got bit, back when it was just him and Stiles.

“Babe?” Liam’s gruff half-awake voice startles Scott as he finally peels his eyes away from the spot on the ceiling he’s been staring at for the past hour.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He’s barely moved in attempts to not wake Liam, more guilt coil’s in his gut as he realizes he failed.

“I would’ve woken up anyways, you know I never sleep a full eight hours.” A little hum leaves Scott as his response. There’s a sudden uncomfortableness to being laid in bed like this, it’s too hot in the sheets, his stomach is churning like he’s about to be sick, there’s sweat beading down his forehead and the back of his neck making his hair cold and wet, and he can’t even look Liam in the eye.

“Want some melatonin? I can grab it.” Anything to help Liam, anything to make it feel like he sort of deserves the boyfriend he has.

“No I’m okay, are you.. alright? You look kind of flushed.” The comforter balls in Scott’s hands as he nods silently. He feels nauseous and a little light headed, he wishes he could go sprinting through the woods just to have something that will distract his mind.

“I- I’m fine.” The last thing Scott wants is for Liam to start fussing over him or getting worried- Scott doesn’t feel like he deserves to get that side of Liam, not right now, not when he’s caused so much stress in Liam’s life and is always a step behind preventing the next bad guy they have to deal with.

“You’re a horrible liar, I can smell it on you.” Damn werewolf pheromones.

“Just a little hot, that’s all.” He can feel droplets of sweat running down his back and ribs, he’s probably soaked through his shirt if he looked down.

“Here throw the blanket off- Jesus Scott you’re drenched.” Liam shifts up onto his knees once he pulls the comforter away from Scott, eyes wide and worried staring at how his boyfriend has not only sweat through his shirt but his shorts too, they’re practically painted to his skin.

“I’m- I’m okay.” A hand cups Scott’s cheek in an instant, Liam’s thumb brushing back and forth against Scott’s cheekbone.

“Are you sick? You feel a little warm, should I get Melissa?” It’s hard to tell if this is actual sickness or just overwhelming guilt.

“… Yeah get my mom.” Maybe she’ll tell him he has a stomach bug or something curable, not this conscious that haunts his every waking moment.

“Okay, okay, it’s gonna be alright.” The underlying frantic tone in Liam’s voice makes Scott cringe as he watches Liam stumble out of bed to go across the hall to get Melissa.

The rest of the blanket gets kicked off of Scott’s legs as he curls onto his side and wraps his arms around his abdomen. It’s two am and if Scott could sedate himself, he would. Anything to stop thinking, to stop being uncomfortable in his own skin, to stop hating himself for Liam becoming a werewolf, to stop being filled with dread that something worse is right around the corner, that every person he loves is destined to meet the same fate Allison did and-

“Scott? Scotty, sweetheart look at me.” Melissa’s hand is in his hair with a gentle run of her fingers through the sweat soaked strands.

“What’s wrong honey? You gotta talk to me.” Something hot and wet slips down Scott’s face, it’s different than the sweat that’s been steadily collecting on his skin- it’s tears. He’s crying.

“I- I bit him mom, I ruined his life, I- I exposed him to so much danger and- and I can’t fix it. I can’t think of how to fix- fix it-.” A broken sob cuts Scott off and he’s quickly pulled into Melissa’s chest, she shifts to he sat on the bed so Scott can bury into her side easier.

“Oh baby, shhh, you don’t have to fix anything. There’s nothing to fix, you know Liam’s happy with his life, with you.” She assures in that tone that Scott knows better than to argue against.

“I don’t deserve him… he’s so good to me when I was the one that messed everything up for him.” More tears streak down Scott’s face that Melissa hushes away.

“That’s not how he sees it. Liam loves you and that includes the parts of you that you don’t particularly like, so this guilt? It’s not worth holding onto because Liam never saw the flaw that caused it the way you did.” He does his best to listen, to have faith that his mother wouldn’t lie to him, to stop breathing so heavy and try to calm down.

“You carry so much on your shoulders, you must relax and stop being so hard on yourself. It’s not healthy to stay in a mindset like this, you’ll burn out.” Melissa’s hand rubs up and Scott’s arm as he nods, it’s meek, his face still hidden against Melissa’s side like he’s a little kid again. He doesn’t want to accept that the logical side of his brain is agreeing with Melissa, it’s too hard to admit that he needs a break. Needs the support he’s supposed to be giving his pack as the lead. That he can’t figure this out on his own.

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” What will happen if Scott stops doing all the things he normally does? The pack would be in disarray if Scott didn’t keep them on track and monitor what they do in hopes they all stay communing and don’t risk anyone being left out or forgotten.

“I’m sure we can keep the pack together in one piece without you doing everything, we can have a meeting about it soon but right now I need to take your temperature ‘cause I’m pretty sure you got a fever.” Shit— he wasn’t being serious about wishing to be sick, he’s not going to be able to do any of his priorities if he’s sick.

“I’ll be right back, but you have to talk to Liam while I’m gone.” Scott groans half-heartedly, he was starting to miss Liam even if it’s only been an hour at most.

-

“Are you okay? I could hear you crying.” There’s a bottle of water held out for Scott when Liam walks in, no question on if Scott is actually thirsty but instead a stern furrow in his brow that Scott finds absolutely adorable.

“Just got too in my head.” An understanding nod gets sent Scott’s way, it’s just as small as the nod Scott gave Melissa earlier. It’s been weeks of Scott trying to keep face and not let anyone realize how bad his mental health is, but he knows Liam caught on almost immediately once it got this bad. Between the lack of solid sleep Scott’s been getting and how overly stressed he is when he’s awake, it’d be hard to think he has a stellar mental state, and besides, Liam always knows.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Not in the slightest, he pushes words out anyway.

“I still feel guilty about you getting bit, about pulling you into this life, about not protecting you more-.” Fresh tears roll down Scott’s cheek and his hands fidget on his lap when he pulls his legs underneath himself.

“Scott if you didn’t bite me that night I would’ve gotten severely hurt, could’ve very well died from a fall that high, you saved me. And you’ve saved me ever since, nothing bad that’s happened is your fault and you don’t need to apologize for it.” The assurances fall from Liam’s lips in seconds.

“I just want you to be safe and- and when you’re with me, you’re not.” No matter where they go there’s always a threat of danger against Scott, he’s a True Alpha, a lot of people have problems with him just because of that.

“Then I will spend the rest of my life in danger.” A laugh bubbles out of Scott’s throat at how corny that came across, Liam laughs right alongside him, taking Scott’s hands into his own.

“You get my point. I won’t leave and I don’t want to, you’re stuck with me no matter what. You biting me saved me in a way Scott, I found my family in the pack and with you, I would’ve never had this much of a support system without you.

“You could’ve been normal and lived a normal life.” Scott argues weakly.

“Normal isn’t something I’m very good at, and I wouldn’t trade us for anything.” A watery smile forms on Scott’s lips when Liam pulls his hand up to kiss the back of his knuckles.

“I love you Li.” In the simplest terms but it’s so much more than three words, it’s an entirely different language strung together by the vibrations Liam’s laugh makes and how their heartbeats sound pressed together, something only they could understand.

“I love you too, you never have to doubt that.”

Just before Liam can lean and kiss Scott, Melissa’s voice stops him.

“Hold on, he might have a fever and be contagious.”

Turns out he is, but Liam doesn’t care and simply pulls Scott’s frame into his own and presses soft kisses to his head while Melissa calls Deaton to see if he has any werewolf specific fever medication. A movie gets set up on Scott’s laptop in the middle of Scott’s bed and Liam whispers that everything is going to be alright, that they can talk more when Scott isn’t sick and it’s not three am. Scott lets that be enough and relaxes into Liam with a content smile.

[callialire]

Do you ever meet somebody and you’re a teenager and you’re bitter and angry all the time and determined not to like them? And you try as hard as you can because what you and your brother and your mom had going was working just fine and everything is fine and you don’t need anybody else, try as hard as you possibly can, this guy-this dude- he’s like sunlight breaking through the clouds. He listens when you talk about pictures and track practice and boy drama, he goes to lacrosse games for your brother, and he makes T-shirts for your sisters softball team. He remembers what foods you can’t stand and he makes you laugh and he scares you when he takes those turns in that damn wheelchair.

And, God, does he love your mom. He loves your mom and he fixes the mailbox and he shows up at birthday parties. He makes her mix tapes and he buys her flowers and takes her to lunch. He cracks her wide open. He loves the hell out of your mom.

He sits in the hospital waiting room for 6 hours when you have a baby and he cries when he holds your daughter for the first time. He lets her sleep in lap and he takes her for rides in that damn chair, taking those damn turns- but a little slower, she loves the thrill. He loves and he cares and he prays and he cries when you cry and you hold his hand when you’re scared. And he offers you chapstick.

There’s never been anyone quite like him, there won’t ever be another again. And now, he’s gone, and you’re crying and your mom is crying and your brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles. But, you’re loved. You’re changed, you’re better. Forever. Because of him.

[15-lizards]

ASOIAF American highschool AU bc I want them to suffer

-Jon is that guy you see in the hall all the time and he’s super cute but then you talk to him and he’s just. The most pretentious asshole you’ve ever met. He’s better than you bc he takes AP classes btw. And he’s on the basketball team but he’s brooding so he barely has any friends

-Dany is a little FREAK ugh I love her. She’s a GSA officer and wears weird clothes and cat ears to school and everyone makes fun of her but she’s the nicest person ever. Very passionate ab her special interests. super smart too like no one can say that she isn’t top of class

-Sansa is the nice popular religious girl who likes to make cookies for people. She’s like condescending nice though and is sweet to the losers mostly out of pity. Obsessed with Loras in a comphet way to cover her real crush on Margaery. She is on the swim team and loves to run the student council like the navy

-Arya is on the soccer and basketball team. Slightly to weird to be popular but too cool to be a loser. Kind of disruptive in class but it’s okay bc she’s funny. Definition of a low maintenance girl. Cuts her hair short and likes the way she looks in a sports bra and baggy clothes but has yet to find out what non-binary is

-Robb Homecoming King football captain you get the gist. Sincerely nice and is the one jock who’s on good terms with literally everyone in his classes. Tries his best to defend Jon (it is so hard) Has dated around but his most intense relationship is with his drug dealer burnout bestie Theon. They get jealous when the other starts dating a girl (both of them have yet to find out what bisexualism is)

-Joffrey is a grade A bitchass. He’s on the soccer or lacrosse team only because Cersei bribed the coach. No one really likes him but they hang around him anyway because he has a sick ass house and his moms hot. Thinks he’s smarter than he actually is, maintains a C- average

-Bran is that freshman you only see in khaki shorts and graphic t-shirts about bugs or some shit. Completely lives in his own world (autism slay!) and has trouble interacting with other kids. Besties with Meera and Jojen tho who just get him. Reads big ass philosophy books in his spare time

-Aegon is Dany’s cooler cousin. He’s way more popular than Jon and the two have a one sided rivalry that Jon made up in his head. Pretty nice to other people but he thinks he is such hot shit. His superiority complex is kinda crazy

-Theon graduated last year but still hangs around campus. Goes to Robb’s football games and sells drugs under the stands. “Where’s my hug at” guy. Drives a beat up Honda civic that’s on its last legs. Has multiple misdemeanors on his record. Robb thinks he can fix him

-Loras is Robb’s teammate who’s also mister popular. Already has a scholarship to a D1 school and is every teachers favorite (he takes advantage of this to skip class). Smart but doesn’t really try that hard in class. A classic DL gay guy who is in a situationship with grad student Renly after lying about his age on grindr

-Davos is everyone’s favorite History or English teacher. Gets invested in the students wellbeing. Gay kids LOVE him, he never can have a lunch period to himself those kids who are looking for a father figure are always eating lunch in his classroom. Has a loving wife and kids but is down bad for the eternally suffering Vice Principal Stannis

-Robert is the football coach and in most American schools you have to be a teacher to be a coach so he probably teaches health or sex Ed or some shit. Half asses his classes so he can go over film with his football players instead. You can hear him yelling from across campus. He is so loud

-Stannis is the vice principal who absolutely no one likes except Davos. Even the teachers don’t respect him. Has wanted to be principal for years but keeps getting fucked over by administration. Wants to move to a different school district so he can get a pay raise but the sexy Spanish teacher Mel is trying to convince him to blackmail the school board instead

-Tywin the principal. Used to be a AP US history or AP economics teacher but then discovered that he hated kids so he bullied and bribed his way into the principal position. Kids run when they hear him in the hallway with his walkie talkie crackling and his keys jangling. Lets Joffrey get away with everything bc he’s the principals grandson

-Cersei as the head of the school board. Always shoveling funds to her kids school instead of any of the other ones in the school district. Probably is in some sort of tax evasion or bribery scandal that Tywin is trying to cover up. Number one passive aggressive hater on Facebook

[luucypevensie]

Cute Character Questions: Julia Adler, please??

