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romerona · 1 month ago

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The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

The meeting of Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Headcanons.

The day had been long, and Carmy was just trying to keep it together. He’d left The Bear earlier than usual—if you could call "earlier" 9 p.m.—and was heading upstairs to his apartment with a bag of takeout that was far less exciting than anything he cooked in the kitchen. His mind was still buzzing with half-finished ideas for new recipes and the stress of balancing the books. It wasn’t until he rounded the corner in the hallway that he saw you.

You were crouched on the floor outside the apartment next to his, wrestling with a particularly heavy box. A burst of bright, patterned fabric caught his eye—it was your socks. Your jeans were rolled up messily, revealing mismatched socks peeking out of your sneakers, and a stubborn strand of hair that kept falling to your face. You didn’t seem to notice him at first, too focused on trying to angle the box through the doorway.

“Uh, you need a hand?” Carmy asked, his voice quiet and even, as if he wasn’t entirely sure you’d hear him.

You startled slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes. A man—tall, with a mop of messy blond hair, tired blue eyes, and a hoodie that had definitely seen better days—stood a few steps away. He looked a little rough around the edges, like he’d just stepped out of a 12-hour shift. And, unbeknownst to you, he had.

For a moment, you seemed unsure whether to accept, but then you huffed, brushing your hair out of your face. “Honestly? Yes. Please. I think this box is plotting my downfall.”

Carmy set his takeout on the floor and stepped over. He crouched down beside you, studying the situation. “What’s in here? Bricks?”

You laughed, the sound warm and full, and it caught him off guard. “Close enough—books. I hoard them like a dragon.”

He smirked faintly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. Without another word, he lifted the box with relative ease, surprising you with how quickly he maneuvered it through your doorway. “Where do you want it?”

“Anywhere that’s not the hallway,” you said with a grin, stepping aside to let him pass. “But if you want to put it by the window, I won’t stop you.”

Carmy carried the box to the corner you pointed to, but as he turned back, his eyes lingered on you longer than he intended. Standing amidst the chaos of your half-unpacked apartment, you looked effortlessly natural—strands of hair falling loose, a faint smile on your lips, and a light, easy confidence that made the mess around you seem insignificant. The light caught your cheekbone, highlighting your warm, colorful presence, a stark contrast to the muted tones he was used to. The room was already full of little glimpses of your personality—colorful throw pillows piled on a couch, a small vase of fresh flowers on the windowsill, and a stack of what looked like hand-painted signs propped against the wall.

“Thanks for that,” you said, breaking his train of thought. “I owe you one.”

Carmy couldn’t help but think how effortlessly pretty you were, though he kept the thought to himself, letting it settle quietly in the back of his mind.

He shrugged, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You just saved me from throwing my back out. That’s definitely worth at least a plate of cookies or something.”

Carmy opened his mouth to respond, but you kept going, your energy bright and fast-paced. “Wait—are you my neighbor? Please tell me you’re not just some random guy who walked by and felt bad for me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Carmy said, scratching the back of his neck. “I live next door.”

Your face lit up. “Oh, good. I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you...?”

“Carmen,” he said. “Carmy.”

“Carmy,” you repeated, testing it out. “Alright, Carmy-next-door. Thanks for the rescue.”

He nodded awkwardly, his social skills feeling a little rusty. “Yeah. No problem.”

-----

Carmy was just about to head out for his usual coffee run before work when the knock came at his door. He hesitated for a moment, not used to anyone knocking on his door—especially not at this hour. He opened it cautiously, and there you were, standing on the other side, holding a plate covered in plastic wrap.

“Hey!” you said brightly, flashing him the kind of smile that felt a little too sunny for such an early hour. You hold the plate out toward him. "These are for you. My way of saying thanks for saving me from a very undignified fate yesterday.”

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, glancing down at the plate.

“Never joke about cookies,” you said solemnly, holding them out to him.

Carmy hesitated for a moment before taking the plate, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“Uh thanks,” he said simply, his tone soft but sincere.

You tilted your head, your smile softening into something a little teasing. “That’s it? ‘Uh, thanks’? No ‘wow, these look amazing,’ or ‘you didn’t have to, Y/N, you’re too kind’?”

A chuckle escaped him before he could stop it, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, genuine smile. “Alright, fine. Wow, these look amazing. And you didn’t have to.”

“Much better,” you said, nodding approvingly. “I knew you had it in you, Carmy-next-door.”

“Carmy-next-door?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You didn’t tell me your last name, so I had to come up with something. If you’d prefer something fancier, we could workshop it.”

He shook his head, amused. “Carmy-next-door’s fine.”

There was a brief pause, and Carmy shifted slightly, unsure of what to do next. Social interactions outside of a kitchen weren’t exactly his strong suit, but something about the way you stood there, so at ease, made him want to keep talking. “Peanut butter?”

“Yep. I hope you’re not allergic or I might feel terrible for accidentally murdering my new neighbor.”

“No allergies,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “They look... good.”

“They taste better,” you replied confidently, rocking back on your heels. “You’ll see.”

Carmy stared at the plate in his hands for a moment, then back at you. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of you yet—this whirlwind of color and brightness that seemed to completely contrast his muted world.

“You uh-bake a lot?” he asked, his voice quieter now, curious despite himself.

You laughed, and the sound made something in his chest loosen. “Not really. I’m more of a ‘wing it and hope for the best’ kind of baker. Which, coincidentally, is also my teaching style.”

That caught his attention. “Teaching?”

“Yep. Fourth grade at Abbott Elementary,” you said, a note of pride in your voice. “You ever try to teach ten-year-olds about fractions? It’s like trying to train cute little squirrels to sit still.”

Carmy huffed another laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Can’t say I have.”

“You’re lucky,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest. “Anyway, I should let you get back to... whatever it is you were doing. But enjoy the cookies. They’re my signature recipe.”

“Signature?” Carmy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep,” you said with a playful smirk. “Passed down from the great culinary masterminds of my family. By which I mean, I Googled it five years ago and have been winging it ever since."

Carmy let out a quiet laugh, glancing back toward his apartment. For a moment, he considered inviting you in, but the idea of it felt… too sudden. Too much. Instead, he took a step back toward the door, holding up the plate as a gesture of gratitude. “I’ll let you know how they are.”

“Oh, it will,” you said confidently, already backing toward your apartment. “See you around, Carmy-next-door.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, watching as you disappeared back into your apartment, leaving him standing in the doorway with a plate of cookies in his hands and a strange sense of warmth in his chest.

-------

The plate of cookies sat on Carmy’s desk in the cluttered back office at The Bear, their presence almost mocking him. He’d brought them along in the rush of the morning, figuring he might as well snack on them during the chaos of his day. But, as usual, the day had taken over—prep work, managing the team, putting out fires both literal and figurative—and by the time he finally sat down, the cookies were still untouched.

Richie, after coming into his office asking about the butter delivery for tomorrow, noticed the cookies on the table.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, pointing to the plate with an incredulous look. “Since when do you bake cookies?”

Carmy looked up from his paperwork, deadpan.“They’re from my neighbor. She brought them over as a thank-you for helping her move a box.”

Richie snorted, picking one up without waiting for permission. “Your neighbor? What is this, a fucking Hallmark movie?”

“Can you just eat the cookie and shut up?” Carmy said, though his tone was more resigned than annoyed, as he leaned back into his chair.

Richie took a dramatic bite, his eyebrows raising in exaggerated surprise. “Damn. These are actually good. Who’s this neighbor of yours? She running a bakery or something?”

“No,” Carmy said, shaking his head. “She’s a teacher.”

Richie blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. “A teacher who bakes like this? That's a keeper. Because these cookies are better than anything Marcus has cranked out lately.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Carmy muttered, grabbing a cookie for himself.

They were soft, perfectly sweetened, with just the right amount of salt to balance the flavor. He wasn’t expecting much when you’d handed him the plate earlier, but now... now he understood why you’d been so confident.

He finished the cookie quickly, his mind already drifting to thoughts of you. He could picture the way you’d smiled when you handed him the plate, the playful glint in your eyes when you teased him. He wasn’t used to people being so... warm. So open. It felt unfamiliar, but not in a bad way.

Richie leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “Seriously, though, what’s the deal? She single? Maybe I should swing by, introduce myself. Could use some homemade cookies in my life.”

