#Lydia you dumb girl

[unknownuserinpain]

My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.

Colin Firth as Darcy in Pride and Prejudice 1995 yesyesyesyes

[bamboozledbird]

𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏 𝒈𝒐 // stiles stilinski imagine Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Isaac Lahey, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Allison Argent Pairing(s): Stiles x you, Word Count: 8.9k Tags: human!au, fluff, childhood friends to lovers Warnings: there are a few little nsfw mentions in the middle, so MDNI. Stiles does go out on a window ledge, but i have to make it clear he has no intention ever of jumping lmao.

A/N: this is basically just one day i thought what if stiles had a nick x jess first kiss because he seems stupid and awkward enough to jump out a window. and thus this nonsense was born. also the pov switching was new, so you’ll have to let me know if you’re a fan or not.

The thing is, Stiles isn’t an idiot. He’s stupid, but he isn’t dumb. He knows that it’s not normal to think about your best friend like this. That being so intensely attuned to the curve of her spine when she stretches or the hint of citrus that clings to her hair after she showers isn’t exactly platonic. 

And he really doesn’t want to be that guy. You know, the guy who just wants more, who gets upset when he can’t have more—the guy who can’t be friends with the girl who doesn’t love him back. So. Stiles stuffs it down. Deep down. And he’s content to die like this because he needs you. 

There are other girls. Boys too, after a latent discovery freshman year ( one that surprised no one but himself ). They come, and they go, and Stiles makes due with what he can have because he knows this is how it has to be. 

But they aren’t you. 

A blatant fact that ruins anything real before it even has the chance to start. 

So here he is: 24, single, and perpetually in love with one of his three roommates—but, hey, at least he does his own laundry now.

Stiles watches you on your bed, sitting on the floor like a child, while he pretends to work on a case report. He feels a little like a child too, the longer he stares at you—like a little boy with his hand in the cookie car. 

He plays with the fluff on your rug to keep his hand busy, tugging on it a little too harshly when you pull your hair back with the scrunchie on your wrist. Stiles feels like a cretin when his eyes follow the rise of your breasts as you fiddle with the knot on top of your head. They trail over the flex of your collarbones, and he sinks further into his shame when he imagines tracing the lines with his tongue. 

You catch him staring, and his throat bobs with his swallow. 

“What?” you ask with arched brows. You grin at him like you know something. 

Fuck, what if you know? 

You asked him something. Stiles knows you asked him something, but he can’t remember what. He just swallows again and fumbles for his coffee. Stiles knows that he should be desensitized to it all by now: your clever mouth, your deft fingers, your fluttering lashes, but he’s still startled by it every so often—like right now, when you look like you’re about to say something snarky at his expense. 

“Does it look that bad?” A few strands of your hair slip from their loose hold when you shake your head at him. “Are you moonlighting with the fashion police? I thought you’d be a little busy living in the murder capital of the world.”

Stiles laughs a little, mostly because of the simple fact that your hair always looks pretty. He said it the first time he saw you, blurted it out like a little lamb. Stiles knew, even at six, that he should be embarrassed, but he just couldn’t help it. He was so little and completely overwhelmed by his first case of puppy love; the words had nowhere else to go.

He’s gotten better at swallowing the praise-vomit, but he still notices. You’re always pretty. He’s doing his best to ignore it. 

“That’s St. Louis actually,” Stiles says. He burns his tongue on his coffee and pulls a face that he knows gives him a double chin. 

You slide off of your bed and kneel down next to him. Your knees press into his thigh, and it feels like something more, something profound, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything. You’re generous with your affection; you make everyone feel special when they’re around you. Stiles loves that about you, how you make him feel like he’s so smart, so vital when he knows that he’s moderately clever at best and really a lot closer criminally obsessive most days. 

“Can you tell me anything about it?” you hum, nestling your chin in the hollow of his shoulder. 

Stiles can smell your body wash. It’s sweet, fresh, and tickles his nose pleasantly—marigold and aloe. He’s seen the bottle in the shower. Sometimes, he has to bite his fist and turn the water to freezing when he accidentally imagines your wet, sudsy body, lathering the scent of marigold from neck to toe. It’s the in-between bits that make him especially nauseous with guilt. 

“Huh?” Stiles mumbles, pressing his singed tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

You poke his cheek and say, “You’re eating your lip. You only do that when you get stuck in a case.” 

Stiles can think of several other things that make him suck his top lip between his teeth, but he is stuck—most likely because he’s spent the last hour watching you. 

You frown, and he smiles a little at the wrinkle between your brows. You smooth out his own forehead wrinkles with your thumb and say, “It helps you sometimes—talking. You think best out loud.”

He does. Stiles swallows a little. You know him so well. You know everything about him. Everything except, of course, that the crush he had on you in elementary school has metastasized into an all-consuming, all-encompassing, honest-to-god, tried-and-true-blue, last-of-dying-breed, core-of-the-sun, probably-caused-the-big-bang kind of love. 

Stiles has tried, and failed, to think of a way to casually confess how he feels. How do you even begin to break something like that to a friend? Over Chinese food? After a few beers at your favorite bar? During one of your Buffy binge nights? How is he supposed to say, ‘Hey, so I’m kind of totally and irrevocably in love with you, and it’s ruining my life a little—but that’s okay ’cause I can’t be happy unless I know that you’re happy’ without blowing up his entire life? 

He can’t. So Stiles stuffs it down again with a sip of his coffee: black and bitter, a little like his heart when your not-boyfriend, boyfriend texts you. And he knows that’s so incredibly unfair of him. He knows that he’s needy, and pathetic, and far too possessive of your attention—it all makes him a little sick with self-loathing. 

You have every right to remove your warmth from his side to respond, and Stiles thinks that if a guy can make you smile like that, he must not be all bad. You seem happy. When isn't feeling sorry for himself, Stiles is happy for you. 

“The local police think it’s gang-related,” Stiles says eventually. His voice is raspy from his burnt throat and too loud in the silence of the near-empty apartment. 

You slide your phone back into your pocket, and Stiles tries not to feel victorious. “And you don’t,” you scooch back to his side, ducking your head over his shoulder to see his screen. 

“No,” Stiles combs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I don’t. It’s too easy.”

“Follow your gut,” you say, poking his abs, “he usually knows what’s up.” 

“You know what he’s sayin’ right now?” Stiles’s back clicks as he stretches and rolls his neck around in slow circles. It does little for the perpetual ache along the ridge of his skull, but it gives him some space from you and your stupidly sweet smile. “It’s time for chimichangas.” 

You smile at him again, and Stiles blames the swooping in his stomach on hunger. “I think you deserve a little more than off-brand, freezer-burned Tex-Mex.” 

“Don’t knock Great Value,” Stiles grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. His lips, swollen from an afternoon of tearing into them with his teeth, tug into a tired smile when you wave your hand impatiently in front of his face. He wraps his long fingers around yours and says, “She’s been there for me through everything.” 

“Higher standards, Stiles,” you roll your eyes, crinkled at the corners with your grin, “you’re in desperate need of higher standards.” 

Stiles wants to laugh, feels the impulse itch his throat. High standards are precisely his problem. 

“Maybe you should stop being such a brand snob,” Stiles pokes you in the side, a spot between your ribs that he knows is ticklish. You laugh and shove him away with a firm hand; Stiles goes willingly, stumbles into the doorframe just to make you laugh again. 

“I am not a snob,” you push yourself onto a barstool, socked-feet dangling below. He smiles as you swing them and then knock your ankles together. You used to do the same thing on the playground swing set. “Not liking over-salted garbage is not snobbery.”

Stiles reaches for the open bag of corn nuts on the island, needlessly resting his palm on your lower back under the guise of balance. Your skin is warm, and he’s too busy thinking about how his hand must’ve been molded around the shape of your hip to notice how hard you’re biting your lower lip. 

He tosses a few corn nuts in the air and catches them in his waiting mouth, smacking his lips together until they’re free of nacho cheese seasoning. He grins at the look on your face, and he wants to kiss the tip of your scrunched nose. “See,” Stiles sucks the leftover orange dust off of his fingers. His voice is muffled by his thumb when he says, “You’re snubbing my snacks right now—like a little munchie elitist. How dare you; they probably won’t ever recover.” 

You laugh, as expected, and snatch the bag from the counter, not expected. “You’re literally biting your thumb at me!”

Stiles leans against the counter, rests his forearms on the granite, and watches you chew with a dumb, fond smile on his face. You’re just so clever, all wrapped up in keen smiles and sharp wit. You keep him on his toes, always have—Stiles hasn’t ever met anyone else who can spar with him so well. He doesn’t think he ever will. Admittedly, he hasn’t looked that hard; his heart just isn’t in it—who else would paraphrase Shakespeare in the middle of a mock debate? Who else could possibly look so wily and wicked while doing it through a mouthful of, objectively, terrible gas station eats. 

“Purely accidental,” Stiles taps his fingers against the counter, and his shoulders lift with a small, oh-so innocent shrug, “it’s what we professionals call a ‘serendipitous turn of events’.”

“A professional what?” You grin at him. It’s one of his favorites, the one that says you’re about to tease him. “Sadist?”

“Oh,” Stiles’s brow quirks as he leans forward onto his arms, “so I torture you? Being around me is torturous?” 

“Yes.” Your chin jerks with a small, sharp nod, but the only thing Stiles can see is your pouty bottom lip. 

Sometimes, Stiles swears you do it on purpose—turn him on in the most inconvenient of moments. Make his heart swell into his throat until he devolves into a lovesick caveman. You have to know what you’re doing to him when you walk around in those little tank tops with the lace trim and the sleep shorts that ride up to the swell of your ass. It can’t be accidental, the cute laugh-snorts you’re so embarrassed of, or how you get so excited when you see a bird in a parking lot. It’s all too effective to be a coincidence.

Like right now, the way your lip balm shines under the kitchen lights and exaggerates your pout. You must know how completely and utterly kissable you look, and Stiles can’t do anything about it—now that’s torture. 

You give him mercy and tuck your pout away for a solemn line instead. “You’re evil; you never close the cabinets or take the trash out.” 

“Careful,” Stiles grins and snaps his teeth in the air, “I bite too.”

You lean across the island, and it’s torture, the way your arms squeeze your chest and push your cleavage to the neckline of your shirt. Stiles pointedly avoids looking at the round flesh. It just looks so soft, so plush—so ripe. His teeth ache. His tongue salivates. He craves with reckless abandon, and he’s never satiated. 

Stiles knows you’re a smart girl, but sometimes he forgets. You’d have to be pretty dense, after all, to not see the ravenous gleam in his eyes. You certainly don’t seem to notice it now, not with all that fondness twisting your lips into a grin. Stiles often wonders, worries, how you’d look at him if you knew. Disgusted most likely; he’s disgusted with himself half the time—but you’re so sweet, and so understanding, you’d probably forgive him. 

Pity, Stiles decides, if you knew, you’d pity him. He can’t decide if that’s worse. 

You rest your finger between his brows, and his dark lashes flutter, brushing against his freckles like they stamped the specks onto his skin. “Eat your nuts, monster,” you drag your finger along the slope of his nose and then ‘boop’ the tip, “and then preferably something with a single gram of protein.” 

Stiles grumbles to himself and searches the fridge for something that will placate your relentless bullying. He picks up the whipped cream and rolls the chilled can around in his hands, squinting at the label. 0 grams of protein. Stiles scoffs. Reddi Whip is, like, 75% milk, right?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he forgets to shut the fridge door until it starts beeping at him like it's a personal offense. 

“Work?”

Stiles barely hears you, nose almost smooshed against his screen. “Huh?” He stares at his phone, eyes rapidly flicking back-and-forth, brain turning over how to counter the latest move on his ever-changing chessboard. 

Stiles finally registers what you said when he begins his reply to his unit chief. “Oh…yeah.” His thumbs fly over his screen at a speed that, frankly, shouldn’t be humanly possible, “One sec…”

“You need a break.” You stand and place your hands on your hips in an adorable show of strength. He knows that you’re going for stern, so he bites his twitching mouth lest he invoke your actual wrath. “You’ve been working 18-hour days for the last two weeks.” 

That’s an exaggeration, but Stiles doesn’t argue. He feels like it’s true. His stubble is out of control, and he’s afraid to look in the mirror and see exactly how dark his eyebags are. He only stopped by to shower and get a fresh change of clothes, but you came out of the bathroom in your little pink bathrobe and distracted him. 

Stiles hates that robe. Detests it. He wants to burn it. He wants to rip the flimsy tie off with his teeth. 

Mostly, Stiles wants to tuck you under his blankets and snuggle into the fuzzy fabric until he falls asleep. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. That’s the problem.