@dancingsunflowers-ocs ✨💛✨

MY FAVE GEM QUEEN, THANK YOU ALEXANDRA! Tagging @daughter-of-melpomene and @ginger-grimm, Julia’s biggest fans

The Basics

Name: Julia Adler

Age: 16-17 around s4 of teen wolf

Zodiac Sign: cancer

One Good Trait: julia is a pretty honest person; she doesn’t like to lie, unless if it’s absolutely necessary

One Bad Trait: her honestly has led to some unexpected bluntness that people don’t really appreciate

Habits

One Bad Habit: julia has a tendency to lose her temper really quickly; it has led to a lot of trips to the principals office

One Good Habit: she’s actually pretty self-sufficient: cooks her own dinner if her mom or brother isn’t home, keeps her room really tidy etc

One Habit They Can’t Break: she cracks her bones WAY too often (lucas hates it, and yells at her whenever she does it to annoy him)

One They’ve Broken: julia listened to music incredibly loud growing up; loud enough that her mother was worried she’d burst her eardrums, and asked her to please stop

What They’re Afraid Of: losing her brother, her other half

Family

Their Parents’ Names: Cecile Adler and Hades, Greek God of the Underworld

Their Siblings’ Names: lucas adler (twin brother)

Favorite Childhood Memory: her first horseback lesson (she adored horses, and always wanted to learn how to ride one)

Favorite Childhood Toy: a my little pony figurine

Embarrassing Story: julia was at a riding lesson when she suddenly noticed her father watching her in the shadows (he decided to randomly check in because hades had wanted to make sure the twins were doing alright). she did a double take because she was certain she was seeing things… which caused her to accidentally kick her horse forward. the horse bolted forward so quickly that julia fell off and broke her right arm from landing on it awkwardly

Favorite Family Member: Lucas (it’s the twin thing; the two of them argue all the time, but they would die for one another)

A Story About That Family Member: lucas overheard two lacrosse players talking smack about julia one day in the boys locker room. he got so incensed that he nearly went over to beat them up, but he held back because he knew that his sister would be able to handle them way better than he would. so, lucas told her what he heard, and she just WHALED on them

What They Prefer

coffee or tea

showering in the day or night

taking baths or taking showers

tv or movies

writing or reading

platonic or romantic love

iced tea or lemonade

ice cream or smoothies

cupcakes or cake

beach or mountains

Favorites

Song: i am not a woman, i’m a god by halsey

Band: hey monday

Outfit: grey plaid shirt over white t-shirt, ripped jeans, black combat boots, and a black choker, hair up in messy bun

Place: athens, greece

Memory: the first time she rode arion, julia felt like they were flying through the air with how fast they were running

Person(s): laurel davis and grace clarke

Movie: scream (julia loves horror films)

Show: the haunting of hill house

[itsyamutha]

Anchor ~Liam Dunbar

Synopsis: You may have a little crush on your best friend

  ~fluff~

Warnings: none

Ps. One of my wattpad stories while I write more

School had just ended it was the first day of summer. I was quite relieved school was very stressful but thank god I got a break. I was sitting in my room quite bored my mom was at work and I was home alone. An idea struck upon me, my friends I should hang out with friends. Yeah, but Stiles and Scott were practicing lacrosse, Kira was in Mexico, Isaac was In France, Corey and Mason were hanging out, and Lydia and Malia were busy the only person left was Liam. I guess I could hang out with him. I mean Liam is my best friend but recently every time I'm around him I seem to blush. I had developed a crush on him over the past school year. Being a werewolf was easy for the most part but sometimes it wasn't especially when my emotions were heightened. I haven't really hung out with Liam for a while, so I thought maybe if I hang out with him more maybe I could get over it, right? So I decided to hop in to my car and drive over to Liam's house.

Eventually I made it to his house. I got out of my car and walked up to the front door. With a little bit of hesitation I knocked on the door. A tired, 5'10, shirtless, brown haired boy answered the door. I felt my face heating up and my eyes slowly look down his toned stomach to the grey sweatpants. My eyes slowly flickered back up to face. "Y/n can you stop checking me out and get in." Liam said as he moved out of the way so I could walk in. "You're the one without a shirt." I said trying to defend myself. "It's just you here." he stated. We walked to his room, I took my shoes off and got in his bed. "So you're gonna take over my room." He said giggling. "Yup, pretty much." I stated smiling. "So what do you wanna watch?" He asked while getting in to bed next to me and handing the remote to me. "Supernatural" I smile at him. "Ugh fine but you need to learn how to watch something else. you know there's other shows out there." He said looking at me. I laughed as we laid together.

~time skip~

We were feeling a little hungry. So we decided to go get a snack. While eating I ended up spilling my Dr Pepper all over myself. "Oh it's cold, Liam I'm so sorry I'll clean it up." I said quickly. "Y/n don't worry I've got it, go to my room and change into one of my shirts and I'll put your clothes in the washing machine." Liam stated and he assured me that it was ok. "Are you sure." I questioned feeling bad. "Yes, now go change." he said giggling. I walked to his room and I put on a soft shirt, only a shirt it was long enough to cover my asś. A light knock on the door startled me. "Come in" I said in a soft tone. He slowly opened the door, his eyes widened once he saw me. He tried to play it cool.  "Hand me your clothes so I can put them in the washer." He said with a smirk😏. After that we decided to watch more Supernatural.

~time skip~

We heard the washer beep. We walked downstairs so we can switch the wet clothes into the dryer. "hold on let me go get the dryer sheets" Liam told me. As I was tossing my clothes into the dryer my ring got caught on the belt loop of my pants and flung my ring into the dryer. Without thinking I bent over to look in the dryer and reached for my ring. Liam had came back and I hadn't noticed yet.

"Oh wow ok. I just saw a whole lotta ass." he looked at me for another second before turning his head away. I quickly grabbed my ring and I stood up immediately.

"oh my God Liam I am so sorry."

Liam tossed a couple of dryer sheets in the dryer.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were wearing some cute black lacy underwear. I would've matched with you." He laughed at his own statement.

"ha ha very funny." I said trying to hide my embarrassment.

"Y'know you could've grabbed a pair of my boxers." I rolled my eyes at him before going back upstairs.

He laid down on the bed as soon as we entered his room. I walked over to his dresser and grabbed a pair of boxers out of the top drawer.

"Cute." I looked over at him in confusion.

"Do I need to repeat myself or did you hear me the first time." He said being snarky. I rolled my eyes at him. I laid back down in bed and change the TV to Harry Potter. Liam and I weren't cuddling but we are very close. His bed was so comfortable that I ended up falling asleep.

~time skip~

I woke up about an hour and half later. It me a second to register the arm wrapped around my waist. I slowly turned my body to look over at the sleeping boy. He looked perfect but no matter how perfect he looked I had to piss. I slowly moved my body trying to get up without waking up Liam. After I used the bathroom I got back in bed. I started to admire his features and how amazing he looked. I grabbed my phone to check the time but I must've moved to much because Liam woke up.

"Good morning handsome. How'd you sleep?" I questioned.

"Well it was good until someone woke me up and I was having a good dream too ughh." He rolled his eyes at me. I lightly giggled at his annoyance.

"I'm so sorry sleeping beauty." I replied sarcastically.

"Ugh I hate you." He groaned in his tired raspy voice. I went to try to get out of bed again but a strong hand pulled me back in.

"You're not going anywhere." He wrapped his arms tightly around.

"No let me go." I giggled trying to kick him. He rolled over and pinned my arms above my head. My face got extremely hot and pink.

"No kicking." He said in a stern voice. I blew on his face and wiggled myself off the bed. I looked at him and ran to his door. Before I could get it open he came up behind me and pushed it closed. I turned around to see him leaning over me. I began to blush again but I pushed him back. I ran out the door and down the stairs but he quickly followed. I got to the kitchen but I wasn't fast enough. He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. I let out a squeal as he spun around.

"Put me down." I said.

"Fine." He set me on the island.

"I'm kinda hungry. Do you wanna go to a restaurant?" I asked him.

"Oo yeah I could go for some burgers right now." He said helping me off the counter. We quickly got dressed and headed out the door. I drove us to a small diner around the corner. We ate our food and had a couple laughs before leaving. I drove us to a park that had a playground. I got out of the car and ran to the playground and straight to the swings. Liam walked at a normal pace towards me. He walked behind me and placed his hands on my hips. He pulled the swing back then quickly pushed it forward. He places hand on my lower back every time he pushed the swing forward.

"Higher!" I laughed.

"As you wish." He pushed me with a little more force.

"Ok ok too high. Too high." He laughed at my words. He walked over and sat down on the swing next to mine. We sat there and swung for a little bit before slowing down the pace. I looked over at Liam. I had to tell him about my feelings towards him.

"Uh Liam. Can I tell you something?" I spoke nervously.

"Yeah of course." He said with a bright smile on his face.

"Ok but promise you'll still be my friend." I looked down at my feet.

"I will always be your friend." He reassured me.

"Ok well the truth is that I love you. I love you more than anything, and I was to scared to tell you. I'm not scared anymore." I confessed.

"Truth is Y/n that you are my anchor. I think it's cute how your heart skips a beat when I'm around you. The face you make when you're focused or the way you tap your fingers when you're anxious. I love every little thing about you." He grabbed my hand and pulled me off the swing into a long passionate kiss. I felt so relieved as if all my problems had gone away.

"Come on let's go back home and watch movies and you can stay the night." He said pulling my hand. He decided to drive this time. He placed his right hand on me lower thigh and looked over and smiled at me. We got home and changed into something a bit more comfy. As I laid there in his arms I slowly drifted to sleep.

======================== I hope you liked it. I feel like it could have been better but I'm too lazy.

1619 words

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 11.4k

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

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

Part 1: Her Broken Heart

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend {You Are Here}

Part 3: Blue Handprints

The summer heat had finally decided to die down to a reasonable temperature. It was the only reason your mother decided a picnic at the park would be nice. It was equal parts safe for you and enough of a distraction that you could pretend you were a normal kid.