Carmy shot him a warning look, though his tone remained light. "Just get out of here, Richie,"

Richie chuckled, grabbing another cookie as he walked out. “Hey, if she makes more of these, tell her I’ll marry her. Hell, I’ll even carry her boxes next time.”

Carmy shook his head, staring at the now half-empty plate of cookies. For a moment, he considered texting you to tell you how good they were, but he didn’t have your number. Instead, he made a mental note to return the favor—something different than cookies.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared so much, but as he reached for one last cookie, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

-----

It had been two days since you’d dropped off the plate of cookies as a thank-you for Carmy helping you with your move. You didn’t expect much in return—maybe just a polite nod in the hallway or, at most, an offhanded “thanks.” That was the kind of vibe you got from Carmy: quiet, reserved, polite but not overly forthcoming or social.

So, when there was a knock at your door that evening, you weren’t expecting to find him standing there, holding a small brown takeout box.

“Carmy-next-door,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, as his eyes flicked between her face and the container in his hands. “Uh, thought I’d return the favor."

Your eyes flicked to the container, and you tilted your head curiously. “Return the favor?”

"For the cookies.”

You blinked, glancing down at the box in his hands. It wasn’t your typical store-bought takeout container—this one looked nicer, almost custom-made. You tilted your head slightly, curious. “What’s this?”

“Just something I made,” he said, shrugging one shoulder like it was no big deal. “Nothing fancy.”

You smiled, reaching out to take the box from him. “Wait, so you’re telling me you cook? Like, professionally?”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, clearly debating how much to say. “Yeah. I’m a chef.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Like... a real chef? Not just someone who’s really good at making grilled cheese?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. A real chef. But I do make a mean grilled cheese.”

“Well, color me impressed,” you laugh, holding up the box like it was a prized treasure. “What’s in here? Or is it a secret?”

“Braised short ribs,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “With some potato puree and roasted vegetables. It’s... leftovers from a test recipe.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “You're giving me that as a thank-you for cookies?”

He shrugged again, his gaze flicking away. “Figured it was better than just saying ‘thanks.’"

You laughed softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, now I feel like I need to bake you an entire cake or something. Cookies don’t seem like enough anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “You didn’t have to bring me anything in the first place.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have discovered that my new neighbor is secretly a culinary genius,” you teased, watching as his cheeks seemed to tint just slightly pink.

“Not a genius,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just... a chef.”

“Well, Chef Carmy, you’ve officially raised the bar for neighborly exchanges,” you said, grinning.

A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “Just enjoy it.”

She studied him for a beat longer, the way he seemed both completely comfortable and slightly out of place at the same time. “Well, thanks, Carmy. I’ll let you know what I think.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slightly. “You do that.”

Carmy turned to leave, but before he reached his apartment, you called after him, your voice light and teasing.

"Hey, Carmy-next-door!"

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder, a curious expression on his face.

"Is this some kind of competition now? Because if it is, my next thank-you might have to involve actual fireworks."

He gave a quiet chuckle, a rare sound that widened your smile. "It's not."

You laughed, the sound brightening the hallway. "Well, it is now," you declared, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And I’m not going down without a fight."

"Looking forward to it," he murmured, shaking his head, his smile lingering as he turned and disappeared into his apartment

You stood in the doorway for a moment, still holding the box, a warm feeling spreading through you. There was something about him—quiet but deeply thoughtful—that made you feel like you’d just scratched the surface of who he really was.

You carried the box into your kitchen, setting it carefully on the counter. The smell alone was enough to make your mouth water, but you didn’t open it right away. Instead, you poured yourself a glass of wine and took a seat, savoring the anticipation. And as you finally took your first bite, you couldn’t help but think: maybe moving into this building was the best decision you’d made in a long time.

Hope you enjoy it!!!! <3

Part 3??

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x you #reader-insert #reader insert #the bear #abbott elementary #abbott elementary x reader

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clesired · 30 days ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 | 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! “can i request a george weasley x reader where she’s harry’s sister? set in the goblet of fire?” thank you to the lovely anon who requested this <3

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! fun fact: no one loves harder than a weasley!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! no warnings, fluff, comfort ( reader big sister-ing harry ), gryffindor potter fem!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 1.7k words!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You watch as your little brother storms through the doors of the Great Hall, Hermione hot on his heels.

You want to move—but you’re torn between chasing after Harry and his angel of a best friend, or turning around and hexing his dimwitted doorknob of another.

Ever since Harry’s name was pulled out of the Goblet of Fire, it’s like the whole school has turned on him. And no one worse than his very own best mate, Ron Weasley.

And of course when Ron is upset, everyone else has to be too.

He’d started a row with Harry in the middle of breakfast, and when he’d lost it on Hermione for stepping in and defending your brother—Harry had reached his limit and walked away. No doubt because he’d been seconds away from socking Ron a good one.

And you’re honestly not too far behind him, but your big sister instincts ultimately win out and you rush out of the hall in hopes of catching up to the younger Gryffindors before they’re out of sight.

Your head swivels from left to right as soon as you burst through the doors, but to no success. And with the amount of hidden passageways and corridors in this castle—you’re shite out of luck.

So caught up in looking for any clues as to which way they may have gone, you completely miss the arrival of another person.

“C’mon, sweetheart—there’s no use looking for them now.” George’s voice rings out gently as he steps in front of you. His large hand falls to your shoulder and squeezes, a familiar feeling that calms you.

You lean into his touch—seeking his comfort, but shake your head in denial. “I have to try, Georgie. He’s my brother.”

“He’ll be alright, sweetheart. Hermione’s got him.” He murmurs against your hairline as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his hand rubbing up and down your arm soothingly.

“You hardly even touched your plate before mini Potter was storming off. Come back and eat. Give him some time to cool off, yeah?” He coaxes gently and you let out a soft sigh.

“If I go back in there now, I’m afraid you’ll be walking out with one less brother.” You murmur quietly as you look up at him, earning a soft chuckle from your boyfriend.

“That’s okay, still got four of ‘em left.” He jokes quietly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Ginny’s beat you to it, darling.”

That makes you smile, and you pull away from him to peer at the doors—as if trying to see through them.

“She throw a Bat-Bogey yet?” You ask curiously, the smile on your face a testament to how upset you are with Ron right now.

Normally, you’re like two peas in a pod—mainly because Ron knows if he’s on your good side, George won’t prank him.

You know that’s the real reason he talks to you, but you don’t really care.

Ron can be particularly nasty if he’s on bad terms with a person—proven by this morning’s lovely show, and you’d rather not deal with that sort of nuisance; so you entertain him.

But all of that is out the window now. Ron has gone too far this time—accusing Harry of deliberately putting his name in the Goblet of Fire and cheating. As if he needs another threat to his life after all that he’s already been through. Ridiculous.

“Not yet, but her hand was looking pretty twitchy before I ran out.” George’s voice is laced in amusement now, as he comes up behind you and gently steers you toward the Great Hall.

You smile softly. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

George chuckles. “Comes with the job of being your boyfriend, sweetheart. One promise of Weasley-on-Weasley violence, check.”

“Well now that makes me feel bad.” You frown softly as you walk through the doors.

“Don’t. He had it coming.” He squeezes you gently before smirking. “And plus—Fred and I have been waiting for an excuse to prank ickle Ronniekins without making you mad.”

As the Gryffindor table comes back into view and you find that Ginny has in fact casted an absolute wicked Bat-Bogey Hex while you were gone, you smile.

George’s words ring in your ear as a thought occurs and you turn to look at him—momentarily ignoring the chaos the flying bats are causing among the students and staff.

“You know what? Consider him out of my protection. You and Fred can prank him as much as you want from now on.” You declare.

This will be your get back at Ron for being a little shite to Harry. Only you are allowed to be mean to your little brother and get away with it.

George positively beams down at you as he places a fat kiss against your forehead and then looks over to his twin.

“Hear that, Freddie!? My witch gave us the go ahead on ickle Ronniekins!” He shouts, and you can’t help but laugh as you watch Fred pump his fists in triumph.

As you settle down at the table beside George and watch the Professors struggle to help Ron fight off the bats, you scan the table until you find Colin Creevey.

“Colin!” You call out, gaining his attention. “Do me a favour and take a picture of this, yeah? I’m sure Harry’s gonna love it.”