You pry his phone from his hands and slip it into your back pocket. “We’re getting drunk tonight,” you say, and you say it in a way that he can’t even argue with. You say it like it’s a fact—you’re informing him, not telling him. Stiles is usually happy to comply. 

That’s how you’ve always worked, after all: You point at a crocodile infested river, and he goes merrily, merrily, merrily down the stream, with a stupid, dreamy smile on his face. 

It’s just. He’s functionally useless at doing anything without you. You take care of him. Always have. 

Way back, when he was pre-Adderall Stiles, all baby energy and undiagnosed ADHD, you shoved a kid off of the swings when he made fun of Stiles’s babbling and twitching. He still babbles and twitches, but at least now he knows why. He doesn’t have some parasitic monster inside him; he’s just Stiles. 

You’ve always known that—how was he supposed to not fall in love with you? 

And after his mom died, you let him cry on your shoulder until your shirt was soaked through. He got snot all over your collar, and you just squeezed him tighter. Held onto him until he could breathe again, and then you said, “Want a grape soda?” and he almost started crying again because right then, at that moment, that was somehow the only right thing to say. Maybe because it was you, or maybe it was because you knew him so well. Maybe, it didn’t matter. 

You spent the rest of the night starfished over your bed, and after a minute of staring at your ceiling fan, Stiles whispered, “Do you think we’ll be best friends forever?”

You looked at him and grinned, all teeth and sparkly eyes, and said, “You better hope so, boy blunder. Who else is gonna watch Twin Peaks with you a zillion times?” And Stiles knows that he was only eight, and he knows that maybe it was just because you made him laugh after all the emptiness, but he thinks that he fell a little bit in love with you then, even if he was too young to put a name to the feeling. 

He finally figured it out when he was seventeen. Stiles wanted to be an adult so badly back then—and he felt like he was sometimes, after everything he’d gone through, but in so many ways he wasn’t. He definitely didn’t know how to handle his breakup with Malia like an adult—his first breakup, his first real relationship. 

Stiles drank a lot that night. He can’t remember exactly how much, or anything that happened after 11 pm, but he does remember how you stroked his hair. He remembers how you wiped the foul mix of bile and sweat from his face with a cool washcloth and tender hands. He remembers how you tucked him into bed and curled up next to him when he asked you to say. 

He remembers falling in love with you. 

The epiphany felt a lot better when he was warm and limp from his dad’s scotch. It hurt a bit, when he woke up hungover and in an empty bed. You were in the kitchen, making him breakfast: greasy eggs and hashbrowns. After he got over seeing you in one of his t-shirts, he wondered if you’d ever get tired of cleaning up after him and all his issues. 

Stiles still wonders that sometimes, even after you crawled into bed with him the night you found out your college sweetheart was cheating on you. He stroked your hair and ignored the wetness soaking into his neck, and you whispered against his skin, “Do you think we'll best friends forever?” 

Stiles wanted to laugh. And then scream. And then kiss you. He didn’t do any of those things. He just said, “Can’t picture it any other way.” He didn’t say that whenever he thought about the future, whenever he pictured forever, you were always there. 

He didn’t ask, ‘Is it okay if I’m in love with you forever?’

Stiles wants to ask it now, while you rattle off your plans for him this evening, but he doesn’t. He chews on a corn nut instead. 

“Lydia’s looking for the right opportunity to make a move on the guy in 2B anyway,” you finish, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. 

You’re looking at him like he’s supposed to say something, so he nods dutifully, “The guy with the mullet, right?”

You roll your eyes and poke around the cabinets, taking stock of the chips and tequila. “It’s not a mullet—you’re so obtuse when you’re jealous.”

Stiles blinks because…where the hell did that come from? “I’m good on the perm front, thanks,” he snarks through the food lodged in his cheek.

“Not of him,” you say, tongue trapped between your teeth and distracted by the mixers on top of the fridge. Your back is to him from your perch on the counter, and Stiles watches you with wary eyes. It would be so much easier if you'd just ask him to get things down from the top shelves, but you never do. Refuse to, actually. Vehemently. You'll do it yourself, even if it means breaking a limb.  

You manage to keep a hold of the pile of bottles cradled against your chest through your dismount, and Stiles breathes easier when your feet are pressed against solid ground. He’s glad your eyes are still on the kaleidoscope of sugar and citrus because you’d mock the relief in his eyes without mercy. 

You line the bottles up in order of emptiness and absently hum, “Well, yes of him, I guess, because—can you check on the vodka and gin?” 

Stiles sticks his head in the freezer, grateful for the blast of frigid air, and tries to untangle the crumbs of meaning in your flimsy accusation. He comes up with absolutely nothing—on every front of his mission.  “No gin.” 

You let out a long, heavy sigh and shake your head at the dangling light fixtures. “Lydia.”

Lydia was the only person in the apartment who liked gin, but Stiles didn’t have any room in his brain for commiseration. “So, I’m jealous of little orphan Annie from 2B because…?” He leans against the counter and tucks his hands under his arms, squinting skeptically, “Just so we’re on the same page n’ all.” 

You’re texting someone. He’s sure it’s Lydia, probably asking her to pick up more gin on her way home, but Stiles can’t help but wonder if you’re inviting your…whatever you call three decent dates and one evening of alright sex. ( Oh, how Stiles loved hearing all the details when you came home. ) 

“Hmm?” Your smile is lit up by your screen and the kittenish glint in your eye, but Stiles knows it’s not for him. He swallows his pettiness before he chokes on it. “Oh, right,” you put your phone down on the counter and smirk. This one is for him, but Stiles actually wouldn’t mind if it was for someone else; the look in your eyes is downright diabolical. “You’re so adorably, blatantly jealous that Lydia is into another no-neck, illiterate jock from the gym—but the perm is pretty bad, I’ll give you that.” 

Stiles’s jaw falls, and you laugh, completely misinterpreting his stupor. He stares at you and just shakes his head, scrambling for a grasp on at least one of the million questions pinging around his skull. “You think I want Lydia?”

“Uh-doy,” you roll your eyes like he’s said something particularly stupid, “only since forever.”

He’s struck again at how you can simultaneously know him so well and not at all. “You don’t think that would’ve come up in the last, I dunno,” Stiles’s head jerks with his choppy hand gestures, “eighteen years?” 

You wave your hand and then grab his wrist, “It’s been intermittent.” 

You lead Stiles back into your room by his hand like he’s a wayward dog on a leash. He’s grateful for it. Stiles can’t do much else besides blink and breathe when he’s like this—when he’s wrapped up in a case he can’t crack.

Stiles drops onto the edge of your bed with a solid thud, feeling a bit like someone slammed a 2x4 into his gut. His tongue seems to be useless, glued to the back of his teeth. All he can do is watch you flit around your room, gathering an armful of skirts and dresses. 

You hold up a black dress in one hand and a black mini-skirt layered under a red baby tee in the other, “Pick.”

Stiles wants to pick the sweats you’re currently wearing because they’re his, but he points at the skirt. He knows it’s your favorite; you’d pick it anyway. 

You sit down in front of your vanity and pull the scrunchie out of your bun. Stiles watches your hair tumble over your shoulders. You’re insecure about it, always have been. One day it’s the color, and then it’s the texture, and he, for the life of him, doesn’t understand why. Your hair shines so prettily under the light, and it always smells so sweet, like citrus and honeysuckle—Stiles can’t decide if he wants to bury his nose in it or wrap it around his spindly fingers. 

Graciously, you twist it into an artful arrangement before he can do either. 

“I don’t want to be with Lydia,” Stiles finally says quietly. 

You stop fiddling with pieces of hair framing your face and meet his gaze in the mirror, “It’s okay if you do.”

Stiles nods and stares at his lap, twiddling his fingers. “I know,” it’d be easier if he did, “but I don’t.”

You turn around in your chair and give him a little smile. It’s fond and sweet, and Stiles feels like a hand is closing around his heart and twisting it behind his ribs. “We’ll find you someone tonight, then,” you say, popping up from your seat. You grab your clothes off of the bed and squeeze his shoulder on your way to the full-length mirror next to your closet.

Stiles turns his head when you start to wriggle out of your shirt. He knows you don’t care what he sees after years of sleepovers and lake vacations, but you don’t know what it does to him. How all your dips and curves slip behind his lids when he’s alone with his fist and too much lube. If he’s really being honest, it also happens when he’s not alone, but that makes him feel like a piece of shit for a whole other list of reasons. 

All of it feels pretty awful when it’s over—when Stiles is left with the unpleasant sensation of drying cum on his stomach and the very unpleasant realization that you’d never wear a swimsuit around him again if you knew exactly what he does with the image. 

So. Stiles does what he can. He doesn’t look when you change, tries to avoid seeing you in a towel altogether, and watches so much porn of people who look nothing like you.

It doesn’t work, of course, but he tries. That has to count for something. 

Stiles swallows and taps his fingers against his thighs. “I can’t think of anything I want to do less than interact with a bunch of drunk strangers partying in my—”

“Not a bunch,” you say around a grunt, tripping over the dragging hem of your borrowed sweats, “and not a party. Just a chill get-together of like-minded peers.”

He scoffs and tips his chin up, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “I’m sure I have so much in common with Lydia’s guest list. Yeah, we can talk about how they can bench-press two of me and that I also love me some stacking—pancakes, not steroids, but close enough.” 

There’s a whoosh of a zipper and then you’re in front of him with your arms folded over your chest and thinned eyes. “You better behave.”

Stiles grins; it’s decidedly obnoxious. “I’ll be perfectly cordial, promise. I’ll even speak slowly.”

You laugh, and Stiles knows you’re only pretending that you didn’t want to. 

“I think it’ll be good for you.” You return to your vanity and pilfer through your mess of earrings. “Y’know, to get out of your head for a little bit. It really is just gonna be us and a few plus ones. I know you, boy wonder, no parties shall ever be thrown in your honor. I solemnly swear.”

He smiles at the childhood pet name, a private little grin Stiles keeps tucked in his chest and at his feet. It falls, however, when he remembers the middle bits of your speech. “So,” Stiles gnaws on his thumbnail and jiggles his knee, “did you invite a plus one?”

You slide a gold hoop through your ear and grin at him, “Nah, I’m all yours tonight, Stilinski.”

Good. God.

Stiles wants to kiss you. He always wants to kiss you, but sometimes every inch of you rips the air from his lungs—cleaves him right in two. Like right now. He forgets how to speak, trying to remember what he can say and what he absolutely can’t say, while he imagines a life where you really are his and you know that he’s always been yours. 

You’re just so pretty in your little skirt and cherry t-shirt, and you’re so clever, and funny, and you’re looking at him like he’s your favorite person in the entire world, and Stiles feels all of it spilling over the edges of his restraint. He almost says something so heavy—so categorically, catastrophically stupid, it would ruin your friendship for good.  

Stiles swallows it back into his chest, but his voice is still thick when he says, “All mine, huh.”

He’s sick with yearning, and he’s petrified for a moment that you can tell. It seems so obvious to him. It would be obvious to anyone, Stiles thinks, if they heard how weak he sounded, how soft in his throat and reverent in your presence. 

But you don’t notice. You never do. It’s a relief, and it’s endlessly frustrating. 

“Yep,” you smack your lips together, blotting your red lipstick until it’s perfect, “I wanna win, and everyone knows you can’t win True American with a noob on your team.” 

His brow arches, and a lazy grin smears across his mouth, “Oh, so we’re getting drunk drunk tonight.”

You wink at him in the mirror, “If you play your cards right.”

Stiles does, in fact, play his cards right. He picks Scott as the third member of your cabinet, possibly because Scott can outdrink anyone…or maybe it’s because Scott knows that Stiles is pathetically into you and can’t keep his mouth shut at the best of times, but especially not when he’s drunk. 

Who’s to say, really?

Honestly, Stiles doesn’t need the advantage—Lydia’s voluntarily stuck with Isaac and the guy from 2B who can’t follow the rules no matter how many times they shout them at him, and Malia and Kira care far more about making goo-goo eyes at each other than they do helping their friend from yoga make any progress towards the King—but he’s competitive by nature and feeling exceptionally stupid tonight. 

Lydia introduced the Clinton Strip Rules solely to ogle her latest man candy’s aggressively sculpted six-pack and show off her bewitching décolletage, and it was going along swimmingly until the idiot forgot how to count. 

It was so simple. All the guy had to do was hold up three fingers—that’s all. He would’ve matched Lydia's count, and then they could've made out behind the Iron Curtain. But he didn’t. He held up two fingers and in doing so single-handedly crafted Stiles Stilinski’s demise.

Ironic. Considering the moron can't craft a compound-complex sentence to save his life. 

For a single, endless moment, you and Stiles just stare at each other, more specifically, at the four fingers plastered against your foreheads—and then the spell is broken by drunken cackling. Lydia grins like the cat who caught the canary, and Scott laughs until his face turns red. He’s loud and obnoxious with the four drinks he’s downed, and Stiles wants to shove him out the window. 