At just four years old you were starting to notice how you didn’t live like the children you saw outside your window. You had started to grow bored of your usual antics stuck at home.

You lay on your stomach near the edge of your blanket. Along the blades of green grass you spotted a ladybug climbing towards the sky. You were practicing counting the spots on its back when the beat in your chest became noticeable.

The pressure from laying on your tummy made it easier to feel your heartbeat unevenly.

“Do you want another grape, sweetie?” your mom asked, stretched out and enjoying the shade.

You reached out a smaller, pudgier hand, accepting the grape with a hungry toddler’s mouth. Your eyes looked above the ladybug grass and stared at the playground, complete with twisting slides and a rubber rock wall.

“Mom,” you say in your timid tone. “I want to play.”

“I know, honey,” she says, “But you know how that’s not safe for your heart.”

A pout grew instantly, “I am careful!”

Sensing your coming tantrum, your mother drew your attention away from the other children playing with a lacrosse ball in the nearby field.

“Yes, you are very good at being careful. But remember your heart sometimes has a mind of it’s own. Sometimes being careful isn’t enough. The doctor said not to be too crazy.”

You ball your little fists but hold back the angry words. “I don’t like my heart.”

Your mother cooed, reaching for you, “No, sweetie, you have a wonderful heart. It’s big and warm and full of love for far too many things. It tries its best to take care of you. So we need to try our best to take care of it, okay?”

You snuggle into your mother’s arms, upset feelings turning into tears, “Okay, mommy.” You feel a kiss on your head when the children playing in the field came running past your blanket.

They stopped on the other side of your shaded spot and conversed behind dirt smudged hands. They were both rowdy boys with scabbed knees and grass stained shirts, but they had wide smiles as one approached you.

He had unruly hair and sunburnt cheeks.

“Hello,” he said in a nervous voice, “What’s your name?”

You rub at your eyes, “(Y/N).” You sink further into your mom.

The boy was out of breath and already itching to run again judging by his fidgeting. He said quickly, “Hi my name is Stiles. Do you want to come play with us? We were playing sharks and minnows, but it’s not so fun with only two people.”

You look up at your mother’s chin and ask quietly, “Can I go play?”

Your mother sighs, tickling your sides, “If you don’t run around so much and stay on the playground…”

You were instantly crawling out of her lap, “Okay!”

“And if you start getting out of breath you need to tell me!” your mom continues, “Be careful climbing the ladders and don’t you dare stand on the slide!”

“Bye!” you yell in reply, already jogging away with Stiles to meet with his other friend.

He touched your shoulder, “Do you like chasing bad guys?”

“I’m not supposed to chase,” you say seriously, “But I do like to catch bad guys.”

Stiles nodded his head in deep thought, “Okay. How about we make traps for bad guys under the slides.”

You agree enthusiastically, grateful at your young age for someone who didn’t know about your heart. Grateful that they played with you like any other child.

And you schemed underneath the slides, building traps out of woodchips and leafy twigs. Innocent kids that didn’t know any better. Didn’t know that you wouldn’t remember this first meeting.

~~~

“I’ve started TAing.”

Allison gives you a strange look, “What?”

“I’m a teacher’s assistant now,” you lead the way into the school, “I have a free period since I finished a core class during my homeschooling.”

“Who will you TA for?”

You hold back a grimace, “Coach Finstock.”

Allison snorts, “You know I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what’s going on half the time. He forgets which periods he’s teaching economics and which periods he needs to be in the gym for P.E..”

“All the more reason why he needs a TA to sort things out,” you say, straight-backed. “And it means I can help out at lacrosse games too.”

“What, like a waterboy?”

You bump into Allison’s side, “No… well maybe. Just helping out with supplies and plays and locker room stuff.”

“Locker room stuff,” Allison says with raised eyebrows.

You choke on a laugh, “Don’t start. I reserve the right to ban you from the locker rooms. Especially seeing as that’s become your new make out spot.”

That caught her off guard, ramming right into the person in front of her. With a squeal she drops everything in her arms and put her hands into her hair. It was Scott who turns around after the collision.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Allison laughs, joining you as you help pick up her things.

Scott looks terrifyingly relieved, “You’re okay.”

“Once my heart starts beating again, yeah.” You smile ruefully at that statement. “What?”

“I’m just happy to see you.”

You thought Scott looks more like seeing Allison walking and talking was a miracle. Like he couldn’t believe that she was alive. You hand Allison her pencil case and folders, watching their goodbye with skepticism.

“What was that?” you whisper as Allison walks away to first period.

Scott was still breathing shallow, “She’s okay.”

You snap your fingers in front of his dazed eyes. “Are you okay?”

The speakers suddenly turn on with a crackle of fuzzy interference. “Attention, students, this is your principal. I know you’re all wondering about the incident that occurred last night to one of our buses. While the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as scheduled. Thank you.” With another crackle of microphone feedback the principal’s voice was gone.

You return your eyes to Scott and furrow your brow.

He took in your confusion and whispers, “I had a dream last night where Allison and I snuck into the buses behind the school.”

“Oh?” you say, still skeptical but now with a smile on your face.

“And I sort of had… an outburst.” He seems to struggle with finding the right words. “I killed Allison and broke through the back of the bus.”

“Well, shit that sucks Scott,” you fold your arms, “But I don’t think you’re capable of all that.”

He grimaces, “No, when we showed up to school and saw the bus out back – and how it looked just like it did in my dream – I thought maybe I had actually killed Allison somehow.”

You reign in your teasing smiles and bump into his shoulder, “Scott, like I said, I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body. There’s no way you could kill someone and tear up a bus.” He still slumps as he follows you to first period. “I can understand why that would still be scary regardless.”

It was his turn to bump into your shoulder, but with more force, causing you to trip into a row of lockers. “God! I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he pulls you closer by the hand.

You laugh, ignoring the jump of your heart. “It’s okay, let’s just get to chemistry.”

Stiles was already sitting down, bouncing his leg against the table stool. He looks at Scott as if asking if everything was okay. Scott gave him a reassuring nod as he took a seat at the table in front of him.

You smile at them as you took the remaining empty seat at a back table. You immediately start copying the diagram drawn on the blackboard, taking out your science project notes for inspiration.

You could hear the frantic voices of Scott and Stiles near the front, and a needle of hurt stuck in your chest as you remember the secret that Stiles wasn’t ready to tell you. You had to remind yourself that the friendship was still relatively new.

There was still a secret you hadn’t told them either.

“Mr. Stilinski, if that’s your idea of a hushed whisper you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while,” Mr. Harris says from the blackboard. “I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?”

Stiles begrudgingly moves his stuff to the back but stops when he spots the empty seat next to you.

“Hey, trouble,” you say quietly.

He sat clumsily, “How was the rest of your weekend?”

“It was fine. Just a lot of reading.” You finish copying the blackboard notes.

Stiles leans on his elbow, “Still reading that werewolf book?”

“You mean Harry Potter,” you snicker, “Yeah I’m on the fourth one now.” Turning your head you could see Stiles staring at you, “What?”

He swallows hard, awkwardly straightening himself, “Nothing just… I like that coconutty-strawberry smell.”

Warmth came up your chest, “That would be my shampoo.”

“Then thank god for personal hygiene.” He grimaces and smacks the back of his head.

You ignore it, pulling your notebook closer. You could still feel his eyes on you as a classmate jumps to the window, “Hey, I think they found something!”

Everyone ran for the wall of windows. You stood quickly from your stool too when a fuzzy feeling flickers on in your head. You grip the table, closing your eyes and frowning.

No one notices as you compose yourself, waiting for the fainting feeling to go away. You wander closer to the group of kids terrified at what they were seeing. A tingling was making its way down your legs – the blood rushing to your toes.

You felt uncomfortably warm when a cool hand touches your shoulder, “(Y/N)?”

Stiles was at your side, unsure of what was happening. “You look ashy. Are you lightheaded again?”

The breath leaving your lungs was shallow and rapid, cotton was building pressure in your ears. “I’m going to faint, Stiles.”

“Mr. Harris!” Stiles yells, “(Y/N) needs to get to the nurses office!”

Not that the student body would know, but every teacher at the school knew of your health problems. They knew it was a possibility that you would require medical care. Mr. Harris, as cynical and distrustful as he was, let you leave promptly despite his feelings.

“You may leave, Miss. Westbrook.”

“Sir, I don’t think she should be walking alone to…”

Mr. Harris was using his phone as he looks out the window, “Get out of my classroom, Stilinski!”

Stiles keeps a hand on your back and another on your arm, watching your face the whole way. His voice was frantic and small as he talks you through it.

“It’s like I can see the blood draining from your face. Does that happen a lot? I mean, I know you get head rushes a lot, but the fainting thing? Do you just have bad blood circulation? Was it something I said? Look I know I’ve mentioned how good you smell twice now and while it is true I acknowledge that it’s a little creepy of me to be sniffing your hair so much. I probably shouldn’t have admitted that. Not gonna lie it’s kinda freaking me out that you’re not saying anything.”

You struggle to breathe, “It’s sort of hard when you don’t give me time to answer.”

The shallowness of your breathy words put a strange feeling in Stiles’ chest, “Do you need me to do something else? Does the nurse… what the hell is that?”

Your watch was suddenly beeping with an alarm. Your heart rate was far too high and had stayed that high for more than thirty seconds. A pain enters your chest, and your walking slows.

Stiles starts panicking, “What does that mean? (Y/N), what’s happening?” He yells down the hallway towards the office, “Hey! We need help over here!”

It was hard to keep your eyes open as you start to slump, “Stiles…” you mumble. And you lost consciousness, falling into Stiles and in return he fell to the ground to catch your body.

He held your back and shoulders, using his free hand to brush the hair from your face. Your skin was still gray-tinged. An office lady and the school nurse came rushing down the hallway. Their heavy footfalls matching the hard beating of your heart.

Stiles was finally at a loss for words, holding you like you had just died. “(Y/N)?! Oh my god, I think she just fainted,” he says to the incoming help, “I hope she just fainted.”

The nurse asks Stiles to help drag you to the sickbed. He complies, frantically asking questions until the nurse ordered him to stop.

“Alice, will you call her mother and I’ll get her doctor on the line,” the nurse says to the office lady. She dials a number and holds it to her ear as she elevates your legs and checks that your airway wasn’t obstructed.

“What did she say to you before she fainted?”

Stiles was still flabbergasted, “She turned gray and said she was lightheaded. She told me she was going to faint.” He ran a hand over his shaved head, “And then her watch started freaking out and she had a pain in her chest.”

“It’s been more than 90 seconds now,” she mumbles to herself, checking your watch monitor to measure your heart rate.

“Wh-What does that mean?” Stiles asks, blinking blearily. “Is she going to be okay?”

The nurse starts talking to a doctor on the phone and Stiles was ushered out by the office lady, forced to watch from a different room. He refuses to leave the office until he sees your eyes open just a few seconds later.

~~~

“By the time I checked with the office at lunch she was sent home,” Stiles vents, one hand on the wheel and the other in his short hair. “She hasn’t answered any of my texts or phone calls.”

Scott was stretched thin between worrying about his possible dreamlike wolf attack and the mystery of his newfound friend. In all honesty he was more worried about how worried his best friend was.

“I talked to Allison about it, she doesn’t know anything either.”

“God, I knew there was something wrong,” Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “That scar she has… whatever I look up says it has something to do with her heart.”

Scott eyes his friend, unsettled by the palpable worry. “She’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We would have heard something if she wasn’t.”