The amused smile on your little brother’s face when he looks at the picture later that day in the common room proves you correct.

“Figured since you couldn’t be there to see it in all its glory, I could get you the next best thing.” You shrug casually, before smirking.

“Oh, and the twins are working on a few ideas to make Ron’s life a bit more…entertaining for the next few weeks.” You say lightly.

Harry looks up to where Fred and George are sitting at a table, quietly discussing as they both pour over a parchment.

After a moment, he turns to smile at you, all traces of anger due to Ron’s awful behaviour absent from his expression—at least for the time being, until Ron inevitably opens his mouth again.

“You’re a great big sister, you know that?” Harry says quietly, and you chuckle.

“Obviously. We Potters never do anything by halves.” You smirk.

“Except for boyfriends!” George suddenly calls out as he looks up from the table and winks at you. “Get it, sweetheart? Because you’re dating a twin?”

You shake your head in fond amusement as you look at your boyfriend. “I got it, Georgie.” You smile, holding back a laugh.

He blows you an air kiss and you catch it before blowing one back in return. He smirks, before you both refocus on your respective brothers.

Harry is already looking at you by the time your head turns, and his smile is smaller now—but also softer.

“George is good for you. I’m glad you have him.” He says quietly, and you feel your heart warm.

By the time your little brother had entered Hogwarts, you and George had already been dating—and with all the crazy shenanigans that’s been going on ever since Harry’s first year…you two never really had a conversation about how he felt about it.

You know he never had a problem with your relationship—he would’ve said something if he had; but to actually hear him verbally approve you and George fills you with a particular joy you only ever feel when it involves your boyfriend.

“I’m glad I have him too.” You murmur softly as you glance back at the aforementioned wizard.

“No one loves harder than a Weasley, you know.” You add on as you look back at your brother.

“No one hates harder than one too, apparently.” He grumbles, and just like that—his face is darkening all over again as he thinks of Ron.

You sigh softly and wrap your arm around his shoulder, smiling when he lets you. The Dursleys did their number on the both of you, but it was worse for Harry—with physical touch being one of the things he sometimes gets a little finicky about.

Both you and Hermione have been working overtime throughout the years to get him used to it, and you’re proud to say that the progress is there.

Harry’s first instinct is to usually shy away from touch when he’s angry, but rather than pull away this time—he leans into your warmth.

“Ron is…Ron, and I have no doubt that Hermione can and probably already has given you a more in depth explanation on why he’s being a prat—so I won’t even bother trying.” You smile gently, before continuing.

“But what I will tell you is that sometimes friends fight. And it’s messy and it sucks, but it also strengthens the bond between you.” You pat him consolingly.

“I’m not saying you two are gonna make up tomorrow—even I know Ron’s too much of a git for that. But you will eventually.”

“How can you know that, though?” Harry asks quietly.

You shrug gently. “Call it big sister instinct, or the fact that you two have been through more things together in the past three years than most people go through in a lifetime. Whatever it is, you two are going to be just fine.”

Harry relaxes at that, and as the twins join you on the couch—George pulling you into his lap, and Hermione comes bursting through the common room rambling about what she read in the library about the Triwizard Tournament rules—you look back at your brother.

He’s watching the twins—who are now rattling off ideas to Hermione about how to get him out of the tournament, and you can tell that he’s touched by their efforts.

You lean into Harry to give him one last word of big sister advice. “Ron’s poor behaviour is more than upsetting, but he’ll come around eventually. In the meantime—you’ve got a pretty solid group of friends right here.”

You gesture to Hermione and the twins, and hold up the picture of Ginny casting a Bat-Bogey at Ron.

It’s not lost on either of you that three of the four people you pointed out are Weasleys, and Harry smirks.

“No one loves harder than a Weasley, indeed.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! its actually criminal that i dont have my own george, smh. i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

#clesired #clesiredwrites #clesiredoneshots #clesiredgeorgeweasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter golden era #harry potter golden era fanfiction #harry potter golden era fic #george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #george weasley x reader

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captain039 · 3 months ago

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Heal your hurt

Viktor x reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, health issues, mental health issues, light swearing, chubby reader, intimacy, sexual, friends to lovers, reader has chronic pain

I just need to take care of Viktor and for him to take care of me xD

It’s a quiet day, rain gently pattering on the window of your shared apartment. Viktor’s been your roommate for three years now, but you’ve known him since you were little. You’ve always loved Viktor, lately though it just seems different, you catch yourself staring at him, watching the way his eyes scan over journals, notes and blueprints, watch the way his jaw sometimes clenches a little too harshly or his high cheekbones. Watching him slowly grow tired while you read on the bed making sure he doesn’t fall asleep at the desk, or how he makes his tea in the morning, his hair a mess his eyes barely open. It makes your cheeks heat and your thighs clench. You want to throw yourself out the window some days at how bad it gets, you can’t help but wonder, let your mind wander to thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking about him, you imagine straddling him, making sure he’s comfortable before slowing sinking-

The door opening makes you startle, your book falls to the floor and you stare blankly before you register.

“Welcome home” you call to Viktor who just hums and heads to his desk lying his things down. He looks tired today more so than usual, his limp is worse than normal and you can see the tense lines in his jaw and brow.

“How was your day?” You ask. You know better than to ask if he’s ok, always being brushed off.

“Good” he answers simply sitting down and resting his cane against the table, it wouldn’t be a talking day then. You sigh softly picking up your book and lying it on the table head in hand, elbow resting on the table as you look out the window, watching the rain fall.

“Did you have a good day?” Viktor’s voice comes and you look to him, he’s looking at you to which surprised you.

“It was boring” you shrug and he nods.

“Jayce says hello,” he says and turns back to his desk.

“Tell him I say hi back” you say and he nods. You stand up deciding to take a shower instead of sitting, your hips protest and you swear you feel like someone just stabbed you in the tailbone. You want to curse but keep it in and awkwardly go to the bathroom. You run a bath, put in a few drops of oil and a scoop of bath salts, it’s your damn fault for sitting in that chair too long. You want to slap yourself but don’t as you strip and struggle with your pants and socks. You sit on the toilet seat jaw clenching. In times like these you missed your mother, her helpful hand her warm words and her caring touch, she made you feel less useless. You force your legs up and take off your socks one by one it takes you too long and you’re rushing to turn the taps off before you even get your pants off. You sigh shimmying your pants off before you settle in the bath with a small sigh of satisfaction. A temporary subdue of pain, you figured by now they’d invent something to stop this kind of thing, but no, we’re just inventing blimps and hextech. You sit in the bath eyes closed head resting on the small bath pillow that Viktor bought you. It’s… nice the small things he does, he’ll buy you a small gift you use every day like a new bookmark, a blanket or something you need, he’ll leave one of your jackets hanging by the door if it’s cold, he always knows how to make the best tea.

“Are you alive in there?” A gentle knock echos from the door and you open your eyes realising you were lost in thought.

“Yeah I’m alive” you call out hearing a soft rare chuckle from Viktor.

“Would you like a tea?” He asks and the thought of hot tea makes you smile.

“Yes please” you answer. Getting out of the bath seems to be harder than getting in, you feel ten times heavier and drying your body feels like running a marathon. You struggle to your room, listen to the kettle boil as you take some pain meds and get dressed carefully. You leave your room and collapse on the couch ungracefully and sigh. You’ve never outright told Viktor of your problems, you figure he can see them even though you try to hide, sometimes it’s too much to hide, but you don’t want your burdens on him when he already has his own.

“Tea” Viktor says and hands you the cup. You thank him and sit up properly sipping the herbal drink with a small sigh.

“Viktor?” You ask as he sits at his desk and he hums back. You pause for a moment sighing and shaking your head.

“Sorry, don’t worry” you brush off picking up a book instead. You don’t see him falter and stop what he’s doing till you hear his voice.

“How is your book?” He asks.

“S, good” you hum.

“What’s it about?” He adds and you flick your eyes up seeing him writing something down.

“You don’t like my silly romance novels” you snort softly.

“Indulge me” he answers and something in your stomach flutters.

“I- ok. It’s about opposing kingdoms the Prince and the Princess must marry to form an alliance between each kingdom, they hate each other though and she’s been planning to murder him to get revenge for mother’s death. They’re forced to be together for appearance and she slowly finds out that it wasn’t in fact the prince that killed her mother but someone else, I think it was one of the king's assassins and the prince had no idea about it, anyway, she realised that the prince is not the evil mastermind he appears to be, he’s a soft-hearted gentleman who cares for the people in secret and tries to save the kingdom from collapsing” you explain only halfway through the book.