“Guys,” Stiles whines, “you don’t really—”

You finish the beer in your hand and shrug your shoulders, “It’s fine.” 

Stiles’s head whips towards you, big-eyed and fish-mouthed. He can’t form words. Can’t speak any of the five languages he knows. He’s become a Stiles Stilinski skinsuit held up by a skeleton of gelatin and faulty survival instincts. 

You smile at him a little and shrug again, “It’s just a game, right?” 

You don’t say it, but Stiles can hear it with painful clarity: It doesn’t mean anything. 

Stiles doesn’t know how to say no without telling the truth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, not exactly. Stiles wants to kiss you—of course he wants to kiss you, feels like the whole goddamn world knows he wants to kiss you and is conspiring against him—but not like this. He doesn’t want to kiss you when it’s nothing. He’s thought about it far too much, imagined it on his bedroom ceiling in the safety of darkness too many nights, to blow it all on a stupid drinking game. A stupid gym-bro’s mistake. 

Stiles had a plan. A plan he never actually had the courage to act on, but a plan nonetheless. 

He was going to hold your face with shaking hands, smooth his thumbs along the sleek line of your jaw, look you in the eyes so that you could see the disbelief, the wonder, the awe. You’d see that he was overwhelmed to the bone, to all the nerves shivering inside the marrow, and you’d have to forgive him for being so tongue-tied and awkward—for taking so long. 

And then, he’d kiss you. 

He’d kiss you again, and again, and again, until one of you started laughing, but that’d be okay because it would give him the chance to kiss your neck and whisper, 'You’re the sky, and the mountains, and everything in-between.'

'You’re dark matter; you’re gravity,' he’d kiss the words into your skin and sigh, 'you’re the only thing holding the universe together.'

But he can’t say that, so Stiles follows you into Lydia’s bedroom and wipes the sweat on his palms off on his jeans.

You’re a little giggly while you fumble for the light. It’s breathy, and you can’t meet his eyes. Stiles feels a little better knowing that you’re almost as nervous as he is. You aren’t usually the nervous kind, after all. That’s his thing. 

Stiles slides his hands into his back pockets and rocks onto his heels, “We don’t…we can just pretend that we…did it.”

“Did it?” you arch a brow, lips curling into a wry grin. “It’s just a kiss, Stiles. I thought you wanted to win? We gotta end Lydia’s streak, or she’ll be insufferable.”

Stiles’s mouth goes dry: cottony with wanting, brittle with misery. He can’t pretend anymore; he can’t pretend that he's not dying from this.  

You can’t look at Stiles’s face. Can’t see the panic. It’s why you shuffle closer to him, stiffly reach for his shoulders and awkwardly search for the least romantic place to rest your hands. Stiles’s back thuds against the wall, and you finally dart your eyes to his. “It’s fine,” you say weakly. 

There’s a loud chorus of, ‘Kiss, kiss, kiss,’ through the door, and Stiles watches the resolve harden your face. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow exhales. He can hear his pulse ricochet around his ear canal, can feel the sweat gathering on his palms, can taste the anticipation in the air.

You roll your shoulders back a few times and shake your hands by your side, rotating your neck in a few slow circles. “Just kiss me, Stilinski. No biggie. I think we can catch up to Isaac if you hurry the hell up and plant one on—”

“Not like this!” 

Your mouth parts into a perfect little ‘o’, and Stiles’s eyes bulge when he realizes that the pathetic, desperate cry came from him. 

You fold your arms over your chest and tilt your head with an expression on your face that Stiles can’t read for the life of him. “What,” you lick your lip, and Stiles squirms with shame when he can’t stop himself from tracking the movement, “what does that mean?”

Stiles’s face spasms, and he can feel his IQ drop by tens the longer you stare at him. 

“No, I didn’t…” Stiles’s stutters, flicking his gaze to your forehead, your chin, between your brows—anywhere but your eyes. His nose scrunches as he shakes his head, “Nothing. I just—I didn’t mean like that.” Stiles isn’t entirely sure what you think he meant, but considering he can’t decide what he means, it’s a safe bet that you’re wrong.

Stiles's hands take over for his melting brain matter, gesturing wildly every-so often like the flexing and contracting add any actual meaning to his meaningless babble. “I just, we can’t like that because that’s not…Do you know, like…? It’s very, like, you don’t…” His eyelids seem to have forgotten how to blink, and Stiles thinks he’d do just about anything for a piano to fall out of the sky right about now.

The chanting outside the door gets louder; Stiles isn’t sure if it’s real or just his anxiety. Through his narrowing pinprick vision, the only thing he can see at the end of the dark, dark tunnel is Lydia’s window. The heavy purple curtains frame the opening like serendipitous velvet gift wrapping.

Stiles swallows and nods sharply, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Stiles steps around you, and you follow his path with your eyes. They’re pinched with suspicion, but mostly concern. “Stiles, what are you do—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles tries to wave off your worries with a shaky hand. 

And then he unlatches Lydia’s window and crawls on top of a chair to reach the opening.

“Okay, this makes sense. I just need a little air,” Stiles mumbles to himself. His dirty sneakers leave a clear outline of his soles on the white fur. Under any other circumstances, you’d both be desperately trying to scrub the fabric clean before Lydia found the stains and rained her wrath down upon your very fragile, bruisable bodies. Under these circumstances, you’re preoccupied with the half of Stiles’s body that’s hanging outside the window of your 3rd-story apartment.

“Stiles!” you stumble to the wall and freeze, unsure how to pull him back in without accidentally tipping him onto the concrete three floors below. 

Stiles manages to slip the rest of his body through the window without breaking any limbs. Yet. “This is what I needed. Yup, this is—” his eyes engulf his face, a wide pool of churning honey, when he finally realizes just how small the ledge is and just how far away the ground is, “ah, ha, ha!”

“Stiles!” You cover your face with your hands and shake your head over and over again. You hope, childishly, if you spin fast enough, you can rewind time back to 10 minutes ago—when Stiles was safe on the floor and you could stop yourself from giving into the silly, stupid desire to kiss him. Just once. To finally find out how it would feel.  

You peek through your fingers and wince as he stumbles towards the left. “You don’t have to kiss me!”

Stiles disappears from view, and you tumble into the hallway. You let out a low hiss when your hip slams into a sharp corner. The flare of pain is soon forgotten, however, when Stiles slams his hands against the living room window. Everyone turns to gawk at him, eight mouths wide open and not a single word is spoken until Stiles presses his entire body against the glass. 

The window hasn’t been cleaned since you all moved in, so you can’t quite make out his expression through grime and dirt, but you can hear the shrill urgency in his voice. “This is a regret—I immediately regret this.” It would be funny, how high his voice is—approaching autotuned chipmunk territory, honestly—if he wasn’t six inches away from certain death. You can all laugh about it later when Stiles is safe on the couch, you decide. After you’ve punched him in the arm for doing something so bone-shatteringly stupid, obviously. 

Malia does laugh, and Kira smacks her shoulder. You almost appreciate the levity; it reminds you that your brain needs oxygen to function.

Scott cups his hand around his mouth and shouts, “Don’t move!”

Stiles smooshes his button nose into the glass. He inhales and exhales with mad abandon, creating and erasing a cloud of condescension with every breath. “I've made a very bad mistake! I’m not trained for this!” his lips smear against the glass, muffling his cries for help. Stiles pulls back, and leaves a streak of saliva behind. At least, that patch of the window is clean now, biohazard be damned. 

It’s Scott who ends up saving the day. No surprise there. He gets Stiles through the window and shoves him onto the couch, teeth ground in what can only be described as parental frustration. 

Scott folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, “You scared me half to death out there.”

Isaac snorts and rolls his eyes, quipping over Scott's shoulder, “Are you not getting enough attention?”

“I’m fine!” Stiles groans into his hands and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s still red from being smashed against the window, and the rest of his face matches with his embarrassed flush. “I am fine! I was partly joking and at least 64% drunk!”

“Stiles, we will talk about this in the morning,” Scott’s face is stern, and his grip on Stiles’s shoulder is just as firm, “but right now, I’m gonna go do stuff with a girl.”

Scott’s face is still solemn when he high-fives Isaac, mostly out of habit. You do laugh then. Can’t help it. A little bit of relief creeps through your constricted chest when Stiles smiles. It’s brief, a little twitch at the corners of his slightly-swollen mouth, but it’s there. 

Allison rolls her eyes when Scott holds out his hand, but she still takes it and follows him towards his bedroom.

“Shut the door!” Stiles shouts at their backs. He slumps back against the couch cushions when the thudding of Scott's door closing echoes through the hall.

It’s quiet for a moment. Kira shifts awkwardly, clinging to Malia’s arm for balance when the fog of alcohol spreads from her flushed cheeks to her platform combat boots. Malia doesn’t look that concerned, but she’s always been cool under pressure…and any other emotion. 

You expect Lydia to look as worried as you do, but she has a strange, calculating look in her eyes. They’re sharp in the light of her brilliance; the jade almost looks feline. 

Lydia’s beaux ends up breaking the silence with a loose laugh. His head tips back with his chuckle, and he throws his meaty arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “That was freakin’ hilarious! I mean, dude jumped out on a ledge instead of kissing a 10. Can you believe that?”

Lydia looks wholly unamused and says flatly, “I really can’t.” She fixes Stiles with a look you can’t read, but Stiles seems to understand. 

“I know.” Stiles drops his face into his hands and digs his face into the cradle of his wide palms. "I’m an idiot.”

Everyone seems to hear a cue that you missed while watching Stiles’s chest rise and fall. Malia, Kira, and their plus one filter out the door one-by-one, and Isaac kisses your cheek before wrapping his scarf around his neck. You’re relieved again when you hear Stiles scoff; it’s something he always does when Isaac puts on one of his pretentious kerchiefs in the balmy, LA weather. It’s nice to see some things are still the same. 

Lydia stares at Stiles, and they have a silent conversation that ends with a patented Lydia Martin glare and a quintessential Stiles Stilinski squint. 

Lydia leaves with her late night delight and kiss to your other cheek, and suddenly it’s just you and Stiles. 

You wring your fingers together, gnawing on the lining of your cheek. You can’t think of anything to say. To Stiles. You never thought you’d see the day. 

The couch creaks with Stiles’s shifting weight. He pushes himself to his feet and stands in front of you. The redness in his face has faded, baring the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that you’re so fond of. His lips part. Your breath stills, waiting. Wanting. His silence washes over the room like a flood, and you close your eyes. You’re afraid of it, witnessing the inevitable wreckage. 

It doesn’t come. 

You hear the quiet padding of Stiles’s footsteps. When you open your eyes, he’s gone, slinking down the hall to his bedroom. You stare at the place he was just standing, feeling the chill of his absence, and then it’s gone. A glaring blaze of anger warms your face, and you allow it to carry you to Stiles’s closed door. What a metaphor; the thought grinds your molars together until they screech.  

You wrench his door open, and Stiles jumps, halfway out of his jeans. He stumbles over the cuffs and almost falls on his face. You wish you could tease him, laugh until you snort and Stiles glares at you through his pathetic attempt to hide his smirk. But you can’t. Not yet. 

“You’re really just going to leave it like that?” you say, closing his door behind you. It’s preemptive; you feel a little like yelling. “That was a whole other level of stupid, Stiles, even by your standard.” 

Stiles quickly yanks his pants back up and buttons them, struggling with the zipper and his twitching fingers. “Can we just not,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face, looking infinitely older than he is, and mumbles a hollow, “actually, can we never.”

The words hang heavily in the air. In the harrowing quiet, you think: Oh god, is this it? Is this really the end?

Stiles stares at his feet, at the hole he’s wearing in the oak floor. He hears it too, the weight of what he’s done. Fucking hell, he thinks, I didn't know cowardice could be so loud.

You smooth your hands over your hair, clasping for any semblance of composure. “I just…I didn’t realize that the thought of kissing me was so…traumatic.” 

Stiles jerks his head from the floor and tugs his fingers through hair. He pulls at the roots until it stings and shakes his head, “That’s not…you’re,” he gestures towards you helplessly and swallows the millions of things he wants to say, “you.” 

“Yeah,” your shoulder lifts in a tiny shrug, arms winding around your torso like a brace, “that seems to be the issue.”

Stiles just looks at you for a moment. The lamp on his desk bathes his skin in a wave of warmth when he tilts his head. The tip of his nose casts a shadow over his lips, and you want to trace the divot in his cupid’s bow, the little lines by his nose, the hollow space under his eyes. You want to trace them all with your fingertips and then memorize them with your mouth. 

Stiles's eyes are golden in the light, and they’re stuck on yours. 