Stiles grips the steering wheel, “We would have heard something if she was.”

They pull up against the fence to the bus drop off, putting the jeep in park. Stiles rubs at his worn face and Scott leans in with an edge to his voice.

“Listen, let’s just get this Derek theory over with and then we can go check on (Y/N). Sound good?”

Stiles grumbles, slipping out of the jeep with his friend.

“Hey, no, just me,” Scott says, “Someone needs to keep watch.”

“How come I’m always the guy keeping watch?”

Scott pulls on his friend’s arm, “Because there’s only two of us and I happen to have wolf-like reflexes and you’re distracted by your sudden love for (Y/N).”

“I am…” Stiles scoffs, caught off guard. “I am not in love with (Y/N).”

“The eight text messages and four phone calls would say otherwise.”

Stiles juts a finger in the air, “Hey, that is totally untrue.” He put his hands on his hips, “I only made three phone calls.”

“Whatever,” Scott whispers, “I’ll just be in and out.”

“Okay, why’s it starting to feel like you’re Batman and I’m Robin? I don’t want to be Robin all the time.”

Scott was bewildered, “Nobody’s Batman and Robin any of the time.”

“Not even some of the time?”

But true his word, Scott was quick upon entering the bus. Stiles surrenders and sits in the jeep ready to drive with the headlights off. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his messages to you, concern eating away at his stomach.

It was bad enough that he witnessed you fall ill so quickly and dragged you to the nurses office. But now he was realizing, through some personal investigation and the unhelpful words of Scott, that he had a crush on you.

He liked you.

With all the strange supernatural problems infiltrating his life, it was almost an unexpected surprise to have something so human as a little crush. His stomach flips. But what if there was something more supernatural about you?

Your heart rate was elevated when you fainted. Scott’s heart rate is a tell of an oncoming werewolf transformation.

Is that why you wanted to keep it a secret?

Stiles was sick of his investigative brain, slamming his forehead against the steering wheel. Couldn’t he have normal high school problems like fretting over the girl he liked instead of deducing if she was a shape shifter or not?

Flashlight beams could be seen from the school’s entrance. Stiles lifts his head to see them shining in his eyes, “Oh, shit…” he starts laying on the horn.

~~~

After dropping Scott off, Stiles sat in his jeep contemplating his next move. Staring at the clock on his dashboard he knew it was far too late for your parents to accept company.

But there was still that garden trellis outside your window.

Making his decision, Stiles drove to the end of your street, hopping out and running for your house. It was easier to climb the garden trellis now that he knew where to put his hands and feet through the vines and ladder.

He creeps over the roof tiles and squats outside your window. The lights were off, and he could just make out the human shape lying in bed… he still couldn’t help himself. He taps on the glass until he saw your figure stir.

Ruffled in white pajamas with little blueberries printed on the fabric, you carefully tip toe to the window to let him in.

“Stiles,” you yawn, the moonlight still bright enough to make your eyes squint. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles made a much more graceful entry, afraid to disturb your parents. “I wanted to check on you. You haven’t been answering my messages.”

You sit on the edge of your bed, clearly exhausted. Stiles remains standing – because he wanted to pace or because he was preparing to catch you should you fall, he didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” you run your fingers through your bedhead. Stiles thought it was cute. “Between the hospital visit and the bedrest I haven’t even looked at my phone. My mom usually keeps it whenever I have a fainting episode. Gives me time to unplug and unwind.”

“But…” Stiles folds his arms, “But you are okay?”

He didn’t like that it took you longer to respond. “Yes, I’m fine. You know I get lightheaded a lot. Fainting is usually a consequence of that.”

“Your watch went off right before you fell,” he says quietly, his eyes dark and serious. “Like some kind of alarm.”

“Yeah,” you look at your watch that you wear even when sleeping. “It measures my heart rate. Whenever it spikes for too long it warns me that I might faint.”

“That’s why you get lightheaded… your heart?” his eyes linger at the collar of your shirt, hoping to see that scar again.

You fold your arms, protective, “When I get worked up it doesn’t beat enough to get oxygen to my brain. Then I get lightheaded and sometimes faint.”

Stiles nods his head and walks over to your bed, “Can I?”

A soft smile quirks your lips, “You may.”

He sits beside you, the mattress sinking down further. “So when we saw the ambulance and the bus driver all mangled like that…”

“It got my heart rate going,” you say easily. Of course you got lightheaded before even seeing the commotion outside the window. You didn’t feel like getting too deep into your diagnosis. This was a good start.

“It was really scary seeing you get sick like that,” Stiles says honestly, looking down at his hands. “Not knowing what was going on made me feel… like I was helpless to make it stop.”

You turn to him, silhouetted by moonlight. His eyelashes were so long that they were casting shadows onto his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you say gently, placing a hand on his forearm. It made him look up at you. “I should’ve been more honest with you.”

“Is this where I can ask you my one personal question of the day?” his eyes were warm as his voice held slight sarcasm.

You lean into him, “I suppose.”

“If you start feeling faint or if you do faint, what can I do to help? Just so I’m prepared if it happens again.”

You blow air between your lips, “Oh, it’ll happen again. That’s my curse.” You hum as you think, oblivious to how Stiles was unconsciously smiling at your thinking face. “I generally avoid things that would get my heart rate up.”

Stiles scoffs, having an epiphany, “Like a lacrosse game or an after party.”

“Or a crowded lunchroom,” you smile. “But if it goes up regardless, I usually try to ground myself. Like thinking about what my five senses notice. And I hold onto whoever I’m closest to. Doing that and taking deep breaths can control my heart rate.”

“I know a thing or two about that,” Stiles mumbles, “That’s a technique to control anxiety.”

You nod, “You’re right.”

“And if you faint again?”

“First step is to call for help and the second step is to make sure I’m stable.”

You turn to him, and he looks so sincere that goosebumps erupt on your skin. He was taking your words so seriously. Without interrupting your council he grabs the blanket off your bed and drapes it over your bare arms.

“Lay me down and elevate my feet. Make sure I’m not choking on anything. And then if I’m out for more than 90 seconds or I start seizing, then turn me on my side.”

“Why 90 seconds?” he asks.

You pull the blanket closer around you, “Because after 90 seconds then there might be some brain damage or something else seriously wrong.”

He turns his body towards you more, your thighs fully touching. “The nurse today said that you were out for over 90 seconds.”

“That’s why they sent me to the hospital,” you nod, “But they didn’t find any serious damage. I just can’t have any more fainting episodes like that.”

Stiles swallows hard, tracing the outline of your side profile with his eyes. Brow. Nose. Lips. Chin. “Why?”

“Because the more I have the weaker my body will become. The more damage I’ll get. We don’t want that to happen.”

He licks his lips and plays with his fingers, “Thank you for telling me.” He thought back to the scar on your chest and realized that some things still didn’t add up. Craning his neck to look at you, he asks, “That’s still not everything, is it?”

Your eyebrows slant and you look scared for the first time that night. “No.”

Stiles found himself closer to you than he intended, urgency laced into his next words, “(Y/N), I want to know everything. I want to be able to help.”

A sad smile crept onto your face, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

You take a shaky breath, “Because then it’ll become too real. I’m not ready to share that reality yet.” You match his urgency as you express, “This is enough for now.”

Stiles suppresses the instant anger that brought up. He hated not knowing things. “Does anyone else know?”

“The school staff and most parents know,” you say, “Yes, even your dad.”

“My dad!”

You shush him, “It’s a small town and my mom works under him.”

“What about Scott and Allison?”

“Not yet,” you sigh, “But I don’t mind if you tell them now. It was stupid of me to keep it to myself when I could faint at any time around you guys.”

He bites his lip, “When will you be back at school?”

“Maybe Wednesday,” you shrug, “Fainting always puts my family in a tizzy. My parents don’t like me leaving the house until they’re sure I can handle the stress again.”

Stiles was sinking further towards you, your arms now touching along with your thighs. “Is that why you were homeschooled?”

“Yes. I finally decided to not let my problems stop me from living my life to the fullest,” you relish in his warmth beside you, the goosebumps going away. “I decided to go to school, to get a job, to do things my parents and doctors said I shouldn’t do. My heart rate will go up the same way if I get jump scared in my own kitchen. I might as well be out doing something enjoyable.”

Stiles sighs and he was close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek. “I like that.” You smile and cuddle further into your blanket. He felt reluctant to leave, but all the same says, “I should go.”

He stands and walks carefully to your window. “You’re going to miss a wicked history test tomorrow and the ‘hang out’ between Scott and Allison.”

“I thought they were going on a date?” you say, crawling back towards your pillow.

“Nope,” Stiles began to slide out your window, “Lydia and Jackson made it a hang out at the bowling alley.”

“Does Scott even bowl?”

He snorts, “Never.”

“That could only end in hilarity,” you grin, “I’ll text Allison about it tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Stiles mutters, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Stiles?”

He slips on the roof tiles, “Yep!”

You smile at his goofy face, “Thank you for helping me today. Not everyone would’ve done what you did.”

“I think anyone would be competent enough to cry for help when…”

“No, you coming to check on me. Asking me for details so you can help more in the future. Not judging me for having a problem. No one else has done that for me.”

Stiles nods awkwardly, gripping your windowsill. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

~~~

Wednesday evening you were on a mission to convince your parents that you were well enough to go to school tomorrow.

You stood in the kitchen, soft blue silk pajamas on and fuzzy socks keeping your toes warm. A home speaker was playing songs from your favorite playlist, coercing your body to nod and sway with the beats.

“Are you sure you feel alright enough to be alone?” your mother frets, putting a coat on as your dad grabs the car keys.

You hold up your wrist with the watch, “My heart has been steady all day.”

“Yes, but you don’t know if…”

“Mom!” you cry, “It’s Wednesday. Wednesday is date night. You should enjoy your Wednesday date night. I can make myself dinner and watch a movie before bed.”

Your dad nudges your mother towards the door, “Let her have some freedom,” he teases.

Angela smacks his arm, but keeps moving nonetheless, “You better believe I’m getting my own cheesecake tonight.”

Your father, Tom, gave you a wink, “Let��s treat ourselves tonight, sweetheart.”

And for the next ten minutes you were blissful in making yourself some chicken and rice, green beans on the side. Clad in your softest sleepwear and dancing around to your favorite tunes, it was hard to shift the mood when you receive a frantic phone call.

“Hey, Stiles. Sorry I wasn’t at scho…”

“(Y/N), I need your help,” he says quickly.

You turn away from the stove, “Cutting to the chase, alright. I’m listening.”

Stiles trips over his words, “Y-You work at the hospital right? You have a wealth of doctor knowledge? Like you could tell me a few facts about first aide?”

You lean against the counter, the marble cold under your arms. “Yes… Stiles what’s going on?”

“I might, sort of… maybe have a friend who is… very hurt.”

“Very hurt?”

“He has a wound that just keeps sprouting blood and he’s not looking so hot.”

You hum a ‘uh huh’ as you ponder who this friend might be, “Not looking so hot meaning what?”

“You know, just the general sweating, pale skin, heavy breathing.”

“He must be in a lot of pain then.” You could hear a slam on something metal in the background. Stiles must’ve jumped by how his voice rose an octave.

“Lots – lots of pain. Listen, what might we do to help said wound?”

You go to stir your sizzling chicken, “How does it look?”

“Red and gross and all around a major health code violation,” he felt his chest tighten at your slight laugh. “There’s also these purple veiny things creeping up his arm.”