“Has either one confessed?” He asks.

“No, she’s still learning about her feelings but he’s head over heels just doesn’t want to push her” You shrug sipping your tea again and reading the page you were on.

“An enemies to lovers? Is that what you called it?” He comments and you smile to yourself.

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called” you answer.

“With a slow…burn?” He tilts his head and your smile widens even if he can’t see it.

“Also correct” you let out a small giggle.

“I am slowly learning your… book language” You feel your stomach do a flip with butterflies at his words and you force yourself to stop smiling. You clear your throat and nod.

“Yeah, you’re doing good” you mumble focusing on finishing your tea and page.

Next part ->

#x reader #Viktor x reader #Viktor Arcane #Viktor #fluff #hurt/comfort

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estell-allary · 1 year ago

Text

Inferno of love

Relationship:romantic💚

Pairing:Clarisse La Rue x fem!hades!reader

Warnings:swearing,kissing,established relationship,name calling,kinda a make out sesh?!NO SMUT!

A/N-this is after capture the flag wear clarisses spear breaks from Percy and Clarisse is raging and upset so she sends all her siblings out of her cabin And you come in and comfort her and it turns into a little more if you get what I mean😉No but they literally just make out and Clarisse calls you angel as a nickname bc I think it’s cute(this is also inspired by the song lay all your love on me by abba)

The blue team won.Again,you were glaring at a annabeth for snatching the flag from right out from under your noses but nothing could be done now,what’s done is done,your glaring was rudely interrupted by matty,clarisses half-brother,oh yea where was Clarisse?you were about to ask the boy who was huffing and coughing his lungs out from running to you before he started talking,

“H-uhh-hey!um Clarisse is throwing a tantrum ‘huff’ in ou-our cabin we need you to calm her down..”he said still huffing and taking breaks from talking every few seconds.

“Damn is she taking this years loss that bad..kinda thought she would be used to it by now,I mean it is the third year in a row”you said in a puzzled voice before matty spoke again, “what?no-well kinda-but no she’s fuming about her spear.”he said looking at you like it was obvious

“What about her spear?”you spoke up again in a more serious voice furrowing your brows.

Matty looked at you for a few seconds even tho it felt like centuries “wait you don’t know”he said his eyes widening,even tho it wasn’t a question, he stayed still like he was waiting for a answer, “Matty.”you said louder drawing a few looks from people around you “What.Happened.To.Clarisses.Spear.”you repeated.

“T-the new kid”he said and grabbed your arm and started leading you back to cabin 5..“oh gods”

“Oh gods”you repeated at the sound of Clarisse yelling at her siblings to get the fuck out..you weren’t even there yet!at the sound of her voice you subconsciously picked up your speed,you now dragging matty,forcing him to speed up to.

By the time you arrived at the ares kids cabin the last of them walking or more like sprinting out to avoid clarisses wrath most of them looking annoyed and muttering stuff about her not owning the cabin but to scared to say anything to her face,you knew that she’s been trying to get the blond twelve year old to admit his faults in lying about the Minotaur but Jesus getting this mad..I mean you get where shes coming from,the kids kids like a stick but then again..fear can make you strong.Like really strong.

Before you walked into the cabin you told matty to go with his siblings so he doesn’t get yelled at by Clarisse and he obeyed in pure fear from the last time Clarisse yelled at him for spilling juice on you(she also soaked his socks in juice to get back at him dispite your pleas)

You walked into the cabin with one goal in mind help Clarisse even if that means help her in different ways then intended..

You saw her siting on her bed on the second floor directly next to the window.

“Clarisse..you alright my love..”you said startling the girl making her head shot up and grab her now Broken spear.Once she realised it was you she relaxed a bit placing her wreaked spear down.

She huffed out a sigh before responding,not answering your question “hey angel..”she said motioning you towards her and you obliged walking towards her till you were standing between her legs,her spreading them wider so you could be closer to her.

She layed her head down on your chest wrapping her hands around your waist and pulling you against her further.

You kissed her forehead stroking her tight curls that were now tangled up in a hairband that she put it in for capture the flag.Your hands started to untangled her curls 1 by 1 lightly tugging her hair,while Clarisses hands went to your shoulders as she began lighting kissing your neck, her hands playing with the straps of your amour to loosen them.

You slowly removed the hair band out of her hair as to not hurt her as she took off your chest amour,she placed it next to her and moved her hands from your shoulders to your waist,pulling you to her as she leaned back on the bed,making you straddle her thighs and lean down towards her face.

‘Don’t go wasting your emotion,lay all your love on me’

Your hands went from her hair to her shoulders tugging at the straps of her armour but she spoke “uh uh,not today the snotty brats will be coming back soon angel”she said moving your hands back up to her hands“please..”you whined at her trying to convince her that you two could be quick and won’t be caught but she cut you off by kissing you on your lips sloppily.

You moaned as she slipped her tongue into your mouth and gave her roots little tugs making her groan out your name and pulling you Flush against her.

‘Don’t go sharing your devotion,lay all your love on me’

You broke apart for air and before you we’re about to kiss her again someone came running up the stairs and pushing the door open before you and Clarisse could push away from each other,being caught in a very awkward position,you straddling Clarisse with your hands in her hair and her hands placed on the plush of your hips.

And worse it was one of her younger half-siblings,the poor boy looked traumatised,running out the room when Clarisse threw a pillow at him yelling at him to get out and fuck off.

Safe to say you and Clarisse got into a lot of trouble,and got stuck on cleaning the stables for four months.

But it was worth it to be with your girl.

‘Cause everything is new and everything is you’

A/N:I actually had a lot of fun making this because I could imagine Clarisse yelling at her siblings like she owns the cabin and there just renting it😭anyways but my request are open btw so just request what you want and I’ll try to do it💚

#Spotify #Clarisse La rue #clarisse x reader #pjo series #percy jackon and the olympians #fem!reader #hades!reader #cabin 5

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nameless-jamie · 20 days ago

Text

Airport Disaster

A Jamie Tartt Short Story/Imagine

Masterlist

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x fem!personal assistant reader

A/N: Thinking of turning this into a series. Tell me your thoughts!

Y/N had never been so ready for a flight to be over before it even began. Standing at the check-in counter with Jamie Tartt, she couldn’t help but let out a small groan. The security line was a nightmare, and Jamie—being the absolute chaos magnet that he was—was already in the middle of yet another distraction.

“Jamie,” Y/N said, trying to keep her voice steady as she passed over the tickets. “Focus. We need to check in or we’ll miss the flight.”

She had to give it to Jamie—he could make even the simplest tasks feel like a full-blown mission. It had started innocently enough: a flight for an away game, some standard prep work, and Jamie’s usual distracted self. As his personal assistant Y/N's job seemed simple enough, get Jamie there on time, keep him happy, healthy and entertained. But as usual, he was making it way more difficult than it needed to be.

“Jamie, where's your passport!” Y/N snapped, spotting Jamie rummaging through his backpack, the airport floor now buried under a pile of random merchandise and stuff. “Come on, we don’t have all day!”

Jamie went pale for a second. “Er—uh—of course I have it. It’s… it’s in my pocket.”

Except it wasn't.

“Jamie, are you serious?” she asked, annoyance creeping into her voice as he rummaged through his bag again in an exaggerated manner. He kept pulling out everything but the passport, muttering to himself in frustration.

Y/N sighed. “How do you forget the one thing you always need?”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m the only one who’s forgetful.” He flashed her a grin, clearly trying to deflect.

She narrowed her eyes but said nothing as he repacked his bag. They both did a double-take when Jamie’s passport finally showed up inside a single mismatched sock that was in his bag.

“Really?” Y/N said, unable to suppress a laugh despite your frustration.

He shrugged, smug as ever. “I mean, I could have hidden it in the glove compartment of my car, but this was way more fun.”

“You’re a mess,” she muttered as both hurried to the gate, their shoes slapping against the smooth airport floors. "I should pack your bags for you. I've gotta remember that for next time..."

It wasn’t even noon, and she’d been already running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to get Jamie Tartt to remember his passport, his ticket, his—well, his life.