“You are…” Stiles closes his eyes, and his voice is so soft, so devout, “you are so fucking...inescapable, you know that? You are…you’re so deep inside my head, I can’t do anything without thinking about you. It’s becoming a serious fuckin’ problem—a nuisance, actually, a nuisance. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to stop, y’know, like it would be fuckin’ awesome if I could just forget how you smell like going home and a goddamn spring meadow, or if I could go fuckin’ grocery shopping without looking for those impossible to find chips with the Elmer Fudd lookin’ fucker on ‘em—”

“Hot fries,” you whisper hoarsely. 

Stiles stops pacing for a moment and nods at you, “Thank you—hot fries. And I would love it if I could walk down the street, just once, and not look for a dog to take a picture of, just so I have an excuse to text you without looking like I was just thinking about you—even though I was obviously just thinking about you because, re my previous ranting, there’s literally not a single second of the day that you're not on my mind. You're just…inevitable.” 

“And…I am Iron Man?” your smile is wobbly. 

Stiles gives you a flat look over his shoulder, “You’re a smartass—but I love that. I love everything about you—even the way you talk through my favorite movies and force-feed me a vegetable once a week.” 

“Stiles,” you swallow shallowly and rest your hand on his chest. Stiles stops pacing and meets your gaze with big, endless eyes and blinking butterfly lashes. Tipping your head to the side, you swipe your thumb over his thudding heart, “What are you trying to say?”

Stiles rests his hand on top of yours, clunkily lacing your fingers together for a little stability. “I love you,” he whispers, because he has to. It has to be this soft. It has to stay just between you and him, in the little bubble of air between your lips. “I’ve been in love with you since…” Stiles chews on his lip, trying to pinpoint when he knew, when he knew that you’re it for him. There are so many moments that come to mind, and he can’t pick a single one. It’s just that the line between mud pies, and t-ball, and this is so blurry. Stiles can’t tell where it really begins and where it ends. 

It feels boundless, Stiles thinks, infinity. It’s something, somewhere, past the edge of the universe. He’s yours infinitely. There is no before he loved you, and there is no after. It’s just always.

Stiles breathes and sighs out his answer, “Forever. I’ve loved you since forever, and I couldn’t—I can’t kiss you if it doesn’t mean anything.”  

Your lips curve slowly. It’s a nervous smile, one that’s afraid of the rug being yanked out from under happily ever after. “You love me?” you say quietly, voice little and meek. 

The tip of Stiles’s tongue darts out, wetting his lip. He nods slowly and rubs the back of his neck—an anxious tick you know very well. You’ve watched Stiles for eighteen years, after all. You’ve studied the tendons in his neck, how they flex when he crooks his head down to read, how it makes your belly warm more than it should. You know he flexes his fingers exactly three times before starting a test, and you know that the long veins in his arms are the most stupidly attractive things you’ve ever seen. He’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen, and you’ve loved him for so long it’s written in your bone marrow. 

Stiles scratches his neck until it’s pink and raw, and you pull his hand away instinctively. He smiles at you so timidly it breaks your heart, “Is that okay?” 

You nod, and nod, and nod. “Very okay. Very, very okay. The most okay of all the okay’s.” It’s so fast, and it’s been so long, but mostly it’s right. Like this is the only logical conclusion, the answer to a cold case that took eighteen years to solve. Your life has always been youandstiles, and that sounds a whole like forever. 

Slipping a hand to the back of his neck, you run your thumb along the knobs of his spine and whisper, “I am so ridiculously in love with you, boy wonder.” 

Stiles grins. It starts small, fond, tender—but the more times he hears it, every time she loves me, she loves me, she loves me bounces around his ribcage, his grin gets a little bigger, a little brighter. Soon, it stretches across his entire face and swallows you whole. He looks more than alive like this; you want to taste the electricity in his mouth. 

You smile at each other for a long time, and you look at Stiles through your lashes. “So,” you tip your chin and bat your eyes, “you gonna kiss me?”

Stiles is going to kiss you. He swears. He’s just…he’s thinking too much after an evening of not thinking at all. He’s been waiting for this for forever, and what if his lips are dry—or, worse, what if they’re too wet? What if his hands are cold and clammy, and you can feel his sweat when he cups your cheeks. He definitely feels sweaty. And nervous. And—

You rock onto your tiptoes and kiss him. It’s a little kiss, soft and short, but everything goes static and neon around you. You let out a little sigh, start to pull away—and Stiles whimpers. His hands surges forward and latches onto the back of your neck, pulling your mouth back to his. 

Stiles slides the breadth of his large palm up and down your back, chasing the rhythm of your breath. There isn't much to chase, you think deliriously, you aren’t really sure if you need oxygen to survive anymore. You like swallowing his sounds and tasting his tongue far more than breathing. It feels like Stiles agrees with you when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, digging his fingers into the small of your back until there’s nowhere else for you to go. Silly boy. As if you’d rather be anywhere else. 

He makes the sweetest little noises in-between your kisses, softening the wet smacking of lips and tongues. You chase them, learning what he likes by unraveling him one sound at a time, with a tug on his hair here, a nibble on his lip there, and your hands just about everywhere.

It’s hot. Literally. You can feel heat licking your skin—or maybe that’s just Stiles. Your head is a little fuzzy from his kisses and not enough oxygen, and logic is a distant thought. Breathing. People need to breathe. 

Stiles’s nose bumps against yours when he pulls back. He smiles drunkenly and leans in for one more kiss. It’s quick and open-mouthed, two little brushes of his lips, and it steals what’s left of the air in your lungs. 

Stiles brushes your hair back and rests his forehead against yours. His breath chills your spit-slick, swollen mouth, and you shiver at the look in his eyes. “I meant something like that.”

[jadeluz-official]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice review - Beetlebabes Galore 

My rating: 8.7/10 

As far as sequels go, this one pays great homage to the original. More spoiler review under the cut. 

The Good

There's some great things about this film, BJ chasing Lydia down, Delores chasing Beej down, Wolf chasing everyone down, it kinda felt like a wacky hunger games. Of course there were problems with pacing, but it's just as gross and crude, if not more than the first movie. 

The wedding. God the wedding is so bonkers and pretty. I wish it just went on for a little longer. I know MK was running low on time at that point but the visuals with the church are so pretty. The blue/green atmosphere is something else. 

We get confirmation that Lydia is BJ's "love of his life" and fully intends to marry her again pretty early in the film. God Beej was such a loose canon in here and it was so fun to see him again. Every single scene he's trying to win her over, and Lydia's just not having it haha. This whole movie was such a shipfest and you can honestly leave the ending up to interpretation. I personally think they're married - they don't need rings. That scene where they end up in the bed was enough confirmation for me. 

The parallel with Astrid and Jeremy floating and Beetlebabes floating was my favorite thing the whole movie. Jeremy lets Astrid fall and won't help her back up but Beetlejuice makes sure he has a firm hold on Lydia. There's something about manipulation and revenge with Beej/Delores & Rory/Lydia too. Beej is coming from a place of genuine, disgusting love. Everyone else is doing it for their own gain. 

Wolf was also so fun to watch. He's a great addition to the BJ franchise as like a cop/criminal duo with him and BJ. I would've loved to see more of them interacting. Astrid's dad was also a total sweetheart. I wish he had just a little more time in the film. 

The Bad

I will say, the ending was very dissatisfying for BJ. He had done everything asked again, and Lydia signed an actual contract for the marriage this time. He saved Astrid from the Afterlife and saved Lydia from a doomed marriage. But hey, at least we got a hand kiss and that's all I needed LMAO 

Delores. Everything about her felt like an afterthought. We don't really see her much after she smashes Lydia's photo. She's made to be this huge threat and we don't really get to see it. There was a lot of missed potential drama with BJ and Lydia putting on the rings (which were cut, damn it all). I do like how they smashed Rory and Delores together with the sandworm though, girl was definitely thinking about going for him 😂

Astrid. She wasn't a bad character but she wasn't great. She was just very naive and I had a hard time liking her character. The Deetz are the opposite of naive, so it just felt off to me. And especially because Delia bites the bullet by venomous snake bites. It just felt like they were dumbed down just a tad too much. Lydia was the only one who kept a strong head the whole film. 

The tone of the film vs the trailers. In the trailers, we see a very serious nature about the film. Whereas in film, there's so many plots going on in such a small timeframe, it's a little hard to take anything seriously. And speaking of cut, the editing crew makes a hard zoom onto the ring on the floor and never does anything with the shot. There's def some editing issues/plot issues that got cut or scrapped. We'll have to see when the official script releases.

So....

It's a mess. But it's a fun mess. The visuals are beautiful, the characters are fun. It's such a fun rollercoaster of emotions. I'd definitely go see it again.

[perseephoneee]

Can you do a isaac lahey imagine where the reader us on her period and freaks out and doesn't know what to do so lydia tells him what to do

hehe yes omg

period talk (isaac lahey x f!reader)

warnings: fluff, period talk, dumb boy

a/n: try the drink mentioned if you want to imagine running through hogwarts on a winter day.

↳ masterlist ↳  want to be shipped with a fic character?

Isaac wouldn't admit it, but he loved the cold weather. He liked when the winter season would hit, and holidays were a topic of conversation. Holidays were the only time his Dad treated him like he was actually proud of him, and despite that fucked up relationship, Isaac couldn't help but romanticize the season. It's why, when Beacon Hills hit a new low for the weather, he was excited to see you at school. Perhaps he could even convince you to skip class and get hot coco with him.

Unfortunately for him, your period had started therefore your mood was sour. The cold just added to your discomfort, and you basically hissed at him when he came by your locker.

"Woah, what did I do?" Isaac recoiled, a nervous laugh on his lips. You took a deep breath before turning and facing him.

"Nothing, you did nothing," you sighed. "I'm just...not doing great."

"Whats wrong?" Isaac inquired, brows furrowed and concern evident on his face. You loved your cute werewolf boyfriend, and while he was very helpful, he probably couldn't do much for you right now.

"I'm on my period," you admitted with a twinge of shame. Talking about these things was never fun, even to someone you trusted. A blush coated Isaac's cheeks as he processed what you said.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Should I, uh, do something?" Isaac stammered, hands in his pockets.

"Just be you, I'm a big girl and can handle myself," you chuckled, lightly slapping his arm as you closed your locker and started in the direction of class. Isaac stood in the hallway a moment longer, before deducing a game plan and targeting the area of the school he knew the familiar red head would be. She was typing on her phone when he ran up beside her, backpack slung lazily over his shoulder.

"I need your help," Isaac said hurridly, earning a squeak of surprise form Lydia. She set two angry eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to run away. Women did not like him much today.

"Stop sneaking up on me like that," Lydia rolled her eyes, putting her phone in her purse. "What is it?"

"Y/N is on her period, and I want to help, but I don't know what to do, and you're a girl and you're smart so I thought you'd have some ideas?" Isaac rushed, lips pressed in a thin line as Lydia cocked a brow at him.

"Why do you have to make everything so dramatic?" Lydia huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Isaac sent her a look though that showed that he wasn't going to figure anything out, anytime soon. "Look, unless she asks for products, don't bother trying to buy her them-- you'll likely get the wrong ones anyway. Get her her favorite warm drink, a heating pad, blanket, maybe an activity or something calming."

"Drink, heating pad, blanket, activity, got it," Isaac listed out everything, brows scrunched together in concentration. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, during this time, she's always right. Even if you think she isn't, just agree that you're wrong and she's right. Otherwise, she'll claw your eyes out," Lydia crossed her arms, daring Isaac to challenge her. He stayed quiet though, and she loosened up her stance. "I have to go, have fun, don't get killed."

Isaac was never that great at social cues, but he really liked you, and that was enough. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling taking pit in his stomach, he skipped out on school to go get the necessary things Lydia listed. Starting off with a butterbeer chai, a concoction you created (two pumps caramel, two pumps toffee, caramel drizzle, and chai); going to CVS for a heating pad and a blanket; then finally the bookstore down the street where he found a book you wanted (after searching through his phone for fifteen minutes trying to find the text where you mentioned wanting a new release). By the time he had finished his grand adventure, school was out and he would be able to surprise you.

You were having a crappy day with a side of more absolute garbage, so you were very pleasantly surprised when your golden hair boyfriend comes bounding up the street as you exit the school building.

"Woah, where's the fire?" you chuckle. You finally take notice of the bags he's carrying, as well as the drink.

"These are for you," Isaac stutters, passing you the drink. You peer in the bag and can't hide the grin on your face as you take in the plethora of supplies he got. "I know you weren't doing well, and I felt bad, so I got some stuff."

"Isaac, you are the sweetest puppy of a boyfriend a girl could ask for," you smile, wanting nothing more than to pick him up and twirl him around (he is too tall, you are too small). "How did you know what to get?"