The smile falls from your face, “That would mean he has blood poisoning. Whatever wound he has is infected and if it reaches his heart then it’ll kill him.”

Someone was rummaging through drawers; you could hear pill bottles flying around.

“That’s good, great,” Stiles curses, “What do we need to stop that from happening?”

“Well, you need to stop the infection with some pretty heavy antibiotics,” you rub at your forehead. “And you need to clean the wound to stop more infection from getting in. And you could put a tourniquet on to help stop the bleeding.”

Some heavy whispering was happening behind Stiles’ hand. Something recognizable was in the other man’s voice.

“Stiles,” you say warningly, “Who are you with?”

“Just some guy,” Stiles replies, moving around, “We’re putting a belt around his arm as a tourniquet now. Thanks for your help, (Y/N).”

A cry of pain was heard through the phone and you hiss, “Are you with Derek Hale?”

“What?! No way… not a chance,” he laughs weakly before growing silent. “Yes, I’m with Derek Hale.”

“What the hell, Stiles – I thought you hated that guy.”

A growl was heard behind him, “Listen, I gotta go. Talk to you later?”

“I’ll be here, making dinner and watching old Disney movies.” You wait for a goodbye, but the line went dead. “That was weird.” And it continues to be that way as you finish making the dinner and grab a soda from the fridge.

You sat on the couch, pulling a fluffy forest green blanket on you. It was quiet and serene as you pull up one of your favorite movies: Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

You weren’t even ten minutes in when there was a knock on your door. Slipping on your thick socks, you skid across the hard wood to the door.

Suspicious, you say, “Stiles… how is Derek?”

“He’ll live,” Stiles says, out of breath and wrapping his jacket tightly around him. “He’s having a chat with Scott right now about the Hale family or something.”

“About the house fire?” you ask, “So now that he’s innocent of killing his sister you’re suddenly buddies with him?”

Stiles had an exaggerated look on his face, “Well, not exactly. He’s still a big scary guy that we got thrown into jail for a day. And now the town thinks he’s some murdering recluse because of the evidence we put against him.”

You couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto your face, “So it was just a favor you helping him tonight?”

“Yeah, it was a hunting accident,” he says casually, as if it were the whole truth. “And he didn’t have any friends to turn to.” He dances on his toes, looking up at the porch light, “While I love chatting out in the cold, do you think your parents would be alright if I hang out here and check on you?”

Leaving the door open, you walk inside, “My parents aren’t here. It’s date night.”

“Right,” he says, closing the door and kicking off his shoes, “How are you feeling?”

You sigh, “I feel fine. My mom is just determined to keep me couped up for the rest of my life.” Without prompting you prepare a dinner dish for Stiles and meet him in the living room, “I’ve only been in school a few weeks, but I miss it.”

Stiles eyes the plate of food with wide honey eyes, “Oh my god, that smells amazing.”

“Come on, I’m watching Atlantis.”

The boy was only too eager to follow you onto the couch. He flops down, staring at his plate hungrily. You share the green blanket, throwing it over his lap. He looks at you with big eyes.

“You said it was cold outside,” you shrug, picking up your plate. Your legs were touching again as the pair of you ate.

Stiles was eating the chicken and rice like his life depended on it, “This is the best food I’ve had in years.”

“You must be in love with it,” you snicker, “Judging by the sounds you’re making.” You laugh as he chokes on his fork.

“No, it’s just…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I don’t eat a lot of homecooked food anymore. My dad and I survive on takeout mostly.”

You push the rice around your plate, “Did your mom cook a lot?”

There was a shift in the air as Stiles continues to eat, but he responds with as normal a voice as he could manage. “Yeah. My dad used to say that… that she would bribe him with a good dinner to get him home from the station sometimes.”

Your voice was warm as you say, “She must’ve been an excellent chef if that got the Sheriff away from his caseload.”

“She used to make this delicious homemade mac and cheese, like fancy mac and cheese…” he made silly hand motions in the air, “Like with the little chopped up green things on top.”

“Parsley?”

He shrugs, but his eyes grew wide and bright, “And she’d serve it on top of a piece of garlic bread with some Italian sausage on the side.” He makes an overexaggerated chef kiss. “It was a masterpiece.”

“Sounds amazing,” you lean back into the couch, leaving your plate on the side table. “Like a fancy kid’s meal.”

Stiles guffaws, “That’s what it was! When I was little the only thing I would eat was kraft mac and cheese with chicken nuggets. She was determined to make me a better version.”

“I would’ve liked to have met her,” you say softly, fixated on the points where your bodies were touching. “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was,” Stiles says just as quietly, playing with his food like he had lost interest in it. “She would’ve thought you were sweet.”

You lean closer, intrigued, “Sweet?”

“That was her descriptor word for all things she liked.” He puts his plate aside too, resting against the couch and your shoulder that was so near. “We got a coupon for the arcade? Sweet! My dad picked her a flower from the woods? That’s sweet of him. I’m forced into a sailor outfit for family pictures? He looks so sweet!”

You take a deep breath, “That is pretty sweet.”

Stiles turns to you, startled to see you so close to him. His throat grew dry and his chest felt tight, all words trickling from his brain and out his ears. He never talked about his mom. Not to Scott, not to his dad, not to his pillow – not to anyone. But talking about her to you was… easy.

You were having the quick realization that Stiles had not just brown eyes, but the most glassy brown eyes you had ever seen. Like if sunlight were to shine through the liquid of a whisky bottle. Or if a sunset caught a glimpse of a glistening honeycomb. Or if a campfire reflected off a drop of amber tree sap.

“So…” Stiles clears his throat, not wishing to pull away but very conscious of how high his voice sounds. “You like Atlantis?”

The movie had been playing the whole time in the background.

“Yes! Have you seen Milo Thatch? I’d marry him in an instant.”

“I didn’t realize you felt so strongly for an animated man.”

You poke your shoulder into him, “Fictional men.”

“And the appeal is?”

“It’s in the name,” you snicker, “They’re fictional.”

Stiles hums a reply, turning his attention back to the tv screen. “I’ll add that to your case file: only attracted to fictional men and therefore can conclude that she’s never had a real boyfriend.”

“Oh, it feels real though.”

Stiles fought a shiver tickling the top of his spine. He instead readjusted his pants, “I think I’m going to need more research on these fictional men you’re so fascinated with.”

“We’d have a lot of ground to cover,” you sigh, “Seeing as I don’t think you’ll read any of the books I give you, we’ll have to have a lot more movies nights like this.”