“Jamie,” Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “can you please just put the cologne down? We have a flight to catch.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just window shoppin'!” he said with a dismissive wave, but not before getting distracted by another duty-free cologne display again. He pulled out a shiny new bottle and waved it under her nose. “What do you think? Too strong? Too subtle? I need something that screams ‘I’m here to break hearts.’”

Y/N shot him a tired glance, replying sarcastically. “Jamie, you already break hearts just by showing up. Now put that down, we’re going to miss the flight.”

His lips quirked upward in a smile, but he reluctantly placed the bottle back. “You know, you’d look way less stressed if you just let me handle things." He said while massaging her shoulders a little. "You need to take a break, Y/N. Maybe we should get a drink before we board?”

Y/N has been Jamie's personal assistant for about a year now. They upgraded their work relationship to a close friendship ages ago. Seems like Y/N is the only one who can really tolerate Jamie on a daily basis, and he's the only one who can calm her down.

“Jamie, I’m already handling everything. And you’re not helping,” she replied, trying to herd him toward the security check line.

Jamie rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’m helping in my own way, darlin'. You need to loosen up. Or you'll lose that pretty little head of yours.”

He was always like this, throwing around compliments or teasing her just to see her fluster. She tried her best to stay professional, but it was hard to ignore how easy it was for him to get under her skin, especially when he looked so damn carefree and charming, despite being an absolute disaster when it came to getting things done.

The real chaos began when they reached security.

Y/N passed through with no issues, but Jamie was flagged for a random pat-down. He threw his hands up in protest. “Are you serious? I’m a professional footballer, mate. I'm fucking famous.”

Y/N could only roll her eyes as the security officer motioned for Jamie to step to the side. “You can’t be serious right now,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “We’re going to miss this flight.”

But Jamie was too busy pouting and making ridiculous faces at the officer. "Oi, don't touch me fuckin' hair, mate" He turned to Y/N, barely holding back a laugh. “Hey, hey, it’s fine. Chill, we're good on time. Y/N, I think I’m getting picked on here. This is just unfair.”

“Yeah, well, life isn’t always fair,” Y/N muttered under her breath, already imagining how much longer this was going to take.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they made it through security, and Y/N was feeling the weight of her job, trying to keep Jamie on track for the flight. Her phone buzzed—more emails, more last-minute work. She sighed, clutching it as they made their way to the gate.

“Can we please focus on getting to the gate before we miss the flight?” Y/N grumbled, but she felt her nerves coil up in a mix of annoyance and something else entirely—something she was trying very hard to ignore.

But Jamie, ever the showman, wasn’t finished teasing her. “You’re all business, aren’t you?” He leaned in slightly, his voice low and smooth, as if he was sharing a secret. “Makes it that much more fun when you let loose.”

Y/N turned on her heel, shaking her head. “Not happening.”

Despite her irritation, she couldn’t help but notice the way he was staring after her like he could see through her carefully constructed walls.

“Y/N, chill,” Jamie said from behind her, sounding way too smug for someone who’d caused the delay. “You're making your job harder than it needs to be. If you just followed my lead, things’d be way easier.”

“Really? ‘Cause that’s worked out so well for us so far, Mr. Passport-in-his-fucking-sock” Y/N shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jamie grinned, oblivious to her annoyance. “Well, maybe it would if you stopped being such a workaholic.”

The two of them finally boarded the plane, and Jamie immediately flopped into his seat with all the grace of a toddler. Y/N sat next to him, already trying to mentally prepare herself for the long flight ahead.

As the plane started to taxi, Y/N found her nerves creeping up again. It wasn’t the flying itself, but the lack of control. The confined space. The takeoff. She could feel her anxiety creeping up, the tightness in her chest, the unease at the thought of being cooped up in an airplane for hours. She hated flying. Every time, it was the same—her hands went clammy, her heart raced, and the moment the plane started to lift off, she couldn’t help but hold her breath until it leveled out.

Jamie noticed the subtle shift in her demeanor, her posture stiffening. “You okay?” His voice was softer now, the usual playfulness gone. “You don’t look so good.”

Y/N shook her head quickly, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just... just not great with planes.”

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her palms were already clammy.

Jamie cocked his head to the side. “You? Scared of flying? Nah, I don’t buy it. You're scared of nothin'.”

“It’s not about being scared. It’s just... uncomfortable,” Y/N muttered, pressing her hands against her knees.

“You’re serious?” Jamie raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “You’ve got the best seats on the plane, and you’re telling me you're uncomfortable, darlin' ?"

“It's not that simple,” she muttered, glancing away. “It’s just... I don’t love the feeling of being out of control.”

Jamie’s expression softened, his usual teasing demeanor replaced with something more thoughtful. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve got you covered,” he said, his voice low and steady. He gave her a wink, his cocky grin returning, but it was a little warmer than usual. “If anything goes wrong, you’ve got me. I’m good at handling these things.”

“I’ll make sure you’re fine,” Jamie added with another smirk, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

Y/N shot him a dubious look. “I think you’re overestimating yourself.”

“Am I, though?” His tone dropped to something undeniably flirtatious. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m the best person you could have by your side. You ever seen me in action? I can keep you calm and collected... or at least distract you enough to forget you’re on a plane.”

“Jamie, no,” Y/N said quickly, cutting him off. “Please, just... let me have five minutes of peace before you start to get on my nerves again.”

He laughed, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, something softer. He leaned back in his seat, letting her have a moment of quiet. It didn’t last long, though.

“If you need a hand to hold, just let me know,” he whispered, his voice laced with an intimacy that made her stomach flip.

Y/N’s heart skipped, but she played it cool, looking straight ahead. “I’ll be fine. You just focus on not making the flight any more complicated.”

“Oh, I’m not complicated,” Jamie said, getting comfortable in the seat next to her, clearly enjoying the game they were playing. “I’m easy. But for you? I’ll make an exception.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t shake the smile that threatened to break out. God, he was trouble.

As the plane hit a light turbulence, Y/N felt her chest tighten, but this time, she didn't feel as alone. Jamie’s presence beside her was oddly comforting, and when he gently placed his hand near hers on the armrest, she couldn’t resist the urge to let her fingers brush against his, just for a second. Then she finally gave in and held his hand.

His grin was smug as ever, but there was something in his eyes that made her heart race for a different reason.

“See?” Jamie murmured, his voice teasing. “Told you, you’re in good hands.”

Half an hour into the flight, and Y/N could feel herself getting drowsy. The lack of sleep and constant stress from the airport chaos were catching up to her. She tried to focus on her phone, but her eyelids kept fluttering.

Jamie noticed again, his usual teasing replaced with something gentler. “You’re seriously gonna fall asleep on me, huh?”

Y/N didn’t even have the energy to reply, her head tipping forward slowly, her body too tired to fight it. Before she knew it, her head was resting on Jamie’s shoulder, and the world around her blurred out.

Jamie raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Look at you, all snuggled up. I should be the one getting some rest, not you.”

Y/N mumbled something incoherent, too far gone in her exhaustion to respond properly.

Jamie chuckled softly, not moving away. “You’re lucky I’m a gentleman. Otherwise, I’d tease you about this for the next week. But I guess I’ll let it slide... for now.”

As the minutes passed, though, the teasing energy faded. Jamie watched her sleeping form, her face relaxed in a way he’d never seen it before—vulnerable and peaceful. His gaze softened, his usual cocky grin slowly fading into something more tender. His chest tightened in an unfamiliar way, something warm spreading through him as he let his gaze linger on her.

He didn’t know when exactly it had happened, but somewhere between all the jokes, the teasing, and the playful flirtations, he’d fallen for her. Not just for the moments where she made him laugh or the way she kept him on his toes. It was this—seeing her here, completely unaware of his eyes on her, looking like she actually trusted him. The world felt quieter when she was near. She was the one who kept him together.

Jamie gently shifted in his seat, careful not to wake her. He leaned his head back, his thumb absently brushing the edge of his seat as he let himself get lost in the feeling. She was his assistant, sure. But somewhere along the way, she’d become so much more than that. The way her eyes sparkled when she challenged him, the way her smile made his heart race—he realized, maybe for the first time, that it was all starting to mean something.