"I asked Lydia," he mumbles, staring at his feet. You fight back a chuckle.

"Probably the smartest thing you could've done."

"That was my thought process as well," he chimes, scratching the back of his neck and shooting you a grin. You lean up, kissing him on the corner of his mouth and looping his arm through yours.

"C'mon, lets go hide from the cold together and I'll bitch to you about life," you chime, the cold dusting yours and Isaac's cheeks in shades of pink.

"Sounds perfect, just like you," Isaac smiles, kissing the top of your head as you walk off back home.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pick Me 1

Warnings: this is a dark fic which may contain noncon, violence, and other dark elements. Please keep in mind that all events and characters are fictional. Be mindful of the content you consume and pay heed to the warnings given.

Character: Tony Stark

This is a sister series to One

Note: Please feel free to leave a comment in the replies, a reblog, or my ask. I appreciate likes but I enjoy discussing with you all even more. Your time and feedback are truly appreciated 💞.

You sit in the front row, like you do in every lecture. Just like you’re top of the class in every course. You don’t miss a class or a reading or a due date. Unlike the rest of your peers, you’re not here for the party life, you are here for an education’; for a future.

As your fellow pupils type their notes on their laptops, if they’re even bothering too, you’re writing each word by hand. You listen intently, eyes stuck to Professor Stark as he speaks with his hands, curling his fingers to emphasize his points. His voice carries effortlessly around the airy space, echoing in your ears.

You watch him just as rapaciously as you cling to his every word. His dark hair is laced with gray and his handsome features are lined perfectly with age. A man seasoned just right by the passage of time.

And he isn’t unaware of the effect he has, even on girls barely half his age, though there are few among his audience. Engineering tends to be inhospitable to the quote ‘fairer’ sex.

Yet his first-year physics is overcrowded with girls agog at his devilish smirk. It’s not lost on you how a wink could make one feel something or another. But you remind yourself that this is an academic setting and you shouldn’t be thinking of your professor in that light.

Besides, you’re not his type, are you?

You grimace as you pull your thoughts back to your slanted writing. Ugh, focus. You don’t need to watch Julie twirl her hair as she tries to snare Stark’s attention or notice how Lydia shifts in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. These girls are there for an elective, but this is a core course. You can’t mess this up.

As the three-hour slot comes to an end, a sigh of relief ripples through the rows of students. Lap desks are folded down and laptops snapped shut. A chatter buzzes through the lecture hall but you take your time packing up.

You close your notebook and pull your messenger bag into your lap. Lydia stands, hooking her purse on her shoulder as she fixes her skirt deliberately. She’s brazen enough to spend the lecture beaming up at Dr. Stark without taking a single word down. He doesn’t even seem to mind as she takes obvious selfies and pouts out her lips. It’s like a game to her. Not everyone has a rich daddy to buy their degree.

Julie gives a moping look but is dragged off by her sole companion. You spoke to them once on the first day but quickly realised they are too vapid to stomach. You curl your lip as you glance over at the steady tide of fleeing students. 

Lydia takes her chance to approach the podium. She leans on it as Stark powers down the projector. You can’t hear her churlish whispers but he chuckles in return. As he looks at her, a gleam in his dark eyes, you stare. It’s like you don’t even exist.

She reaches to touch his sleeve and he leans in. His silty tone rolls through the silence but his words are indiscernible. You bite the inside of your lip. You’re right there. How could he want those dumb girls and their overglossed lips? You have a brain, you have substance.

Uh, but aren’t you just as stupid? Thinking about it at all. Wandering off in your mind when you should be studying? Spending those moments before your staggered sleep picturing Dr. Stark and his trimmed goatee, wondering if his silvered hair is as soft as it looks.

Pathetic. You sling your bag on your shoulder and march to the door. You grab the handle and pull it open, the hinges whining. You cringe and glance back. You’re a ghost, you are air, you are nothing to them. How can that be?

Neither of them notice you. They are close, so close. You could stay and watch them and they wouldn’t even know. Professor Stark shamelessly reaches to hook his finger down the front of Lydia’s shirt, given a tug as he leers at her cleavage. She giggles and you leave before your stomach turns.

You don’t want to be like Lydia. Or Julie. Or the countless other girls who’ve passed over his office desk. You don’t want to be another tick mark. You don’t know what you want. You just want that knot in your chest to come undone. It’s a distraction you don’t need.

You could never be jealous of those girls. With their short skirts and crackly trills. You could never fawn over a man with that dumb look on your face. You don’t want to simper to Dr. Stark, you want to have a discussion with him, to learn from him, to witness his genius. Those girls signed up because they needed to fill a box and because they knew his reputation. You sat on the waitlist for a month because you want to be the best so you need to learn from the best.

No, you are not like them.

Your fists ball so tight your nails jab into your palms and your jaw aches from gritting your teeth. It isn’t envy, it’s indignity. They don’t deserve to sit in those seats, they don’t deserve to take in his brilliance all the while it slips in one ear and leaks out the other. 

You just don’t get why he humours them. You don’t get how they are his type. They are empty. They are dull. You might not have the experience but you highly doubt they offer much more on their backs.

Well, you’ll be there next semester, in Physics II and they’ll be off to their arts classes, learning verbs and writing redundant papers on the meaning of the colour blue. He doesn’t see you now but he will. How could he not? You are not like the other girls.

[gemini-sensei]

I NEED TO BABY SHY!ELI SO BAD. whenever i see him i just need to kiss him and tell him he’s such a good boy 😭 ive been thinking of chubby big chested rich goth reader who loves to spoil and coddle eli. she loves to buy him snacks and meals and other little nerd things he likes like video games etc (maybe also spoil demetri too cus he deserves it). when it comes to kyler and other bullies, reader tell them to kick rocks and then goes to eli to comfort him and show him how much he means to her *wink wonk*

all in all i need shy eli so bad

First of all, being rich would qualify Reader to be a part of the popular crowd at school, but she doesn't care for that sort of stuff. Popularity means nothing to her,so I feel like she had to at some point have a confrontation or conversation with the likes of Kyler or Yasmine about it. They would have wanted to be her friend just because she is rich like them but either one of them would have said something about her needing to lose weight or change her style to be a part of their group. Reader would have let them ramble on because they look so dumb talking to her like this; she lets them give their whole speel before she turns down their offer and tells them how she'd never wanna be seen dead with them before walking away.

She's so goth and pretty. Black is most definitely her color and pretty dresses with spider web patterned lace. I just know she uses her family's money to buy the most gorgeous clothes and emaculate makeup to make herself into a goth queen. She's the school's resident goth and doesn't care that the preppy valley kids give her weird looks. She is so happy with herself and doesn't let anyone else's thoughts or comments get to her. She does give a hard side eye to the preppy girl that wants to be Lydia Deetz at the Halloween dance because she'd never wear that outfit or anything like it outside of the creepy holiday. So she wore a better version of the costume because she can, and it looked better on her figure anyway.

Her style is definitely what caught Eli's eye, however, unlike the other kids at their school, he's admiring her from afar. He's not scared to approach her because of her outward expression, but because he's too shy to talk to girls - especially gorgeous, busty, goth girls like Reader.

He tries not to stare at her but he's so obvious. Reader knows when he's staring from across the room and always looks his way, smirking and sending him flirty looks. He blushes if he catches them, but for the most part he looks down a little embarrassed. He doesn't have to be though because Reader likes his attention.

Once they are together, Eli doesn't know how to react to her gifts. The snacks and such, that's fine. He says thank you and blushes because she's taking care of him, but the video games and other material gifts she spoils him with, he's unsure about. He can't so no but he also thinks he's undeserving of them. She assures he knows he's more than worthy of these gifts with lots of affirmation in the form of kisses. He happily accepts him but it takes a looong time before he believes he deserves her gifts. (And as she becomes friends with the nerdy Demetri, she gets him gifts too because he's just so fun to hangoutnwith; she'd enjoy his sarcasm. )

Eli unsurprisingly likes to cuddle. He's touch starved and being in a relationship with a beautiful, curvy person like Reader who likes to show affection through touch is so nice for him. He won't admit it unless she asks, and only if it's her who asks, but he likes to cuddle his face into her tits. These kinds of cuddles always lead to something more going on 😈 usually ending with Eli using her tits as pillows. He's a tits guy, no doubt about it. More on that a little later.

If Reader happens to see Eli getting bullied by Kyler and his croons, she's not having it. She interveins immediately because no one messes with her man. She tells Kyler to go fuck off with his friend since they like being up each other's asses so much before taking Eli away. If he's crying over whatever Kyler said of did, she comforts him with hugs and lots of kisses. He buries her face in her tits and tries to suck it up, thinking himself a wimp for crying in front of his girlfriend. She remedies these thoughts by lifting his head and kissing him, swiping his tears away with her thumbs as she assures him that she likes him just the way he is.

If he says anything disparaging against himself, she tells him how wrong that is because he's amazing and totally worth love. When he doesn't say anything, she asks if she can show him how much she loves him and he nods quietly and she'll start kissing his neck.

Cut to him pinned under her as she bounces on his cock, his groans and grunts of pleasure unable to be quieted. Her name leaving his lips as he plays with her tits and watches her belly jiggle so pretty from the force with which she is riding him with. When he starts getting whiny, she knows what he wants and leans forward so her tits are in his face. He sucks on them and squeezes them, moaning around her nipple and making her grin. She loves pleasing him and showing him how much she loves him.

Once she makes him come at least three time, they stop and she makes sure he had water and snacks and just everything he needs. However, all he tells her he needs is her and he cuddles up to her side and lays his head on her tits - her tits that he sucked on until they're puffy and swollen, covered in spit and bit marks because she made him feel oh so good he couldn't help it. And she's just laying there, playing with his hair while his load leaks from her overstuffed cunt, totally pleased with herself and the number she did on him. He's out like a light in just two minutes and she watches him sleep until she inevitably needs some rest too.

[bitchesuntitled]

This is Halloween

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader Summary: Frankie can't stand zombies but Nora wants to watch a scary movie. Warnings/Tags: Parents to Lovers universe but can be read as a standalone, Nora's a little shit, cussing, zombies, Frankie may be a little paranoid, Frankie hates zombies, scary movies, Goober gets her own Halloween costume, Humor, teensy bit of fluff, I think that's it. If I'm missing anything let me know! A/N: Everyone thank @whocaresstillthelouvre for letting me steal her idea. She unleashed one sentence and my brain went "OMG. NORA AND FRANKIE!" Thank you @beefrobeefcal for your eyes and for making me a moodboard! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

Masterlist||Parents to Lovers||AO3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Goober perks her head up from your lap, hearing the garage door open.

“Are they home?” You ask her, scratching behind her ears. She gives a soft bark before using your thigh as a backboard to bounce off the couch to the back door, meeting the girls as they enter.

“Mom!” Nora says excitedly, digging into her bag, “Look what we found!” She pulls out a costume, proudly showing it off.

“A zombie?” You ask, “Since when do you want to be a zombie?”

“Since she saw it at the store,” Missy laughs, “She had to convince my dad to buy it.”

Nora having to convince Frankie of something isn’t anything new, but a halloween costume? That’s weird.

“What’d you get, Miss?” You ask, waiting for her to dig into her bag to present you with her costume.

“Beetlejuice!” You laugh, clapping your hands together, “That’s amazing!”

“Dad’s gonna be Bob!” Missy giggles, admiring her new costume.

“Oh Goober!” Frankie sings, laughing wickedly as he enters the living room, “We got you something!”

Goober wags her tail, listening to Frankie talk, flopping onto her side, showing him her belly.

“Missy wants to be Beetlejuice and then said I should be Bob,” Frankie says, kneeling to scratch Goober’s belly, continuing to talk to her like no one else is in the room, “And then guess what we found, Goob!”

Frankie looks to Missy who pulls out a Lydia dog costume.

“Poor Goober!” You groan, “You’re seriously going to put her in that?”

“Duh,” Frankie snarks, “That’s the whole point of buying it! Speaking of which, you need to think of a costume too!”

“I’ll go as a pregnant lady,” you huff, sticking your tongue out at him, rubbing your hand along the prominent bump of your belly.

“No!” Nora wails, falling to her knees, gripping her costume in both hands, shaking it, “You can’t just go as yourself!”

“Yeah!” Missy agrees, eyes widening with an enthusiastic nod, “You gotta dress up for Halloween!”

“I know!” Nora shouts, scooting towards you on her knees to the couch, “Frankie we should go back to the store and get Mom some of those fake zombie bite things and she could go as a zombie like me!”

“A pregnant zombie!” You laugh as Frankie stiffens beside Goober, “I think I’ve seen some of those costumes online.”

“Please Mom,” Nora begs, clasping her hands together and poking her lower lip out.

“Fine,” you smile, poking her nose, “Just for you, kid.”