“I think I’d be okay with that,” Stiles says with a smirk on his face. His hands were above the blanket you share, lying in his lap and fidgeting with the green fuzzies coming from the fabric he was pulling.

~~~

You sat on the windowsill in the girls bathroom the next day, reapplying your lipstick and combing your fingers through your hair. Allison was readjusting her hairband in the mirror while Lydia fixes her mascara.

“We’re going to have a movie night,” the redhead says, admiring her eyelashes. “All of us.” She turns with a flair and points to the other two. “It’ll be prime time for a little under the blanket action.”

You make a face while Allison coughs awkwardly, “You want to do a double date?”

“Triple if we can get (Y/N) a boytoy,” Lydia smirks.

“I’m not exactly in the market for boytoys,” you say, crossing your arms.

Lydia leans against the sink, “You will when I tell you half the lacrosse team wants to ask you out since you started helping with Coach.”

A nauseous feeling enters your stomach, “I’m not a huge fan of dating, Lydia.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handpick the perfect one for you.”

Allison was all skepticism as the bell rang, “There goes the last of English.”

“And now we can go straight to lacrosse practice!” Lydia claps her hands, “Let’s go shopping for (Y/N)’s boyfriend.”

The trio make their way to the field, each at a different level of enthusiasm, as you see Scott and Stiles in their uniforms. The boys were quick to pull you to the side.

“Why did you skip the rest of English?” Scott asks, “Is Allison okay?”

“We got an emergency text from Lydia,” you huff, “Turns out it was just the regular scheming and gossip.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, “Like…?”

“Like how Lydia is going to find me a lacrosse boyfriend to match her and Allison’s lacrosse boyfriends…”

Scott and Stiles spoke at the same time:

“I’m Allison’s lacrosse boyfriend?”

“You’re getting a lacrosse boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes, “And with all our lacrosse boyfriends we’re going to have a ‘movie night’ to coverup the sexcapade I think Lydia’s planning.”

Scott was blinking really hard, and Stiles seems to have left on a thought tangent based on the slack jawed look on his face.

You snap your fingers, “I need your help with Lydia.”

“No,” Scott mumbles, “She’s scary.”

Stiles was still lingering on his imagination as he says, dreamily, “You don’t want a lacrosse boyfriend?”

Your hands fall on your hips, “I just don’t want Lydia to conduct a speed dating the lacrosse team weekend.”

“WESTBROOK!”

You close your eyes, “Yes, Coach!?”

Coach Finstock stomps over, clipboard in hand as he struggles to wrap the whistle around his wild haired head. “I need you to register the team for a spring retreat.”

You blink blearily, “A spring retreat, Coach?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s good for bonding and teamwork and… bonding.” He threw his hands up, “We have the funds this year so we’re going out.”

The teenagers share looks as you attempt to get a baseline of knowledge, “What’s our budget? When are the dates? Who do I contact?”

“Everything’s on my desk. Now get to it,” he puts the whistle between his teeth, “The district likes to hear about these things in advance.”

You back away to the locker rooms as you silently plead to Scott and Stiles to handle the Lydia situation. They were frantically whispering back to you, making exaggerated and confused gestures. You could spy Lydia and Allison talking to a lacrosse huddle by the bleachers.

For the next forty-five minutes you handle the paperwork that the principal and district employees emailed Finstock. You create an excel sheet for signups and a budget tracker. You contact a sports summer camp that allows retreats and field trips during the school year. All you need was to pass out permission slips and gather player information.

You were on your way out of the copy room when you spot Lydia on Jackson’s arm, conversing with some players on the sidelines. Scott was playing goalie while Stiles and a few others were doing a play on the field.

“Give me some good news, Westbrook,” Coach grumbles, bending his clipboard to near splintering levels. “Because these dancing monkeys need some incentive to play better than my recently deceased grandmother.”

“I’ve got everything scheduled here,” you say, not even bothering to show all your hard work. The Coach trusts you enough to have it finished. “I just need to get players information.”

“Done. Boys! Get your pansy ballet asses to line up next to Westbrook! Do what she says fellas or you’re going to miss one hell of a weekend retreat.”

A herd of maroon jerseys and shoulder pads stampede towards you on the bleachers. Sweaty, and slightly smelly, boys began to filter past as you write down their names, shirt size, contact information, and give them a permission slip. You could feel Lydia and Allison waiting on the bench behind you.

Lydia’s heel toed boot prods the middle of your back whenever a boy she particularly likes came up.

“Ben Manley,” a blonde-haired, freckled face says. “I like your jacket.”

Seeing as it was a jacket you borrowed from Stiles’ jeep, you smile, “Thanks, Ben Manley. Get this paper signed if you want to come on the retreat.”

He looks a little dejected as he walks past. Another boy comes up, shiny with sweat on his wonderfully dimpled cheeks. His hair was chestnut brown and curly, “Andrew Wickstrom,” he says with a smile, “Thank you for helping Coach. He hasn’t been as manic since you started.”

“I’m glad my hard work is paying off.” You hand him a permission slip as another sharp poke was felt in your back. “Just turn that in within the next week.”

“Thanks, (Y/N). See you in gym.”

Right, gym class that you were a TA in instead of attending. You told the other students that you already got those credits during homeschool, but really you had a doctors note detailing how under no circumstances were you to get your heart rate up.

While others ran laps and did pushups and played volleyball indoors, you graded papers for Finstock from various classes.

Scott and Stiles came next in line. Scott gave a lovestruck wave to the girl sitting behind you while Stiles whispers to you.

“Hanging in there?”

“I think Lydia is making a March Madness chart with eligible lacrosse players,” you hand the boys permission slips. “She’s relentless.”

“You think I’ll make the bracket?” he asks clumsily, his cleats sticking into the grass.

You shrug, a teasing tone to your voice, “She’s very particular about who she adds.”

Stiles hopes he wasn’t hearing sarcasm, or even worse – dislike, in your voice. He was shoved to the side by a much taller boy coming in next.

“Josh Arnett,” he says.

He was broad, darkhaired, light eyed, and currently getting a dirty look from Stiles.

“Hi there,” you say, a little starstruck at the intense eye contact. You immediately recognize him as a narcissistic asshole, one that you’d still gladly kiss and get your heart broken over. He was one that made you think Greek gods still existed. He was one that made dirty look sexy.

And you just said, ‘hi there.’

His smile was killer, “Are you going to be at the retreat?”

You ignore the boot in your back as you fumble over your words, “Probably. Coach has kind of grown dependent on me to function.”

He took a permission slip, “I’ll go if you go,” and he winks. Like full on ‘sent-a-warm-river-of-shivers-down-your-chest-and-to-your-middle’ kind of wink. Your uneven heart patters at the sight of him walking away. Those wide shoulder pads… slim waist… and tight little…

You snap out of it as you realize the boy next to you was doing the exact same thing. Danny Mahealani was gawking as he groans under his breath, “Damn I love being on the lacrosse team.”

You laugh, shoving him away in a playful gesture. Danny was by far one of your favorites on the team. Lydia was right above your shoulder in an instant.

“I think we have our winner.”

“What?” you say a bit breathless, “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Philanderer?”

Allison was choking on laughs as Lydia huffs, “Come on, just a little movie date tonight. You don’t have to see him again if it’s really that bad.”

“You’re just trying to get a hot squad together,” you poke her button nose before you stand. “But you can’t force a healthy relationship on incompatible people.”

“Sure I can,” she scowls, “Jackson and I are still together.”

You share a look with Allison before packing up, “If you two are bringing dates tonight, I might as well bring the one that flirted with me.”

“Oh, please,” Allison crosses her arms, “All of them were being fl…”

“Perfect,” Lydia claps, “I’ll talk with Josh in the locker room.” And she flounces off in her skirts, leaving Allison to walk with Scott.

And Stiles appears at your shoulder, grabbing your leftover papers and the laptop from your hands. “So, has Lydia decided your fate?” He tries not to sound too eager (and/or desperate) to learn about the evenings plans, but he was hovering a bit close as you rub your temples. Your heart rate was a little high since encountering Mr. Philanderer.

“We have a big movie date tonight.”

He holds his breath as he continues, “… slash sexcapade?”

You snort, “I’d rather clean out whatever is festering in Coach’s desk drawers than have a sexcapade this weekend.”

His next breath was deep and tight, “Then who are you watching the movie with?”

“Josh Arnett.” Stiles stuck to the grass while you walk a few steps ahead. “What?”

“You are going to spend the night with Jealous Josh? Judgy Josh? Jockstrap Josh? Forget that last one.”

You giggle, “Yes, I’m going out with Jaw-dropping Josh.” You pull on Stiles’ arm, “It’s just to appease Lydia.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Of course you don’t,” you say, “It’s going to be just a one time thing.”

“But what if he charms you and kisses you and you agree to more dates…” he watches a dreamy look slide onto your face. “Oh my god, you’re thinking about kissing him, aren’t you?”

You open the door to the locker room, full of sounds and smells alike. “It would be a crime not to acknowledge that he’s hot. And I’d have more status by saying I kissed him once.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

“Because I’m going on a date or because I’m going on a date with him?” You try to keep your tone civil as you’re surrounded by changing lacrosse players.

“Because he’s a douchebag that will probably do something to hurt your feelings and I don’t want that to happen.”

You take all your supplies from him, speckles of anger popping up your spine, “You trying to control who I go out with is a little douchy, don’t you think?”

“I’m not trying to control…” Stiles threw his gloves on the ground, “I’m trying to look out for you.”

“I’m not going to catch feelings for him,” you say indignantly, “I just want to try it Lydia’s way for once. It’s just one date, how bad could it be?” A sudden rush to your head makes you stumble, ramming your shoulder into a line of lockers.

Stiles jumps to your back, hands on your arms as you screw up your eyes. You take a deep breath and force the black spots from your vision. Slowly the voice of Stiles enters your ears.

“I’m fine,” you say, standing straight, “My heart was just beating a little fast.”  

“Because of our argument?”

You turn to the sound of his voice. The previous anger was gone. In its place were fearful honey eyes and an open, honest expression.

“Among other things,” you say, trying to catch your breath. “I’ll see you later.”

Stiles was screwing up his lips, chewing the inside of his cheek, clearly worried as you retreat. “Call me if something happens!”

 ~~~

You wait at your living room window for over an hour. You wait in your comfy blue sweater that’s cute enough for a date and soft enough for cuddling. You wait with styled hair and a little lipstick.

You could feel your parents spying from the kitchen, disappointed that you were being abandoned like this. A pain creeps into your chest that has nothing to do with your heart. It made your stomach twist and your head hurt.

It did not feel good to be stood up.

You text Lydia to give her an update. Her quick reply was that she and Jackson would pick you up and you could pick out the movie together.

You didn’t wave goodbye as you left the house, embarrassed by the turn of events. “I was such an idiot.”

Lydia turns in her seat, “You’re not an idiot, you look gorgeous.”

“I’m an idiot for getting excited about a night out with that jerk,” you play with your fingers. “And I knew from the beginning that he was an asshole, and I still got all ready trying to impress him.”

“No, you got ready because you wanted to feel hot. Remember you were going to one and done him tonight; Josh should be the one feeling disappointed that he isn’t here with you.”

You crack a faint smile, “Where’s Scott and Allison?”

“Oh, Allison’s hanging out with her aunt and so Scott decided to make other plans.”

“Meaning it’s just us three tonight?”

Jackson sighs begrudgingly, “Yep.”

“Then we might as well make it a chick flick night,” Lydia says, cheery despite her boyfriends obvious disdain for the situation. “Let’s watch The Notebook.”

“Absolutely not,” Jackson says, “We are not doing chick flicks just because your friend was dumped.”

Lydia purses her lips, “You’re not making this any easier, Jackson.”

“Yeah, I don’t really feel like crying, Lyds,” you attempt, the video store just down the road.

Jackson starts to ramble about different action and sports movies, “We never choose a movie that I pick. How about Hoosiers? Not only is it the best basketball movie ever, but it is also the best sports movie ever made.”

Lydia was quick with her reply, “No.”

“It’s got Gene Hackman and Dennis Hopper.”

You grimace at Lydia’s same short reply. “We can go in and browse for a little bit.” The night was shaping up to be one of the worst by far.

“I am not watching The Notebook again!” Jackson raises his voice.

“Come on, Jackson,” you say, opening the door. “Let’s just go look around for a second. I’ll help pick a good one.”

You walk to the first aisle inside, both of you on edge for different reasons. Jackson makes no effort to make conversation as you peruse the romantic comedy shelves. “She means well. She’s just trying to cheer me up.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I don’t want my date ruined by turning it into a girls night.”

You cross your arms, “I’m sorry.”

Jackson scowls at your drawn expression, “Arnett really is an asshole, by the way. I told Lydia as much.”

“Again, she meant well,” you sigh, “But thanks anyway.” A phone starts ringing in the background and kept echoing through the empty store. “Geesh, you would think someone would pick that up by now.”

“Hello?” Jackson calls out, “Is anybody working here?”

“What’s that?” you ask, pointing at a pair of shoes sticking out from an aisle further down. “Did someone fall off that ladder?” The medical assistant in you was already in action, pulling your phone out as you near the shoes.

You both move slowly, tense as the atmosphere gives an eerie flicker of lights. As you round the aisle of movies, there laying on the ground is the store manager – his throat clawed out.

“Oh my god!” you scream, gawking at the blood soaking the front of his shirt. It was fresh and glistening, splattered up onto his face and glasses.

“Holy shit!” Jackson yells, jumping back and onto the ladder. It moves enough that a broken light fixture falls, ripping the exposed wiring and plunging the entire video store into flickering darkness.

One second it’s dull yellow light, and the next an awful red dark, and then light again. It was making your vision blur with spots. You fall to your knees, sickened by the sudden wet warmth that soaks your pants.

Your heart was racing, beating like a war drum as you fought to control your breathing. Jackson was standing in the middle aisle, clearly shocked into silence. You were fumbling with your phone, attempting to dial any number that came up first.

There was a low, deafening growl that ripples through the store. You eye the claw marks on the store manager and immediately think of something big and terrifying. Jackson did too as he falls to hide behind a shelf.

You could hear the growling towards the back, too near for your liking. You shuffle away from the body, aware that Jackson had just left you to fend for yourself. A row of shelves falls behind you as you make your way to the front, crawling on your hands and knees.

You finally manage to dial a number, the first one you could think of. And the sound of Stiles on the other end brought you a sense of relief. He would do something.

“Hello.”

“Stiles…” you whisper, crawling along the front of the store and next to the windows.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

Your breath was shaky and came out in wheezes, “I need help.”

There was a rustling on the other end, “Where are you? (Y/N), you need to breathe.”

A snarling growl came from your left and you dread to turn your head, “Oh god…”

“(Y/N)! Stay awake – tell me where you are!”

But as you turn your gaze to the hot breath and red gaze of the growling creature, you let out a bloodcurdling scream. The giant monster swipes a paw at you, clawing at your shoulder and sending you spinning into the opposite wall. You slam against the brick with a sickening force, a crash of broken glass above you as the creature jumps through.

Shards of glass collect on your body, stinging some of your exposed skin. Warmth was spreading down your left arm as you fought to breathe. Your vision was blurring, and you were falling in and out of consciousness.