Her hair, mussed from the flight, and the way she looked so content against him—he couldn’t help but feel a little possessive of the moment. A soft smile tugged at his lips, and even though he usually had to be the one in control, in that moment, he felt like maybe he didn’t need to be.

“You’re something else, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Something really special.”

When she woke up, she found herself still leaning on him, her face flushed from the heat of the cabin and the awkward position she’d ended up in. Jamie was looking at her with that signature grin, but it was different this time—more teasing than smug.

“Well, well,” he said, a little too loud for her liking, “looks like I’ve got myself a nap buddy. You really couldn’t resist me, huh?”

Jamie’s voice was lower now, softer. “You know,” he said, his tone teasing but with a subtle hint of something else, “I didn’t expect to be your pillow for the flight.”

She felt her face heat up and pulled away slightly. “I—I didn’t mean to—” Y/N groaned, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. “I wasn’t planning on this, okay?”

“No worries.” His voice was quiet but amused. “It was actually kinda nice.”

She tried to hide the flush that had crept up her neck. “Yeah, well... you don’t need to get used to it.”

Jamie gave a small chuckle. “Oh, I’m very used to it now.” His voice dropped to something teasingly serious. “I might even start thinking of myself as your personal travel companion.”

Y/N shot him a look, but the teasing glint in his eyes made it hard to keep the irritation up. “Don’t push it,” she muttered, but it was half-hearted, more to avoid the weird flutter in her chest than to genuinely keep him in check.

“Oh, I won’t tell anyone... yet,” Jamie teased, clearly enjoying every second of it.

Y/N gave him another sharp look, but deep down, she was grateful for the moment of peace. Even if it came with Jamie Tartt’s signature brand of chaos.

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #roy kent #ted lasso show #jamie tartt imagine #sam obisanya #afc richmond #jamies assistant

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cosmosis · 2 years ago

Text

MOVED TO @seratopia

miles morales x reader - purple

miles takes you out to get slushies

You’re in the zone, notebooks and textbooks laid out, pens scattered everywhere, music from your headphones blasting in your headphones. You’re studying in your dorm, nodding your head to the music while you scratch down a few notes on paper.

Midterms are coming up, and you’re studying hard. Students have been clawing their way through classes like zombies, grunting and sighing to themselves like half-dead corpses.

It’s already dark outside, the only source of light in your room being the technicolor laptop screen in front of you. You hear a beeping and occasional crash outside, but that’s just New York.

At first, you don’t hear the knocking on your window, too endorsed in your music to notice. It’s only when the knocking gets louder and faster that you pause your study session.

Hesitantly pulling down your headphones, you look towards your glass window. You recognize that black suit anywhere, the one that looks like he’s bleeding from his armpits.

It’s Miles.

You get up from your desk chair, flipping the lock on the window and pushing the glass pane all the way up. Like the thousands of times he’s done before, Miles crawls through your window, stepping onto the soft carpet of your dorm.

He’s been getting bigger, stronger, lately. Only shame of that is the fact that it’s harder for him to fit through your window.

Miles dusts himself off, and you spread your arms wide for a hug with a smile on your face. He practically lands into you, squeezing you tight and forcing the air out of your lungs. He’s so happy to see you.

He sighs into your hair.

“M’ glad you’ve been keeping your window locked.“

“You said you hated it yesterday.“

“Shhh....“

The two of you unclasp, and Miles tugs his mask off his face. He presses a kiss to your temple, shifting his gaze towards the array of study materials on your desk.

“Midterms?“

“Yep.“ You say, popping the “p.“

Miles ponders for a moment, peering from the bags under your eyes to the impossibly large stack of papers on your study space. Subconsciously, he kneads a hand into your side.

“Hey, you wanna go somewhere?“

“Miles, it’s 10 at night.“

“How bout’ the 7-Eleven down the street?“

“Mmmm....“

“I’ll keep you safe. You’re lookin’ at the one and only Spiderman.“ Miles says, gesturing to himself with a smirk.

You playfully roll your eyes. “Alright. I think I need a break anyway.”

“For real.“ Miles mutters.

Miles scouts your dorm room for a jacket, maybe some sweatpants. He usually leaves clothes at your dorm anyway. You throw a pair of grey sweatpants at his head, but he catches them in his fist. Over his suit, Miles throws on a jacket, slotting his legs through the sweatpants.

It’s cold out, so you throw on a jacket, putting on slippers over your fuzzy socks. Miles shoves his mask back on just so his identity is concealed. If anyone asks, Spiderman was just saving a person who got lost

“C’mere.“ Miles says, his arms already out near your window.

You gingerly rise up on your tip-toes, wrapping your arms around Miles’s neck. He slots one hand onto the lower curve of your back, and the other where your thighs and calves meet, carrying you in a somewhat twisted princess carry.

Miles carefully inches through your tiny apartment window, and you duck your head down to make sure you don’t hit it on the way out.

Your heart already pumping in your veins, Miles jumps out into the open air, one hand slinging the both of you through Brooklyn, the other slotted underneath your upper thighs to keep you from plummeting to the ground.

You never really admit it, but you love when Miles slings you both places. The wind in your face, Miles holding you close, the sounds of New York. You adore it.

It’s not very long before the ride ends, and Miles pulls lands in a very suspicious alleyway.

“I knew you were plotting against me all along.“ You joke, and he sets you down onto the concrete. He yanks his mask off, shoving it into his jacket pocket.

The florescent lights of the 7-Eleven glow a bright white, as if it were it’s own sun. Miles pulls the door open for you, such a gentleman. You step inside, and Miles gives a nod to the cashier.

“Ooh! Slushies.“ You say, staring at the almost hypnotizing swirl of neon colors in the tank. It’s so inviting, the perfect thing to have at 10pm.

Miles already helps himself, grabbing a cup and handing one to you. As you suspect, Miles gets the blue flavor, while you get the red cherry cola. You can hear the light pop and sizzle of the slush as it pours, making you all the more thirsty.

You take a sip, and you sigh in enjoyment.

“You want anything else?“ Miles asks, and you shake your head no. He guides you with a hand on your back to the cashier counter, and the man already starts typing in the order.

Miles reaches into both jacket pockets, but no avail.

“Shit, forgot my wallet.“

A.K.A, Miles doesn’t keep his wallet on him during patrol.

“All good man, on the house.“

“Thanks, man.“

You nod, and Miles reaches his arm past your head, pushing the door open in front you. The cold air of Brooklyn engulfs you, and you can nearly see your breath cloud up.

Slowly, the both of you talk, inching back towards the dark alleyway from before. On your tip-toes again, you press a chilled kiss to Miles’s chin.

“Thanks, Miles.“

“I didn’t even buy it.“ He chuckles, shamelessly pulling you into him after taking another sip of his slush.

One thing leads to another, and Miles starts kissing you, starting from your cheeks but eventually leading down to your lips. Simultaneously, he draws you in and holds his slush with the same hand, using the other to bury it in your hair.

Miles chuckles into your mouth; it’s fun to kiss when you taste like cherry cola. Miles is taken by surprise when you boldly prod your tongue into his mouth, a blush rising high onto his face. With the slight privacy of the alleyway, Miles feels brave enough prod and poke your lips with his teeth.

When you finally let go, Miles’s face is warm in contrast to the cold air, almost hot to the touch. It’s rare when you two ever truly swap spit, but Miles thinks its special when you do.

Its a bit silent for a moment after, but neither of you can stop smiling. Miles in particular can’t stop touching you all over.

A thought pops into your head.

You rummage through your pockets for your phone, switching it on and pressing the button to activate your flashlight.

“Miles, open your mouth.“

“Woah, babe, didn’t know you were into th-“ He jokes.

“Oh my gosh Miles, it’s not that.“

Miles chuckles. He loves poking at you. As he was told, he opens his mouth, and you point the flashlight at it. You start laughing to yourself, the light of the flash flickering everywhere.

“What? Is it my face?“

“No, look!“ You pull up the selfie mode on your phone, using the brightness of your phone to the best of it’s ability. You press your cheek to Miles, sticking your tongue out for the camera.

“It’s purple!“ You cackle, and Miles starts chuckling along with you.

There’s spots on Miles’s tongue that are deeper in blue, but still nonetheless a lavender color. You giggle, snapping a few photos.

“We should try again but with different colors.” Miles smirks, slyly resting his head against your temple.

You smirk. “Just tell me you wanna make out more, Miles.”