—

“What do we wanna watch?” Missy asks, trading Nora the remote for the popcorn.

“What about this?” Nora asks, stopping her scrolling on the tv to some zombie movie.

“What’s up with you and zombies now?” Frankie huffs, laying his arm around behind you on the couch.

“What’s up with you and zombies?” You ask, smirking at his hesitance.

“Nothing.” Frankie quickly protests, shrugging, “I just think they’re dumb.”

“Dumb?!” Nora shrieks, whipping around to glare at him, “You’re dumb!”

“Nora!” You scold, “That’s not nice.”

“Yeah,” Missy scowls at Nora, “My dad’s not dumb.”

Things between Nora and Frankie have been less tense and they’re more civil now but they still have their moments. Nora’s sass and Frankie’s stubbornness like to buttheads every once in a while.

“Sorry,” Nora mutters, gently handing the remote to Frankie, “Here. You pick.”

“Thanks.” Frankie mumbles, taking the remote and scrolling through the selection of movies, “Any suggestions?”

“Maybe we should watch something scary.” Missy comments shyly, “It is close to Halloween.”

Frankie lets out a breath, “Okay.” He scrolls back to the zombie movie that Nora had found. “Do you guys really want to watch this?” He asks, clicking on the title to read the description.

“It’d help me and Nora know how to be zombies,” you nudge him with a small laugh. Nora nods her head looking at Frankie with those big round eyes of hers.

“You’re not gonna get scared?” Frankie asks, tapping against Missy’s shoulder with the remote.

“Nah,” Missy shrugs, “Zombies aren’t real.”

“Alright,” Frankie sighs, pressing play on the movie.

As the movie plays out on the screen, you can’t help but feel Frankie tense up every time a zombie is shown. His leg bounced as the growls and groans of the zombies intensified.

“You okay, babe?” You whisper in his ear, rubbing your hand on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he grunts with a nod of his head, leg stilling instantly, squirming as he watches a zombie bite someone, “Peachy.”

When one of the main characters of the film gets bit, Nora lets out a little cheer.

“That guy was mean!” She explains, when Missy gives her a funny look, “He deserved it,” she adds with a shrug of her shoulders.

—

Frankie jumps awake, breathing heavily. He glances over at you lying peacefully asleep, taking a deep breath. It was just a dream, he thinks, rubbing his palms against his eyes trying to rid himself of the images of you and the girls being torn apart by zombies.

He’s been on several tours fighting alongside his friends in wars he didn’t want any part in, seeing first hand what the government is capable of. His friends think he’s crazy for thinking the possibility of a zombie apocalypse happening is real.

He fucking hates zombies. Unpredictable, terrifying bastards. It’s the worst kind of horror Frankie could imagine. The helplessness on what to do, keeping the girls safe, keeping you safe, the list goes on.

The red numbers on the clock read 12:30am when Frankie glances over. The beating of his heart was not settling anytime soon. Half asleep despite what his heart decides to do he decides to get up and go get some water, making his way to the kitchen, he hears noises. Ticks of the clock on the wall, the breeze outside, Goober snoring from her dog bed, and a weird scratching.

Frankie grabs a cup from the cupboard, filling it with water before leaning against the sink as he takes a drink of the cool liquid. His heart rate starts to settle as he focuses on his breathing and drinking more water.

“Fraaaankie,” he hears a soft growl coming from the dark corner.

“What the fuck?” Frankie murmurs, squinting his eyes to see what’s there, the moon casting shadows in through the window of the kitchen, a lone figure is standing in the corner. His heart rate speeds up again, what the fuck is that. A snarl comes from the creature as it reaches its hand out.

Frankie lets out a high pitched scream, dropping the plastic cup in his hand to grab the towel laying next to the sink, throwing it at the creature. Goober starts barking and howling, hackles raised, with all the commotion in the kitchen. With the towel lying beside the creature on the floor, it starts to let out an ear piercing giggle.

“What the fuck?!” You boom, waddling into the kitchen, flipping on the light, “What the hell is going on?!”

Frankie stands next to the sink trying to catch his breath, while Nora continues to laugh, dressed fully in her zombie costume. Goober looks relieved as she registers it’s Nora, tail between her legs as she walks closer to her sniffing the fabric of the costume.

“Mom,” Nora laughs, “Did you hear his scream?!”

“Nora,” you yawn, trying to catch up on what possibly could have happened, “What did you do?”

“I thought it’d be funny.” She shrugs, taking a breath to try and calm herself, “Didn’t know he’d be such a baby about it.”

“I am not being a baby,” Frankie says, glaring at her. “I was half asleep and you scared the shit out of me, Nora.”

“What’s going on?” Missy mumbles, coming behind you, “I heard someone screaming.”

“I scared Frankie with my costume,” Nora giggles, twirling around so the ripped fabric of her costume flew in the air around her.

Missy starts to laugh, “That was you?!” She asks, looking toward Frankie. His ears and cheeks turning a bright red.

“Alright, everyone to bed,” you announce, ushering the girls out of the kitchen. Goober quickly followed behind.

“I cannot believe that happened,” Frankie admitted with a shake of his head, bending to grab the cup off the floor and swiping the towel over to soak up the water he spilled.

“It’s okay, baby.” You smiled, gently rubbing your hand between his shoulder blades, “Everyone’s scared of something. Yours just happens to be zombies.”

Frankie stood rolling his eyes, “Yeah, fake things that aren’t real.”

“Mmm,” you hum, making a face, grabbing arms to loop around your waist, “I don’t trust it.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, giving you a cautious look.

“You don’t think something like that could happen?!” You ask, flailing your arms.

“You think it could?” Frankie asks under his breath, squeezing your waist.

“Duh,” you laugh, “Anything could happen!”

Frankie smiled, leaning in to pepper kisses along your face as you let out soft giggles, he knew you were the one for him.

Tagging some people who I know like the series if you don't wanna be tagged just let me know!

@jay-zzle @soft-persephone @casa-boiardi @pastelpinkflowerlife @amyispxnk @desuidesu @yxtkiwiyxt @pinkypromisepascal @merz-8

[i-stand-unshaken]

Pepper Ann appreciation post

So my bestie recently introduced me to the classic Disney cartoon Pepper Ann that aired from 1997 to 2000.

I'd seen it some as a kid, but for whatever reason I slept on it at the time and in the ensuing decades. Having finally watched the whole thing, and seeing how slept on this show is online? I wanted to make a post telling you why it's well worth checking out.

It's hilarious... much more hilarious than you may think at first glance. It seems like a fairly lowkey little slice of life show (and in several ways is), but the protagonist is such a girlfailure that her exploits always go to some hysterical places. And beyond that, the show gets downright batshit insane. Here's a sampler: Mark Hamill becomes President of the United States. And I'm not talking about a character voiced by Mark Hamill, oh no. It's literally Mark Hamill as voiced by Mark Hamill.

Despite this, the show has so much heart and can be genuinely emotional. It's also not afraid to tackle some mature subjects, like death, cultural appropriation, feminism, and even puberty.

The main characters - Pepper Ann Pearson herself, her best friends Nicky Little and Milo Kamalani, and her mother Lydia and sister Moose - are all very lovable with well-defined personalities who play off each other really well. And it is so refreshing that we have a dude who hangs out with two girls, and there's nothing romantic going on whatsoever. They're just really close platonic friends. (that said I have become shameless Pepper Ann x Nicky trash and this ship has taken over my mind please send help)

On that note, there are practically no unlikable characters. Even the more antagonistic characters are amusing and charming in their own ways.

To elaborate on Pepper Ann herself, she's such a fantastic, unique protagonist. It seems like a shows aimed at girls, especially around the time this one aired, were afraid of depicting their protagonists as anything less than basically perfect. Pepper Ann? Uh-uh. No. She's a total girlfailure who is somehow both REALLY smart and REALLY dumb at the same time (we're talking some WataMote tier cringe comedy at times) and can be a selfish jerk but also has a huge heart. She's just so fun and has an A+ character design and amazing voicework from Kathleen Wilhoite.

There are like zero bad episodes. And it got a proper finale that's a very satisfying and emotional ending.

So yeah, this is just a show that deserves way more love and attention. At least it's on Disney+, but can we get a Complete Series DVD release too?

[sheryl-lee]

no because i just remembered a few extra things that make the teen wolf m*vie even more of a pathetic exercise in clownery:

allison staying Alive and getting back together w/ scott means that they’re doing a dan/serena in s3 of gossip girl (in that they are dating. while their parents are ALSO dating. ew. gross. what the fuckkkkk)

the age gap between malia and parrish is JUST as gross as when they tried to make lydia and parrish a thing in s5 and it’s disgusting and i hate parrish on the basis that he is an empty husk of a character who’s always Just There and Shirtless Whilst On Fire

speaking of, derek dies by setting himself on fire. FIRE. the same thing that killed HIS FUCKING FAMILY????? and he sets himself on fire in front of his own son which he would never do because he went through the same thing when he watched his family die???? 🥴 huh?????

isaac took the box that contained the nogitsune in it w/ him to like france or whatever. so how the fuck do liam and discount!kira have it with them in JAPAN????? 

the logistics of derek having a 15 yr old child is so ridiculously dumb like they didn’t even TRY with that it makes no sense and the only person who could be the mother is fucking kate argent (derek’s literal rapist) and i hate that so much

stiles would never leave the jeep behind. the jeep is the only thing he has left of his mother. why would he leave it in beacon hills and then never return to beacon hills. lmao.

in the s3 finale, the pack defeats the nogitsune with a WOLF BITE. because he “can’t be a fox and a wolf” (direct quote!). so how the fuck does the nogitsune come back and turn into a *squints* FOX WOLF HYBRID is this even real-

lydia said that her grandmother had banshee premonitions of her own gf dying, and even though she tried to prevent it, her gf died anyway. so how can lydia be 100% sure that if she breaks up with stiles, he still won’t die????? lmao

how are derek and scott both true alphas if there’s only 1 in like a 1000 years or whatever the fuck i forgot but. it’s still stupid

there’s probably more but yeah this is what happens when you can’t just leave well enough alone. let things end. not every piece of media needs a reboot revival requel sequel spinoff whatever. just let things go instead of sacrificing your fans and creativity for a soulless cash grab 🫥

[semicolonsspace]

hi hi, i saw that u asked for requests so i was thinking abt hate sex with stiles.. like u guys have hated eachother since elementary and now u guys are in highschool but there’s a lot of tension and reader does the last thing to tic him off and yeah. i didn’t really know how to put this in words srry😭

No No! I get you, Angry Stiles is hot; Let's try it! Warnings: Grinding, p in v, fingering, degradation Scott and Lydia hear everything from the other room, Blood kink if you squint?

Y/n was best friends with Lydia Martin her whole life. Ever since she bumped into Lydia at the playground when you were young. Y/n loved her, and she would do anything for Lydia. That being said, Y/n would scare the boys away for her. Lydia had this guy named Stiles Stilinski who was rumored to be obsessed with her. That being said, Y/n hated him. There was no way, this scrawny guy would get through Y/n to her. Not on her watch.

Stiles knew how close she was with Lydia, and he hated her that just more because of it. Like seriously, she was always there. Everywhere Lydia was, Y/n was there. That killed him, he had no chance with Lydia because of Y/n. Not like he even tried to go after Lydia. He liked Y/n, but she was mean to her so he was mean back.

Stiles had his eyes out for Y/n ever since he saw Lydia and you in science class in seventh grade.

Y/n sat at the lacrosse practice with Lydia as she was cheering for her friends Scott and Stiles. Unfortunately, Lydia made Y/n cheer with her, having you help her hold up a sign with her. Y/n didn't know why she had to do so, she didn't complain as it was pissing Stiles off even more somehow.

Stiles stood on the field, sweat dripping from his forehead. He glared at her from afar before he focused back on the game. Y/n felt his glare and smirked, having bothered him even more while not even having to try.

That was before Y/n looked up to the mystery sign that read "Scott for the win!" Y/n laughed knowing why he was angered now.

Y/n fixed her hair quickly, pulling it into a ponytail. A smirk was on her face, turning into a huge smile as Scott made a goal. The two girls cheered louder, Scott smiled before looking at his best friend and shaking his head.

"Damn, what is Stiles doing? He kind of sucks," Y/n says pointing to the face that he was just standing there glaring at you.

"Only you would notice how much Stiles sucks," Lydia smirks. Y/n rolled her eyes and flipped her off before the two laughed it off.

After the game, she followed Lydia; They ended up arriving at Stiles' house and Y/n groaned. "Why do we have to be at his house? His house smells like a hormonal teenager and axe body spray."

"You described his smell." Lydia stared at you. "And our team won, that's why; We're celebrating." She grabs her by the wrist and drags her into the house.