Jackson crawls out from under the fallen video shelves and finds you at the front, noticing Lydia screaming in the car. He kneels beside you and pulls out his phone, dialing 911.

~~~

Stiles sat in the parking lot of a burger joint, eating dinner with his father in the police car. He was reminiscent of the homecooked meal you made him, fondly thinking of his mother too.

“Did they forget my curly fries?”

He chides his father, “You’re not supposed to eat fries, especially the curly ones.”

The Sheriff smirks, “Well, I’m carrying a lethal weapon. If I want the curly fries, I will have the curly fries.”

Stiles took his bitten straw out of his mouth, “If you think getting rid of contractions in all your sentences makes your argument any more legitimate, you are wrong.”

His dad gave him a bewildered look, “Somethings off with you tonight. Did you take too much Adderall?”

“No,” Stiles grumbles, picking at his hamburger wrapper, “Just… thinking about school.” He watches his dad’s expression egg him on further, “… and lacrosse… and Scott…” He huffs and throws his dinner back in the brown bag. “And girls.”

The Sheriff scoffs, hiding a laugh, “Just the usual then.”

Stiles felt his phone ring and he was surprised to see your name appear. Thinking you’re going to tell him Josh Arnett is the asshat that they all knew him to be, Stiles says confidently into the phone, “Hello.”

There was a terrified whisper in reply, “Stiles…”

He sat straighter, his dad catching a soda before it fell to the floor. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?” You sound like you were on the verge of a panic attack.

“I need help.” Your breathing was erratic, and he knew your heartbeat was probably the same.

“Where are you? (Y/N), you need to breathe.” God forbid you faint in whatever terrifying situation you’re in.

There was a terrible growl behind your shaky words, and you sound so small when you cry, “Oh god…”

It sent a thrill of terror through Stiles, “(Y/N)! Stay awake – tell me where you are!” A million scenarios were flying through his mind. Was there a werewolf there? The alpha? What had happened to your date?

There was a deafening bloodcurdling scream as the phone must’ve fallen from your hand. It took Stiles a second to realize that it was you that screamed. “(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” Your cries flew to the side along with a crash of glass as the snarling beast left.

The line went dead and Stiles fell into a panic, “How do I… where… god, dad we have to find her!”

The Sheriff listens with sincerity as he had watched the entire conversation. “What’s going on?”

“That was my friend, (Y/N) Westbrook. She was supposed be out tonight on a date, but something went wrong. She sounded terrified and then there was a scream and a crash and then… nothing.” His arms were flailing as he sat on the edge of the car seat, “We have to find her!”

“Westbrook?” the Sheriff says, throwing his wrapper to the floor, “You don’t mean…”

“Yes! And I know you know about her heart.”

His dads eyes widen ever-so-slightly, “How do you know about…?”

Stiles slams a hand on the dashboard, half tempted to grab the steering wheel, “We have to go – she’s in serious trouble!”

“Now hang on just a damn minute,” was his reply, “We don’t even know where she is. And before you go flying out the window, let’s think about this with some sense. Do you know where she was supposed to be on her date?”

Stiles whacks his head, as if to jog some memories over the panic, “They were going to watch a movie.” He bounces his leg, pleading with his dad, “Please, dad, she’s going to have another fainting episode.”

The police radio turns on with some crackling feedback. The dispatcher on duty was a man judging by the voice. At least that meant Mrs. Westbrook wasn’t on shift that night.

“Unit One, do you copy?”

Stiles leapt for the radio and the Sheriff slaps his hand away. “Unit One, copy.”

“Got a report of a possible 187.”

Stiles jumps in his chair, shaking the whole car, “A murder!?”

“It’s at the local video store. Some teenagers are involved.”

The Sheriff confirms he’ll be there and felt a twang of guilt as he watches the fear bubble in his son. “Do you have confirmation on how many are hurt?”

“Negative, but the boy on the phone was in a frenzy about an animal attack.”

“Thanks, Johnson.” The Sheriff put the radio up, speeding down the street with sirens blaring. “Let’s not fear the worst, Stiles. They said there was just one possible 187.”

Stiles was biting his lips, drumming his knuckles over his mouth, “I should have stopped her from going out. I knew it was a bad idea.”

The drive was tense and painfully slow despite the speed the Sheriff was emitting. When they reach the video store it was swarming with EMTs and an ambulance. The store window was shattered, and Jackson was yelling at whatever emergency personnel he could. Lydia was huddled in a shock blanket on the curb, and sitting on the edge of the ambulance was you.

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles cries, “Thank you god.” He was falling out of the police car before it even made a complete stop. “(Y/N)!” He ran for the Beacon ambulance.

You were leaning against the side of the car, an EMT bandaging your left arm. You had a few butterfly bandages on your face and a rapidly developing bruise to the side of your head. There were dark circles under your eyes and your skin was ashy again.

“What happened?” he asks, quiet compared to the panic he was in moments ago.

You turn your wet eyes to him, gulping, “Stiles. There… there was a monster.”

“She hit her head pretty hard,” the EMT says, finishing your bandage. “She needs to go home and get some rest.”

Stiles gave the man a nod, gently sitting next to you and giving his full attention. “What kind of monster?”

“It was like a bear or a wolf,” you whisper, exhausted. “I was so scared.” The break in your voice put a hitch in his chest. “Josh bailed on me and then Scott and Allison. And I just wanted to go home.” You turn to him, “I want to go home, Stiles.”

He clenches his jaw, his throat bobbing, “Okay. Okay, we can go home…” He stole a shock blanket from the back and wraps you in it, careful around your left shoulder. “Did you faint at all?”

You stare off, disassociating, “In and out.”

The Sheriff calls your parents as you lean into Stiles. Your head nestles into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He couldn’t put his arm around your shoulders for fear of hurting the new wound. Instead he wraps his hand lower on your waist.

With his other hand he reaches for your fingers, worry still eating away at his stomach. “Where are we on the possibility of fainting right now?”

You groan, “60% chance.”

He gives a painful smile, wrapping his hand in yours. With his fingers he felt for the pulse in your wrist. It was a little high and stuttering unevenly.

“What do you hear?”

You hum, “Sirens. People. You.”

Stiles felt a warmth seeping into his chest, it was loud and suffocating and squeezed at his heart. “What do you smell?”

“Rubbing alcohol. And you.”

He plays with your fingers, tracing them with his thumb, “What do I smell like?” A small huff of air escapes your lips, and he likes to believe it was almost a laugh. “Cause you know exactly how I think you smell.”

You try to clear your throat, “Like sandalwood.”

“I’m not even sure what that is.”

“Like the woods,” you whisper. “Like rain, and trees, and honey.”

“How did you know my favorite pastime was bathing in forest rain and honey?” He imagines the twitch in your cheek against his neck was an attempt at a smile. “What do you feel?”

You fidget in his embrace, “Tired. Pain. Fear…”

“Okay, bad question.”

“Your hand,” you continue, “You’re warm. It’s nice.”

The inflation of his chest was reaching a bursting point, and he laid his face against your hair. Holding you there, he checks your pulse again with his long fingers. It had lowered since his arrival.

Your parents came soon after that, fretful and terrified of your condition. They wanted to take you to the hospital for a full checkup and your grip tightened on Stiles’ hand as his dad took him away.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers in your ear, your parents approaching. “I’ll see you later.”

~~~

It was very late into the night when Stiles climbs the garden trellis to your window. He was delighted to see that it was left cracked open. He pushes it open the rest of the way and falls inside, careful not to make too much noise.

You lay in bed with the lamp on, illuminating the room with its peachy color. You were in midnight blue pajamas with little stars printed on them. Your left arm was stiff and heavily bandaged, painkillers adding to your collection of prescription meds on the nightstand.

“Hey,” he whispers, gaining the attention of your wet gaze. You must’ve been crying for a long time judging by the redness of your eyes. “How was the hospital?”

“I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t believe you. He sat on the edge of your bed, itching to grab your hand again but needing a good reason. “When I got your call… it scared me shitless.” A chuckle escapes him, “My dad was ready to clobber me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Stiles says, “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. You did nothing wrong. This was all just a terrible ordeal.”

You sniff, “I’m tired.”

Stiles nods, “Yeah, I just wanted to check on you before bed. I should let you sleep.”

“I’m not going to sleep.”

His chest tightens like earlier. He aches to touch you again, seeing you so fragile and tense. “(Y/N)…”

“Every time I close my eyes I see that thing clawing at me.” Another tear escapes your eyeline and runs down your cheek, “I’m too scared to sleep.”

“Well…” Stiles picks at a seam in his pants, “How about you call for your mom? I’m sure she’ll…”

“I don’t want to worry them anymore. I’m tired of making them worry so much.”

Stiles chews on his lip, “Hmm, okay. How about I stay? I’ll just sit at your desk and keep watch.”

You watch him with swollen eyes, “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I’m worried about you too. And I feel better knowing I can keep you calm.” He wasn’t going to tell her that for the last three hours he had been replaying their moment outside the ambulance. The way you leaned into him, and he got to hold your hand and listen to you talk about how nice it was to be next to him.

“I want you to stay,” you say quietly. “But you can’t sit in a desk chair all night.” You pat your uninjured hand on the mattress beside you.

Stiles feels warmth flood his cheeks, “Oh, yeah… well – great.” He sits down and stretches out on top of the covers, “This is a much more comfortable spot to keep watch.”

You pull at your blankets, turning towards him and grounding yourself in his presence. “There’s a squeaky floorboard in the hallway. You’ll hear if my parents are coming.” You place a hand on his forearm, “Thank you for being here.”

His throat bobs at your touch, “Always.” And he lays there well into the night, cursing when your hand falls away in your sleep. He waits for sunrise to leave, occupying himself with watching your breathing patterns and checking your pulse every once in a while. He even brushes the hair from your face and flattens the arm bandages that start to unstick.

He was just memorizing the curve of your nose and the slant of your cheekbone when the sun broke over the horizon.

He sighs, rubbing hard at his face. If this is what having a crush on you was like… it was going to consume him.  

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs

[annwrites]

trick or treat one-shot collection.

— pairing: jacaerys velaryon x twin!reader

— type: modern!au | (part of a collection)

— summary: jace gives you a pumpkin-spice flavored treat

— word count: 939

— tags: twincest, blowjob, throatpie

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr @aemondwhoresworld @cecestea

Your mom currently has Luke away for the afternoon for horse-riding practice and your dad is at work, while Joffrey is in his room taking a nap.

Meanwhile, you and Jace are lying on opposite ends of the couch, with your feet resting in his lap.

He’s currently massaging one while his other arm is bent behind his head as he idly watches TV.

You roll your head to the side, resting it against a couch cushion, before closing your eyes, feeling drowsy from the boring rugby game Jace has playing.

He glances to you with a raised brow.

He considers for a moment, then grins before tickling your foot.

You groan and try to pull it back to you, but he holds firm.

You half-consider kicking him in the face with your opposite foot, but you know you’d never hurt him.

Well, not since you were little, that is.

He might’ve been your first kiss, but he’d also been your first right-hook.

“Jace, stooop,” you groan, trying to twist away from him, but he only shakes his head, chuckling.

“Make me.”

You roll off the couch then and onto the floor, and Jace stands before settling himself on top of you, digging his fingers into your sides.

You squirm, laughing incessantly in a panic, trying desperately to get away from him. “Stop! Stop! Oh, God, Jace, stop!”

He smiles widely. “What do I get if I do?”

You slip your hands beneath his shirt, sliding them up his warm chest. “I’ll give you a blowjob.”

His movements cease while he stares down at you.

He reaches up, gently smoothing curls away from your face. “I didn’t mean—”

You reach up, cupping his cheek affectionately.

“I want to,” you reply quietly.

“Besides,” you say, sliding your hands lower, your fingertips grazing the waistband of his pants. “We could try those new flavored condoms you got.”

Your eyes flit to his, and you watch as a smile spreads across his pretty lips.

You watch—kneeling in front of him—as Jace rolls a condom onto his erection before gazing down at you.

You take him in your hand, firmly stroking him from base to shaft before sliding the tip of your tongue along the rubber that now covers his cock.

“If you don’t like the taste—”

You shake your head, slightly smiling.

“It tastes just like it,” you say, staring up at him. “Pumpkin spice.”

You ease down along the length of him, and you begin to gently suck.

Jace eases his head back, tangling his fingers in your hair, and he moans quietly.

The two of you don’t typically use condoms when it comes to you giving him oral, but you’d wanted to try these new ones strictly for the novelty aspect.

You stare up at your twin, smiling around him at the sight of him so relaxed.

He’s been rather stressed lately from lacrosse—the Dragons have lost their last two games—so you only want to make him feel better. Rather, help him think of something else for a bit.