He shrugs, dropping an arm around your shoulders. “Hmm. Maybe.“

#miles morales #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv #miles morales x you #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #fluff #making out #romance #reader insert #spiderman 1610B #atsv miles morales #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #cosmosis-writes ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

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flowerxbunnie · 1 year ago

Note

will you please write chris being a softie but also fucking you in the shower people don’t write about chris being soft enough!!!!

Steam

Chris x Fem reader

Warnings: fluff to smut, shower sex

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT OKAY WITH SMUT OR ARE A MINOR!

The flannel sheets are tangled around us and I can feel the body heat emanating off of Chris. His hand strokes my hair as we lay facing each other, lazy smiles shared as we blink slowly and breathe in this moment.

Slow mornings with him are my favorite, he makes it feel like the weight of the world is gone. Like every breath is deep and satisfying. Everything is right.

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” he speaks in a low raspy voice still ridden with sleep.

I smile and press my lips against his as an unspoken thank you. He has morning breath, but I don’t even care.

His brown waves are messy and sticking out in every direction. His eyes are still puffy from waking and his cheeks are rosy. The sunlight coming in through the window illuminates every dip and crevice of his neck and collarbones. I can see his steady heartbeat pulsing in his neck.

His arm falls across my shoulder and he brushes my hair out of the way, his fingers tickling my back through the fabric of my sleep shirt. His eyes scan every inch of me, his pupils expanding as they roam from my face to my chest, and all the way to my arms to see the goosebumps that erupt under his touch.

“I wish we lived in the renaissance or whatever. I would learn to sculpt so I could carve you into marble.” He says while bringing his hand to brush up and down my arm.

“You.. learning to sculpt? I don’t think your attention span would allow that,” I giggle, turning over and pressing my back into his warm chest.

His arms wrap around me and his lips press a kiss into my hair before hovering over my ear. “I think I’d manage. Have you seen yourself?”

I blush and close my eyes, feeling comfort under his embrace with his breath fanning over my neck.

We spend what feels like an eternity tossing and turning in his bed. Hands roaming our bodies with a touch so light like we were made of glass, scared to shatter each other. Lips kissing whatever exposed skin we could find. Our love is tangible when we’re alone together.

Chris is always so gentle with me when nobody else is around. He has a way of making my heart swell with his words, something he keeps a secret from the world. With other people he makes himself out to be this silly boyfriend, poking fun at me, goofing off and posting ridiculous pictures of me on my birthday, telling everyone he still thinks “girls have cooties.”

But when we’re alone, he melts into the softest man I’ve ever known. He loves to be babied and cuddled, his head usually in my lap and my fingers in his hair. He whispers sweet nothings to me every morning, never letting me go a second without feeling the weight of his love. He would never tell anyone, but he bought his own camera to record snippets of our days on the beach, our hikes, our picnics at his favorite places.

We wake up a second time together after hearing footsteps shuffling on the top floor. Chris turns over to look at the clock on his nightstand, huffing as he stretches and plops his head back down onto his pillow.

“Guess it’s time to get ready for the day. Got tons of meetings later.” He says as he throws the blanket off of himself, sitting up and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Nooo, I need more of you before I have to go home,” I whine, reaching my arms out and opening and closing my hands.

“Nick and Matt are probably mad at me already, I bet they’re plotting to leave me here. As much as I’d love to rot in bed with you I really need to take a shower,” he says while digging through his drawers for boxers and socks.

I huff and pull the blanket up to my chin, watching as he moves to his closet and picks an outfit for the day. He opens the door to the bathroom and puts his stuff on the counter before walking back to my side of the bed. He leans down and grabs both of my cheeks in his hands before placing a kiss on my forehead.

“If you want to, you can shower with me?” he smiles with bright eyes and extends his hand to me.

“Hmm, fine. Fair enough.” I concede and grab his hand.

He pulls me to my feet and leads me to the bathroom, both of us squinting as I flip the bright light on. He takes his pajama pants and boxers off, tossing them in the hamper behind the door. I start to undo the buttons on my sleep shirt but his hands grasp mine and pull them away.

“Let me do it,” he whispers.

His slender fingers go slowly, carefully undoing each button as he goes lower. His eyes flick up to meet mine and I can’t help but blush. He returns his focus to his task and eventually finishes, standing back up and pushing the fabric off my shoulders. He slides my shorts down to the floor and picks both of them up to toss them in the hamper.

“I’ll wash them and get them back to you in tip top shape,” he smiles, “you can wear some of clothes home.”

I give him a nod and a smile and he opens the glass shower door, turning the knobs and checking the temperature of the water with his hand. He motions for me to step in first, so I scoot by him and gasp as the freezing water pelts against my skin.

“Oh shit baby, I’m so sorry!” He pushes me out of the way and lets the water hit him instead, turning the hot water knob to the right some more. “It felt warmer on my hands.”

“It’s okay Chrissy, just a little cold.” I say as my teeth begin to chatter softly.

He pulls me into his arms and rubs his hands up and down on my skin to warm me back up, letting the hot water fall onto the both of us. He places three soft kisses to the top of my head before pulling back and looking into my eyes.

“Can I wash your hair?” he asks sweetly.

“Mmm please,” I hum, "I love when you play with my hair.”

He reaches to the ledge on the wall and grabs my shampoo. He always makes sure to keep doubles of my favorite self care items at his house. I move my head under the water, letting it get soaked through as he pumps some of the apple scented shampoo into his hand.

He rubs his hands together to create a lather before motioning his head to tell me to turn around. I follow his instruction and face away from him, sighing as his fingertips begin to knead into my scalp. He massages the shampoo into my roots and scratches my head gently, leaving no spot untouched. I feel his hands gather the lengths of my hair and drag the shampoo down. He’s so attentive and knows I never put straight shampoo on my ends, only the leftover bubbles.

He tilts my head back so I’m looking up, making sure the water isn’t going into my face or eyes. He rinses my hair carefully, massaging my scalp again and wringing out the ends.

“Isn’t it hair mask day?” He asks while already grabbing the container.

I give a light chuckle and nod, appreciating how closely he pays attention to the little details that could so easily be forgotten. He unscrews the lid and dips his fingers into the product before replacing it and putting it back on the shelf. He rubs his hands together again and coats the ends of my hair in the deep conditioner, finger combing it to make sure it’s all coated before twisting my hair and putting it in the claw clip I leave in his shower.

“That good?” He asks as I turn around to face him again.

“Perfect, baby. My turn now.”

I reach around him and grab his sandalwood shampoo as he wets his own locks, hair sticking to his forehead before he shakes it out of his face. I stand on my tiptoes and reach up to rub the shampoo in. His hands ghost at my waist and move to grip my sides, holding me up and leaning his head down so it’s easier to reach.

“Let me rinse it so you can rest your legs,” he smiles as he releases his grip on me and brings his own hands up to his hair and washes it clean.

I grab the loofah that’s hanging on one of the knobs and coat it in body wash, lathering it and bringing it to Chris’s chest. I rub in circular motions and watch the soap glide down his stomach, parting ways as it travels down his v line. He throws his head back as I slide the loofah across his shoulders, allowing me access to his neck. He turns around and I scrub his back, appreciating the muscles in his shoulder blades that flex and stretch as he moves his arms around for me. He spins back around to grab the loofah from me and wash his own legs and feet before rinsing and hanging it back up.

“What, I don’t get lathered down?” I pout, wanting to feel the soft exfoliation of the loofah.

“Yeah, just wanna use my hands.” He shoots a small smirk my way and pumps some of the body wash into his right hand.

“Filthy boy!” I fake a gasp and can’t help but let a small giggle escape my mouth.

He doesn’t say a word, he just rubs his hands together and brings them to my shoulders, rubbing slow circles and lathering the soap onto my skin. His hands glide down my arms, following the trails of the hot water as it flows down to my fingers. He interlocks his fingers into mine, bringing them up and placing an individual kiss to the back of each hand as his blue eyes lock onto mine. His skin is pink from the water beating down on us, and I watch as droplets fall down from his hair onto his cheeks. The look in his eyes is dark but observant, as if he’s studying every pore on my skin.

His hands glide up and rub across my sternum, his gaze following every move he makes. He slips them down over my breasts and I suck in a breath, his rough palms making my nipples harden. He bites his lip as he kneads them, the soap lubricating his hands and making everything slippery.