Y/n eyes follow the decorations around the house, noticing how it looked pretty homey. Her eyes landed on Scott and Stiles before glancing at the TV. Star Wars was playing. "You got to be kidding me. We're watching a kid's show."

Stiles scoffs and flips you off. Stiles sat on the couch, his legs manspreading. His arms are crossed as one hand holds the finger. "You can always just leave."

Y/n shrugs. "So, I won't be able to torture you with my amazing presence? I don't think so." She plops next to him, making his legs close. He groans before scooting away from you.

During the movie, her leg bounces fanatically. Stiles slaps his hand on her bare thigh and squeezes. She gasps. "I swear to gosh, stop shaking your damn leg. It's shaking the damn couch."

She punches his shoulder, "How was that for shaking? Shut the fuck up, can't you see I'm trying to watch this dumb movie?"

"If it's so dumb then why don't you go do something useful and get us some drinks?" Stiles sighs. She doesn't say anything, stands up, and walks to the kitchen. She searches the cabinets for drinks and groans.

"Are you that dumb? It's in the fridge." Stiles says grabbing your hand from the cabinet handle. His hand lingers, grabbing your wrist.

"Says you. I saw you at the game, you sat there staring at me the whole game."

Stiles groans at her her hand suddenly slapping his face. "Get off me."

Stiles grabs at her, holding her hands behind her back, and pushes her on the counter. She hissed at the cold contact against her stomach. She squirms trying to release her wrists and gives up after a bit.

"You look better like this," He whispers into her ear. His hot breath tickles her ear. "All helpless and pathetic, look at you," He purrs. His voice was low and raspy, showing how much enjoyment he was getting out of this.

Her mind submits to his words, going blank. The only words on her mind were him, his breath against her ears, His cock against her core.

"You know I can feel your excitement against me," She fights back. She squirms trying to release her hands again. He moves one hand, holding her wrists on her back. His other goes for her hair and he thrusts his jean-covered cock against her. His grip on her ponytail pulls her face toward him, her back arching in the process.

"You think this is for you?" He breathes into her cheek. She shutters at the feel.

A smirk forms on her face. "Yeah, I think I do." Her hips go backward into him. He groans low, his cock twitching at the sensation.

"Maybe it is, Maybe it's always been you," he admits softly against her ear.

Y/n pauses before continuing to struggle. His free hand goes to her shorts, shoving his finger behind the hem and pulling it. The slap of the hem against her hips makes her whimper. "You hear that? A pathetic whore is enjoying being toyed with."

Her hips grind back into him, wanting any pleasure that she could get. His hips back away, his hand slowly tickling down the sewn stitch. His fingers find her clit and start to tease her through the cloth. "I can feel how wet you are," he growls. "Who's the cause of that?"

She responds with a moan, the pressure against her clit going straight to her head. Her mouth is open and he turns her face to look at her. He licks her lip, his teeth grazing her lip. His lip pierces into it, a red tint oozing from her lip. In a growl, his lips connect with hers, his fingers still working his magic against her bundle of nerves.

His fingers move her shorts to the side, sliding two fingers into her. Her hole welcomes his fingers, clenching around his long slim fingers. His fingers curl, hitting her G-spot.

She moans into the kiss. The vibration emitted through his chest and to his twitching cock. His tongue rubs against her cut lip, the iron taste tainting his senses.

He releases the kiss, kisses following down her jaw. "I asked you a question, baby." His voice was stern.

"You're fucking dad did." Stiles' fingers pause, leaving the her pussy. He quickly licks the juices off before he unbuckles his jeans with his free hand.

"You're gonna regret that." His dick was at her entrance, teasing against her folds. He spread them, allowing his clock to enter her. His cock slams into her, his free hand covering her mouth so she couldn't scream. She moans from the stretch. His cock kisses her cervix before sliding out and kissing it once more. He thrusts into her making her go limp. Her head was held up by his hold on her ponytail was the only thing keeping it up.

"Be quiet and I'll let go." She nods frantically. His hand lets go and her hands grip on to the counter. His other hand still holds her ponytail up, and she locks eyes with him. Sweat trickled down his face, his mouth open with pleasure. His groans exit with each thrust. "You're the cause of it," Y/n admits. His mouth curls up and opens a smile.

"I know I am," He says cockily. Skin slaps were heard as he pounded harder into her. Her hands tighten against the counter as the rubberband builds. She attempts to talk but gets cut off from him.

"Fuck, I can feel you clench around me," His hand finds her back, pushing it against the counter. Stars visit her vision as the pressure of his cock rubs against her cervix and her wet ridges.

His hand removes from her hair and rubs her clit, her body squirming in pleasure. "Fuck, I-" She screams as she finishes. His thrust doesn't stop, going faster into her. The overstimulation burned inside of her. She clenches around him, her cunt gripping him tight. "You're so fucking-" His cock exits last second as warm thick liquid falls onto her back.

"You bitch, that was my shirt, asshole."

A hand slaps her ass, a squeak coming from her. "Shut it." His hands tear at the shirt, a new shirt going onto her post-orgasm-dazed body.

The shirt was warm, snuggling against her body. He picks her up and walks past Lydia and Scott. His naked torso was warm protecting her limp body.

"Finally you guys are done, that was horrendous," Lydia yells. Scott's eyes were wide open, his face on the TV as his face was red.

[mslowlife]

Mad(e) For You - Part III

Part I Part II

Pairings: Yandere! Ethan Landry x Yandere! Reader

Warnings: Murder, blood, violence, stabbing, swearing, possessive reader

Summary: No one deserved Ethan, especially her. You were going to make sure of it. Only you deserved him.

Word Count: 947

A/N: This part is really short I'm sorry ;-; i've been so busy last few days but I still hope you enjoy <3 thank u all for the support as well <3

Lydia Marrol. What a name, you thought. You repetitively told yourself that of course he had an ex girlfriend, there would always be another before you, but it still made your blood boil. How dare he. He should have known, he should have just been patient and not given in and dated some lowlife like Lydia. Lydia just seemed so amazing, Lydia had the perfect nuclear family, Lydia was just so smart with her scholarship. Gosh, why are girls so dumb you thought, just accepting any follow request they get for the sake of another follower. She practically let you into her life, to her ‘private’ online world. She did this to herself. 

And even though they had been broken up for nearly three months, she still seemed so hung up on him. Always posting some cheesy breakup quote on her story with a sad song, or posting some stupid and unconvincing ‘i’m totally not in love with my ex’ motivation crap. Scrolling through her older instagram posts, you found old photos of Ethan and her together. God. She probably didn’t delete them because she thought they’d get back together. Well they weren’t, you were sure of it.

-

It didn’t take long to find out who Lydia was, you see with some simple sleuthing you could find exactly what school Lydia Marrol attended, what classes she took down to the exact times and days, and what dorm she stayed in. 

Adjusting your coat, you slipped your boots on and headed out the front gate. Finding where Lydia would be this time of evening wouldn’t be too hard, considering she usually spam posts what she’s doing at every time of every day. 

Looking at her timetable, you found she just finished class minutes ago. Perfect. Then, you went on her instagram, knowing she would have just posted some unrelatable crap on story, and yes of course, she did. “study timeeee someone bring me coffee and i’ll love you forever”  After her insufferable story post, you went back to her first story of day, showcasing her ‘OOTD.’ Perfect again. Now you know what to look for.

-

Winter was truly showing how harsh it could be, dark clouds rolled over the city, making the sky darker than it was. Droplets of rain fell from the sky, and in a matter of seconds, rain gushed down in violent showers, causing people to run for shelter or pull out their trusty umbrellas. Taking shelter in a nearby bus stop, you waited patiently. She shouldn’t be too far away now. Lydia took the bus home from school on days like today.

In just the corner of your eye, a blurry figure approached through the spitting rain, they wore a tan coloured coat, a grey beanie and dark blue jeans with a tote bag they kept under their arm. There’s Lydia, you thought. Wiping the seat with her hand, she sat down. Offering a friendly smile to you before reaching for her phone in her bag. You glared at her up and down, how could Ethan have loved her? Loved her? What if he loved her? Why would he? Just the thought of him loving her alone made you fuming.

But rather than losing your cool, just yet, you took a deep breath and scanned around you. Ensuring no one was walking nearby, or any cars were around. 

Lydia’s face lit up from the glow of her phone. She wasn’t going to see this coming. Reaching into the inside of your coat pocket, you pulled out the silver blade by the heavy wooden handle. 

Here goes nothing.

In sudden force, you twisted your body to Lydia, before plunging the knife into her stomach. Her body contorted, buckling beside you as she gasped for air and groaned. Her eyes bulged, swelling with hot tears. Using your free hand, you silenced her by grabbing onto her jaw and covering her mouth. In and out, in and out was the motion of the knife as it punctured her stomach. Blood covered your hands and shirt as you straddled her motionless body to get a better angle of her torso. 

“He’s mine. Only mine” You hissed.

Lydia couldn’t even respond, all she could do was gurgle and choke out incoherent words as blood oozed from her mouth.

“Fuckin’ bitch, think he still loves you?” 

Still no response. You twisted the knife in her guts, she deserves this.

As your adrenaline surged, you ploughed the knife hard and deeper into her stomach until your arms began to ache. 

“Can’t even fucking answer me, can ya?” You berated breathlessly.

Lydia spluttered her final breath, the entirety of her life in the last glimpse and blink of her draining eyes. 

You watched as the blood seeped down her torso, onto the bench seat then as it dripped onto the concrete. Her lifeless body spread on the bench, arms flailed apart from her body and painted with her own crimson red blood. 

The scene to you was beautiful. Your own artwork on display. 

Admiring your work was consuming and all, but as you came down from your adrenaline high, you realised you needed to go. Now.

Before leaving, you quickly changed coats with a new one stuffed away in your bag, then swiftly walked home.

-

Arriving home, all you could stare at yourself in the mirror. The intricate blood splatters on your body, the way it was smeared over your chest and arms. It was fascinating, surreal even. But what would Ethan think, would he hate you, or would he love you for this? Because after all, you did for him. You killed for him.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taglist @volturi-girl-imagines @poisonousgem16

[thelunarbar]

How romantic sex on a school bus. Well ig just making out but my point still stands. And Ik it’s a dream but she’s all like ooh ok and I’m just like girl no. Make him take you to a bed at least. 

I love watching the way stiles opinion of Derek changes over time esp given that Derek doesn’t make a great first impression(not that stiles really did either but Derek’s was worse)

“Ate it?”

“Raw?”

“No you stopped to bake in a little werewolf oven.”

Scott’s hair is sooooooooo bad 😭

Also forgot how much I hate this teacher(biology or math maybe? Idk) he’s annoying

This may very well be the only time stiles tells Scott not to cancel a date. 

Danny deserves more love 

Lydia’s thing of acting dumb is really annoying like if he doesn’t want you unless you’re stupid you’re better off without him girl

Stiles reaction to Scott asking Allison about their hanging out with Jackson and Lydia

Jackson is such an asshole but Ik I end up liking him more later on

Of all things to lie about; your bowling skills???

Gotta love stiles needing to know if he’s attractive to gay guys(the answer is yes. Just ask Derek 😜)

Ngl I’ve never been sure how I feel abt deaton bc he’s like kinda helpful sometimes but also super weird more often than not

I fucking adore Melissa McCall 

Dude I tried for literal months(tho without rewatching bc I didn’t wanna do that at the time) to figure out where the pic of Derek standing behind broken glass came from and it’s from ep three when the police officer and then Scott show up the hale house 

I feel like rains too much for this show being set in California 

Derek is so nonchalant about Scott’s freak out I love it

“Why is this starting to feel like you’re Batman and I’m Robin? I don’t wanna be Robin all the time.”

“Nobody’s Batman and Robin any of the time.”

“Not even some of the time?” I love this lil convo and esp this last line bc stiles sounds so sad abt it 

Seriously why is the lighting so damn dark all the time even when I have the brightness on my screen turned all the way up and to my recollection it only gets worse

Scott and his fucking one track mind 

Yikes Allison’s closet is so bad all like boho chic and sequiny

Again a parent walking in without knocking 

I mean at least he acknowledged he forgot to knock but like teenage girl who could’ve been like changing or smth jeez

Love that he’s clearly getting ready to go out and they decide to sneak out before he leaves 

Man I wanna go bowling I haven’t bowled in so long (related even if it doesn’t seem like it, Jackson Lydia Allison and Scott go bowling)

Jackson’s laugh is so obviously fake and it’s so obnoxious 🤮

I can appreciate that being werewolf didn’t make him good at everything(just most things) 

I love love love Derek’s car 

Why does Chris argent wash Derek’s windshield for him??? Oh yes very intimidating good job Chris 

I can’t wait for argent to grow a beard he looks so much better with it 

Breaking the window on Derek’s car was so unnecessary and rude 

Ofc now Scott is great at bowling 

Lydia using Scott to make Jackson jealous is so annoying 

Ah innuendo 

“How do you cheat at bowling?”