Having your mouth wrapped around his throbbing cock should do the trick.

You swirl your tongue around, sucking firmly—practically drooling—before pulling back with a slurp and smiling up at him while you stroke him.

“Does it taste good?” He asks breathily.

You nod.

“You always do,” you reply, swallowing him again.

You delicately fondle his testicles, carefully tugging on them, and Jace lets out a quiet curse, shoving his cock further into your mouth and your throat contracts around him.

You moan, and your eyes flutter closed while you bob your head, quietly sucking before hollowing your cheeks and Jace tangles his fingers in your hair, holding you in-place while he rocks his hips, easing his long cock in and out, in and out…

He sighs your name, followed by ‘I love you’.

You smile happily, mentally returning the sentiment.

You pull back, press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, then lick the length of him before shoving him back in your warm, wet, awaiting mouth.

It’s a handful of minutes later before Jace’s hips jerk involuntarily and you feel him twitch between your cheeks.

You swallow a mouthful of pumpkin-spice flavored saliva—your spit already dripping from your mouth—before he mutters that he’s close.

You release him and he nearly groans in irritation, thinking that you’re teasing him, before you blink up at him. “Do you want to cum in my mouth?”

He smirks, then nods.

You watch as he slides the condom off and then you ease him back in, getting back to work.

You move your head faster and faster, hollow your cheeks, cup the bottom of his shaft with your tongue—practically gagging yourself on him you want him to cum so badly.

He whimpers your name and his cock strains before twitching, and you ready yourself just in time as Jace shoves himself further down, cumming down your throat with a groan, muttering ‘thank you’ over and over again.

You swallow before releasing him with a ‘pop’, and you smile warmly up at him.

“You’re welcome.”

You both jolt when there’s a quiet knock on Jace’s bedroom door.

“Y/N, can you make me grilled cheese and tomato soup?” Calls Joffrey from the other side.

Jace flops back onto his bed with a sigh of relief.

You stand. “Of course, sweetie. I’ll be right out! Just go watch Disney+ for a bit!”

“Okay.”

You lean over Jace then and press a kiss to his cheek before exiting his room and shutting the door behind you before heading into your own for a quick change of panties.

[periipheral]

thank youu for the tag !!! <3 @wildmelon

are you named after anyone?

i think my mom was gonna name me something else (my middle name) but instead saw lindsey in some martha stewart magazine ?? and was like yk what fuck it i like that instead

when was the last time you cried?

i saw a tiktok about a dead dog yesterday and started sobbing

do you have kids?

no! i am much too young, but i've started babysitting a lot so I'm around like newborn-6 y/os constantly

do you use sarcasm a lot?

yeah, i'd like to say i'm a fairly sarcastic person, but i am scarred from the hot topic i speak fluent sarcasm t-shirts

what sports do you play/have you played?

i played a bunch of sports as a kid, but i don't really anymore. over my child and teen years i've played soccer, volleyball, lacrosse, and softball. i also did like ballet in preschool/kindergarten and did weightlifting/crossfit from like 8-11th grade

what’s the first thing you notice about other people?

i think body language? i'm a psychology major so like the way people carry themselves can say a lot about their personality and feelings about themselves and others. i always feel like im slightly psychoanalyzing people when i meet them for the first time

eye colour?

i think technically they're hazel but that feels pretentious so i always just say brown

scary movies or happy endings?

outwardly i would say scary movies, and i love me some blood and terror.. but i also have a huge soft spot for cheesy 90s romcoms

any special talents?

not really :/ i'm pretty good at cooking and baking without recipes i guess ?

where were you born?

what do you want next?? my mother's maiden name?? anyways..california :)

what are your hobbies?

the sims (duh), cooking/baking, reading, and doing puzzles

do you have any pets?

i have murphy, who is technically my cat but as my family goes I have 3 dogs (2 lab retrievers and a minpin) another cat who we've had since I was in like 2nd or 3rd grade, a turtle, and a koi pond!

how tall are you?

like 5'4 ish??

fave subject in school?

english and psychology are the subjects i'm best at, but i really enjoy history and science

dream job?

tbh being a streamer would be sick, but realistically i would say probably a college professor of english or psychology

ok i have no clue who to tag buuut @avornalinoo @voidcreek @gothoffspring @birdietrait @void-imp (sry if some of u were already tagged or already did this :,) )

[dahliawolfe]

Opal

Teen wolf AU

The door shut with a soft click behind her. She sighed as she made her way up the stairs, getting to work on the buttons of her bells. She threw the door open, not sparing a glance at Scott, before shucking her pants and turning to remove her shirt.

“Shirt me,” she demanded, reaching a hand out.

Scott rolled his eyes and placed one of his well worn t-shirts in his best friend’s hand. “Rough day?” he asked, looking down at his phone, steadfastly trying to ignore the fact that the most beautiful girl in the world, his best friend, was nearly naked in his room.

“That British History was hellish,” Opal sighed, flopping down on the bed with Scott. “I know we need to get you ready for your bio final, but I say, you let me sleep, and then we get pancakes and cram before we drop you off. Sound good?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s ok. You want some food?”

“I want sleep, Scotty.” Opal tucked her face into the neck of her best friend and flung an arm over his waist.

…

Scott woke up alone, which was just as well, because he was hard as a rock after having Opal pressed against him all night. He had just stuck his hand down his pants when the front door flew open. Yanking his hand back like he’d been burned, he snatched the covers over himself. The smell of Opal wafted up the stairs. Soon enough, she was opening his door, greeting him with a smile. She was in a pair of workout shorts and a bra, and her naturally honey gold skin was slicked with sweat. Her long copper hair was pulled into a braid that hung down her back.

“Hey, Scotty!” she greeted. “I went to get a workout and run in. Give me 5 to shower, and we can head out. Stiles was filling up the Jeep when I ran past, so he should be here soon. Oh, shit,” she hissed. “I don’t have any more shirts. Can I borrow one?” Opal had been keeping a pile of clothes at his house since they were 15. She didn’t have the best home life, and Melissa had a soft spot for the girl.

“Uhh, I’m actually low on laundry, myself,” Scott stated, sitting up.

“Ugh, Scotty, Mel doesn’t live here anymore, so you need to learn to do your own.” Melissa was living with John Stilinski, and they were getting married in the fall. Scott kept the house. Melissa insisted. At 23; Scott, Opal, and Stiles were going into their last year of college at Beacon Hills Community College; and they’d go their own ways soon. And Scott was not ok with that, but he was trying not to think about it. “Ohh, can I wear this?!” she held up his old lacrosse jersey. And Scott nearly growled at the thought of her wearing his name.

“Umm, sure. Yeah, that’s cool.”

“You’re the best! Be right back!” Opal flounced out of his room and to the bathroom next door. Scott only breathed out a sigh when he heard the shower click on.

…

“You’re gonna kick that final’s ass, Scotty!” Opal declared an hour later as they finished up their pancake and test review session.

“Yeah, man. You got this,” Stiles added, not looking up from his phone.

“Dude, she offered to let you go with her,” Opal sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I can’t go to Italy! My dad…”

“Has my mom,” Scott supplied.

“But..But…”

“Stiles, I know that you’re worried about Lydia, but she can take care of herself. And you guys are going to NYU together next year, so a little break will be nice for both of you.”

Stiles sighed and rubbed his temples. “Lydia is going to Oxford.”

“What?!”

He nodded. “She got a late acceptance. So, I’ve decided to just go to UCLA, so I can stay home.”

“Oh, Stiles,” Opal sighed sadly, reaching over to pat his shoulder. “Well, hey, you’ve still got us. Let’s kick this summer’s ass! How about a trip to the beach?! We could drive down after Scotty’s exam, be there by night fall, and we could get a room for the night and head home tomorrow morning.”

Scott smiled. “That sounds sick, actually.”

“I don’t…” Stiles began, but Opal held her hand up, cutting him off.

“You’re going.”

…

Scott walked out into the early summer heat and sighed. He was sure he did alright on the exam, but he had struggled. He turned his phone back on to find a text from Opal telling him that she was at the Sheriff’s Department with Stiles and she was waiting for him. He smiled and began to walk.

∞

Opal was perched on the spare desk at the back of the bullpen, arguing with Stiles about which Ghostbusters movie was best, when she heard his voice.

“Opal?” Her head snapped up, midsentence and her eyes made contact with the granite colored eyes of Derek Hale.

“Derek?!” she threw herself off of the desk into his arms, and he didn’t so much as grunt when he caught her.

Derek was hugging her and chuckling quietly under his breath. “It’s good to see you too,” he joked, placing her on her feet.

That was when she noticed for the first time that he was wearing a deputy’s uniform. She raised a brow at him.

“I got tired of the big city, and John offered me a job here.  So, here I am.”

∞

Derek studied Opal. She was definitely not the kid she was when he left Beacon Hills 5 years ago. She had … filled out. She was curvy with defined muscles, thick thighs, wide hips, and an ample chest. And that smile. That smile was still the same. Her fiery hair had been bobbed when Derek left for San Francisco, but it was now nearly down to her hips. Damn, she was beautiful.

“So, you’re staying?!” she exclaimed. Derek laughed again.

“Yup. What are you guys doing for the summer?”

“Oh, well, Stiles is going to be shadowing a journalist at The Beacon. Scotty is going to be working with Deaton. And I am working at the Museum of Local History. For now, I’m a tour guide, but the owner said that if the summer goes well, he might make me the head of research and acquisitions when I graduate!”

Her excitement was contagious. “That’s amazing! I’m sure you’ll impress them.” Derek had mellowed out a lot since the days of chaos in Beacon Hills. And being back here made him feel like he was finally at home.

∞

Scott had worked up a sweat, but the blast of AC that hit him when he opened the front door of the Sheriff’s Department, was a welcomed shock. He paused, his hackles rising, as he smelled another wolf near. That’s when he looked up. Just in time for Opal to exclaim, “Scotty, look, it’s Derek!”

[maplesyrizzup]

Marie Rose McCall "Mary" (Teen Wolf) Sexuality: Bisexual Gender: Female

Date of Birth: October 6 1994 Is a fully evolved werewolf

Health Before the bite: Iron Deficiency Anaemia.  After the bite: PTSD Fears: Losing control. Snakes. Being forgotten. Loves: Cats. Dogs. Birds. Being in Wolf-form. Being a werewolf. Love Languages: Gifts & Quality Time.  About her: On the lacrosse team. Autistic. Bilingual. Ray of sunshine until pissed off. Supportive. Comforting. Friendly. INFJ. Gryffindor. She was taught by Derek along side Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, but made it very clear she was not part of Derek’s pack. Derek taught her most of what she knows, so she shares a mentor/apprentice bond with him. Favorite class is biology, wants to be a Veterinarian. Hates history with a burning passion. She took a gap year to stay behind for the puppy pack and to further continue working with Deaton. So she’s like a total mom to the puppies alongside Theo. Nolan is like her son, she took him under her wing. Kill Count: 2. Has never taken an innocent’s life so her eyes are still yellow. Relationships Family: Melissa, Scott, Rafe. (Yes, Stiles is like a brother to her) Ex: Isaac Lahey Dating(?): Theo Raeken Malia was her sexual awakening. They hooked up between the events of 5b & 6A. Deaton- father-like role Derek- Mentor  Best friends: Stiles, Scott. Later Malia. Appearance Brown eyes & Black hair. Same skin tone as her twin Scott. 5′4″.  Clothes: Plaid and Ripped Jeans. Lots of shorts. Oversized plaid and shirts.