He removes one hand and grabs the bottle of body wash, hovering it over my chest and pumping some out to land on my breasts.

“Mmm, I feel like I’ve seen this before,” he smirks at his own dirty words and rubs it in paying extra close attention to my nipples, pinching them between his fingers repeatedly.

“Chris..” I sigh out, grabbing onto his arms and squeezing, my body reacting to him just the way he likes.

“I know, I know. Shh..” he whispers, sliding his hands up to my neck and gliding them over both sides.

He brings his hands to the nape of my neck and uses his thumbs against my jaw to tilt my head back. His face inches closer and closer before he presses his forehead into mine, his small breaths heating my face up as his mouth hangs open slightly.

“I can’t help myself, Nick and Matt are gonna have to wait a little bit longer.” He says lowly before hovering his lips over mine, not touching them together yet.

Our lips are begging to collide, both of us sitting there panting into eachother’s mouths beneath the steam of the water. I wish that I could imprint this into my brain, two lovers aching for touch but having the willpower to savor the moment.

“Let them wait, then.” I say.

As soon as the last word leaves my mouth, I feel his hands pull me closer to him and his warm lips against my own. It’s a slow but hungry kiss, the sound of smacking lips and deep breaths echoing off the shower walls. His tongue swipes against my bottom lip and I open my mouth in return. He wastes no time plunging his tongue into my mouth to explore.

His big hands glide down my back and settle on my ass, squeezing it roughly before pulling me against his body. I feel his erection pressing against my stomach, a steady pulse flowing through it and beating into my skin. My core throbs and heats up in desperate need of this beautiful man in front of me.

His kisses trail from my mouth to my jaw, and each one feels like it’s branding me and burning to the bone. He goes lower, first softly kissing down my neck before sucking the tender skin on my collarbones. I let out a sigh, my body falling further into his as my muscle start to go weak.

“Such beautiful sounds, my favorite kind of music,” he whispers against my skin.

The soap now long gone, he licks at the water droplets on my chest, collecting them and slurping them into his mouth. He brings his face back up to mine, staring into my eyes and biting his lip.

“Suck me off, baby. Need to see my pretty girl on her knees.”

I drop down while gliding my hands down his wet body. His dick is at my eye level, and I lick a stripe from bottom to top with my hands on his thighs. He shudders his breath and throws his head back before looking back down at me again, reaching behind my head to take out my clip. My hair is cold as it falls down my back after being kept out of the water for so long. He notices and scoots us into a position where the water falls onto me.

I look up through my eyelashes as I place a slow kiss onto his tip, tasting the precum that had beaded up and licking it off my lips. I can’t help but let out a hum at the taste of him, perfectly salty and sweet. I take his head into my mouth and suck lightly, a groan escaping his lips as he finally gets to feel the warmth he’s been longing for.

“You look so beautiful with a cock in your mouth.” He says as he runs his thumb along my cheek. “Take it all baby.”

I grab onto his base and slowly take his length all the way in, my mouth filling with saliva as his head touches the back of my throat. His eyes flutter as he looks down at me, the most lustful but loving look on his face. I bob my head back and forth, taking him all the out and all the way back in, focusing on sucking extra hard on his sensitive tip.

He runs his fingers through my hair before wrapping the ends around his hands, holding my head still and slowly starts rocking his hips back and forth. A low moan sounds through the shower and he bites his lip harshly. I wrap a hand around his base, twisting my hand around him as he fucks into my mouth.

Seeing his face contort in pleasure and hearing the sounds as they fall past his lips has made me soaked, my pussy throbbing with need. I bring my hand down to my core and start rubbing small circles onto my clit, humming around his cock as pleasure starts coursing through my bloodstream. Chris looks down, his eyes widening and his thrusts getting sloppy at the sight.

“Look at that. My gorgeous girl touching herself with my dick in her throat. Fuck..”

I smile around him and continue pleasing myself as he pumps in and out of my mouth, his eyes flickering from my mouth to my hand. His dick starts throbbing and his hips start to betray him, his thrusts becoming uneven and sloppy before he pulls himself out of my mouth. He sighs loudly and rubs his tip against my lips a few times before grabbing my hands and helping me off my knees. He squats down and places a kiss onto each one, rubbing them to ease the ache of being on the hard shower floor.

He stands back up and immediately flips me to face the shower door, placing one hand on my upper back and one at the bottom, pushing my chest against the cold glass. He places a few kisses down my spine and I feel his hard length run back and forth across my ass. I let out a breath and put my hands against the glass, arching up as best as I can so he has better access to me.

“Can’t believe this pussy is all mine,” he whispers as he spreads me open and reveals my dripping core.

His head rubs against my clit before teasing at my entrance, and I instinctively push myself back, desperate to feel him inside of me. Without warning he shoves his hips forward and they slap against me as he bottoms out. We both moan out in pleasure as he fills me up perfectly, not a spot inside of me going untouched. He grips my hips so tightly I can feel his fingers wrapping around my hipbones.

“You like that, pretty girl? The way my cock fits in your pussy like we’re made for each other?” he questions between groans.

“F-fuck, I love it Chris.” I moan out, pressing the side of my face against the shower door.

I’m so turned on that I feel like I could cum just from him talking. He’s doing such filthy things to my body and speaking so dirty but somehow makes it feel so sweet.

His thrusts are deep and fast, hitting every sensitive spot like he’s committed them to memory. My mouth hangs open and I take deep breaths, my lungs filling up with the steam swirling in the air around us. I feel his left hand travel from my hip to my core, gliding across my skin effortlessly over the water. He uses his index and ring finger to search for my clit, pushing the pads of them down with delicious pressure as he continues fucking into me at an ungodly pace. I can’t help but cry out his name, my body becoming weak and my head swimming.

“Keep saying my name, mama. Fuck.. sounds so sweet coming from your mouth.”

“Chris… p-please Chris.. rub me. I need to cum.” I draw out in a whine.

He does just that, his fingers rubbing across my swollen clit as my stomach tightens and my body is begging to give in to my release. He brings his right hand to my breast to grope and massage it while his lips press sweet kisses onto the back of my neck. I feel his dick throbbing and his breath turns into pants and hushed curses.

“Come on baby, let go for me. Let me feel it.” He says in a strained voice as his thrusts become sloppy.

All the pressure that has built up in my core snaps as his words send me into my orgasm. I clench around his cock and ride through the waves of pleasure, repeating his name over and over like a record stuck on repeat. He continues his movements until he knows I’m done, and then he auickly pulls out and flips me around.

“Let me paint that pretty face.”

I drop to my knees and watch as he jerks himself with a tight grip, his mouth hanging open as he stares down at me. The muscles in his stomach contract as he starts pumping faster. He looks like a work of art, water gliding down his skin and hair as he inches himself closer to his climax.

I bat my eyes at him and open my mouth to let my tongue hang out, and he sucks in a breath before groaning and releasing his warm cum onto me. I feel the white strings falling onto my tongue, dripping down my neck and over my breasts, and splashing onto my forehead. He jerks until he’s too sensitive to keep going, and his body relaxes as he leans against the tile wall. His eyes run up and down my body and a smile breaks out across his face.

“Goddamn, I wish I had my camera. You look so fucking gorgeous covered in my cum.”

His words make my cheeks burn and I look away from him, but he hooks a finger under my chin and guides my face back up to meet his gaze.

“Let’s finish this shower before I get left at home and get in trouble,” he laughs and helps me stand.

I nod in agreement and we soap our own bodies down so we can finish quicker. Once we’re all rinsed and clean we hop out and dry off with our towels, stealing kisses every now and again as we get dressed. We quickly grab what we need before we have to go. We race up the stairs to the kitchen where we find Matt and Nick sitting at the table.

“God, about damn time. We’re gonna be so fucking late.” Nick sighs as he stands up from his seat.

“Sorry, slept in. The bed was too comfortable this morning.” Chris partially lies, we actually did sleep in a bit.

He shoots me a smug grin and places a kiss on my forehead as he pulls me into his warm embrace.

“Drive safe, princess. I’ll let you know when we’re done for the day and we can plan a movie night, sound good?” He asks, his voice rumbling in my ear that’s placed against his chest.

“Sounds perfect.”

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader

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okay-j-hannah · 8 months ago

Text

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.

~~~

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