“I don’t know, but you did.” But for real Jackson how does someone cheat at bowling 

And Derek’s being a creep again cmon man no wonder people don’t like you when this is the impression you always give 

Call a code? You have to specify which one Melissa. I’m not even a nurse and I know that 

Yay another cringey make out scene 

“Do either of you even play baseball?”

I love that they’re both super honest and just say no when she asks if they care there’s a police enforced curfew

Scott’s angry voice is not great 

Derek’s echoy voice thing wtf is that?

Love that Scott’s first thought is to try to get Derek arrested, again, for smth he didn’t do 

Ooh jump the whole staircase he’s so cool guys you don’t even know 

Ooh he’s losing the jacket things are getting serious 

The noise while he shifted was gross and not necessary 

Also I’m pretty sure they change his shifted makeup look later on bc he doesn’t look how I remember 

Love the choice of Destroya by MCR for this totally pointless fight between Scott and Derek tho 

I mean I say fight but it’s more like Derek beating the snot out of Scott 

and now we have the rational conversation after punching each other 

Oh now you give him answers after you beat the crap out of him

How come we never really discuss the fact that Scott is part of Peter’s pack? At least until he becomes an alpha himself

[ohtobeleah]

I need to know how Fe, Rooster and Dot’s Christmas was? What did he get them?

First update after Christmas. Oof—let’s get back into the swing of things shall we? As always, here’s the Series Masterlist for those looking to catch up.

Warnings Below: Smut! Mention of domestic violence.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you guys?” Jake asked one final time as you helped him carry his bags out to the taxi that was idling in the drive. “Because I can always call and say I've been asked to stay on base.” Jake was going home for the holidays, back to Texas where a large quantity of the Seresin family resided. He only really had one option, there was no way his mother was going to let him bail out of Christmas again this year–not after he’d been deployed for the last two. 

“No, you go spend time with your family–” You really didn't want to be a burden on Jake anymore than you already felt like you'd become. Passing him the bags one by one as he hoisted them into the boot of the taxi. “Me and Dot will be just fine here.” Jake had invited you and your little girl to the Seresin family Christmas and it was a warm invitation you almost accepted. But being back in Texas meant running the risk of Jaidyn finding out where you had run off to. He wasn't a dumb man and if you set foot back on Texan soil he’d surely sniff you out–besides, you didn't really want the Seresin knowing you were hiding out in Miramar. They were a family who had only ever known money–and for a dollar they would out anyones dirty laundry. All except Jake and his sister Lydia. “Besides, Roosters gonna swing by and stay the night of Christmas Eve and then we’re gonna head off to Penny and Mavs place for lunch on Christmas day.” 

“You two are starting to get pretty serious aren't you?” It had been a couple of weeks since Rooster had first stayed the night and a few weeks since you’d started to let your walls come down a little. Letting in the chestnut blonde who looked at you like you hung all the stars in the night sky just for him. “Not that i'm complaining, He’s a good guy–just gotta get used to seeing Bradshaw walking around the house in his boxer briefs is all.” It had been one time, Bradley had woken up in the middle of the night, skulking down stairs for a glass of water–he’d run into Jake who was doing the same thing. Only Jake was wearing pants and Braldley had decided that the few extra seconds it would have taken to put his sweats back on would have sent him into the early dehydration process. You chuckled as Jake drew you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around your waist as he issued the top of your head. “Keys are in the key bowl and I filled up the tank.” 

“I should probably start looking at getting my own car huh?” You mumbled into Jake's chest before pulling away. The two of you normally carpooled to work and it hadn’t been an issue sharing. But perhaps it was time. “Still waiting to hear about staff housing, but I could look at getting a private somewhere a little more in town.” 

“Let's table this for when I get back, yeah?” Jake was in absolutely no hurry to actually get you out of his house. He joked and he taunted and he teased that his humble abode had been taken over, but he would never toss you out. He’d never make you leave if you weren't ready to. You came to him for help, for protection. He was willing to play that role for the rest of his life. “Just don't burn the house down while I'm gone! And dont let Rooster in my fucking room.” He pointed into your chest before ducking into the passenger's side of the taxi. “You call me, if anything happens?” 

“Roger that.” You tapped him off and stepped away, watching as you hugged yourself as Jake disappeared out of sight down the road. Leaving you somewhat alone since you first showed up on his doorstep unannounced all those months ago. It felt odd, silent. But soon enough as you stepped back into the house you shared with Jake the beaming sound of your daughter's favourite show Bluey could be heard ringing out from the living room where you left her. 

“Looks like it's just you and me girly.” You sighed as you started picking up toys she’d discarded the minute her attention was drawn to the television. Crayons and pieces of paper that were scattered across the coffee table caught your attention as you noticed the unmistakable drawing of your daughter's version of a plane. “This Rooster baby?” You asked softly as you showed your daughter the drawing you were referring to. Her soft nod told you everything you needed to know. “He’s pretty cool huh?” 

“He likes you mamma.” Dot smiled but her eyes never left the TV.

“Oh yeah?” Placing your hands on your hips you smirked back at your mini me. “And who told you that little miss?” Dot was still learning how to pronounce certain letters and sounds. Her R’s were still a little wonky. But you knew who she was talking about when her attention was finally drawn to you. 

“Tooster did.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Bradley Bradshaw was for once, excited about Christmas. For the longest time he hadnt had a child around him to create the magic of Christmas for. He’d never been one big on it, coming from a small family that just seemed to get smaller and smaller every year that passed him by. It felt nice to know that this year would be different. 

“How’ve things been without Jake here?” It had only been two days, but there was certainly a void that had ripped through the usually loud home. Without Hangman around? Things had actually been pretty quiet. He was always blaming the noise on dot and her abundance of obnoxiously loud toys. But as it turns out? He was the source of it all. 

“Surprisingly okay, but we’ve been camping in the living room with all the Christmas lights on.” You explained as Bradley placed a few gifts he’d gotten for you and Dot under the tree. “Just couldn't bring myself to sleep upstairs.” Rooster just frowned at you as he stood–he wasn't blind to the bags under your eyes that looked a little darker than the ones you normally wore as a hard working single parent. “I know, super irrational.” 

“You could have called me.” If Bradley had known you were having trouble, he would have come. Point blank, end of discussion. “But I get it, and it's not irrational.” It was nice to have your feelings validated. “But unfortunately we can't camp tonight, otherwise Santa won't be able to deliver all your presents. Will he Odette?” Bradley was quick to turn his attention to your daughter who'd come barrelling into the living room with her bowl of cut up apply. Scooping her up with ease as she giggled and laughed at being spun around. 

“Mamma said we have to leave a cawwot out for the waindear and a glass of miwk for santa.”

“Ah, I'm pretty sure Santa drinks oat milk–he’s got a small intolerance to dairy.” You couldn't help but to stare at Bradley as he placed your daughter down. She’d gone right back to her original trajectory of the small chair by the coffee table–colouring in one of her many colouring books. “What?” He laughed as you pushed his shoulder softly, shaking your head. 

“You wanna write me a list of Santa’s allergies Bradshaw?” Taunting Bradley as he followed you around the corner into the hall. You didn't want to subject your daughter to public displays of affection that might confuse her. So behind the wall that separated the living room from the hall that led up to the stairs, You pulled Rooster into you. Kissing him as his hands immediately went to your hips, pressing you against the wall as he deepened the kiss almost instantly. 

“Feel like I'm back in highschool, sneaking around trying not to get caught kissing girls under the bleachers.” Bradley mumbled as one hand came up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbed softly against your skin. “Only it's a curious toddler who will have my ass and not Mrs Rundle.” 

“I don't wanna confuse her.” You whispered as your hand came down between the pair of you, palming Rooster through his jeans as he stilled and let out a breathy groan. “But after she's asleep, and Santa has helped me put out all her presents.” You cooed into Bradleys ear as you felt him growing under your touch. “I wouldn't mind being a little naughty under the tree.” 

“You don't know what you do to me Y/n.” Braldys head was spinning as you continued to palm him through his jeans. “Christ I really am back in highschool, you keep doing that and I’m gonna cream my pants.” Before you could answer with some witty remark, Dot wall calling out for you. 

“Back to motherhood I go–”

“I'm gonna go take a cold shower.” Rooster smirked as he left you with one final kiss, taking his bags upstairs as he adjusted himself with every step he took. “You’re killing me mamma!” Rooster cried out from the top of the staircase. You just laughed in response as you turned on your heels biting your lower lip. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Christmas Eve at the hard deck was always a hard one to pick. Penny Benjamin never really knew what to expect when the time came every year. Last year, it had been packed to the rafters, but that had been because most of the crew that occupied Mirimar on a more permanent basis had stuck around. This yeah? Mostly everyone had gone back home to see their families. Besides you and Rooster? Everyone had left a few days ago. Leaving the Bar abandoned except for some stragglers and a handful of families that had drifted in for a cheap pub feed. 

“What can I get you?” Penny sent the man sitting at her bar a quick toothy smile. He smiled back when he’d been acknowledged and shifted in his seat. Pulling his wallet out from his back pocket. 

“A rum and coke thanks dear.” 

“Anything specific?” Penny pressed as she turned to read out the rums she had on offer. “I've got Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, Gentlmens, Morgans, Kraken–” She listed them out one by one as she flung the bar towel over her shoulder. 

“Gentlemns sounds good, Thankyou.” 

“What's brought you into town?” Penny was good at making lighthearted conversation as she poured the man's drink. She’d been doing it for long enough to know how to go through the motions without getting too emotionally invested in whatever answers were thrown her way. 

“Uh, I just transferred here from Kingsville–Texas.” Penny widened her eyes as she passed the man his drink, taking his card in return to run it through the eftpos machine. “Don't officially start till the third but I had nothing better to do.” 

“So you're in the Navy?” Passing the card back, Penny leaned on the bar. “Hate to disappoint but most of the crew have gone home for the Holidays, they’d usually be here till dawn otherwise.” 

“Yes ma’am, Lietantent Jaidyn ‘Zeus’ Dolan at your service.” Jaiydn sent a thousand-watt smile Penny’s way as he took a sip of his drink. “And that's alright, in due time I guess.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Did you ever believe in Santa?” It was a beautiful sight. Rooster on his knees neatly tucking the presents you'd wrapped together under the Christmas Tree. 

“I think for a while there I did.” You sighed as you crossed your legs and sat back against the back of the lounge. Matching pyjamas matching Bradley’s and Dots as she slept soundly upstairs. “But after a while I think I started to question why Santa didn’t stop at our place.” Bradley kept placing present after present under the tree, unlike yourself when you were a kid, you wanted your daughter to remember Christmas as a time for family and friends and the gift of giving and receiving. You just remembered it as a time where all the other kids in the neighbourhood got whatever it was that was on their Christmas wish list—you? You were lucky if your parents hadnt loaded themselves enough to overdose on the back porch. “I remember accidentally ruining Santa for Jake one year because he’d told me he got this new transformer he’d been begging for and I told him his mum had brought it six months prior.” 

“You Christmas Grinch, you ruined Christmas for little Seresin? No wonder he’s a dick now.” Bradley chuckled as he came out from under the tree. “You’ve really spoiled her haven’t you?” Looking at the sight, it warmed your heart. You had and you weren’t ashamed of it. You were in a position to do so. 

“Yep, and I’m gonna make sure I always can.” It was the glow about you that had Rooster melting into a puddle at your feet as you spoke about your daughter. “I may be projecting but I’m always gonna make sure she has everything she needs, wants, desires.” Rooster smiled, creeping closer till he was sitting beside you. 

“Has anyone told you recently that you’re a really good mum?” Rooster cooed as you looked his way, the light from the Christmas tree illuminating just enough of you that to Bradley you looked like a goddess in the dim glow. “And it’s not because of the presents, although an added bonus I’m sure—but you're a really good mum because you love her so much Y/n.” 

You folded completely, all your walls, all your worries about not being good enough for Bradley went out the window for just a few fleeting moments. Leaning in closer to ghost your lips against Bradley as he leaned closer into you. 

“Just know if you kiss me right now I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself—“ He whispered against your lips as you moved to straddle his waist on the floor. His back against the lounge. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Rooster—“ You whispered as his hands roamed your body, slipping up the back of your Pyjama shirt. 

“If you tell me you don’t want this I’ll stop.” He reminded you before softly and ever so gently placing his lips on yours for a brief moment. Pulling away seconds later. “You gotta tell me you want me Or we’re just gonna keep going around in a circle.” 

“I’m scared.” You knew Rooster valued honesty, so the truth of the matter is what he got. “I’m afraid I’ll let you in and I’ll be too much trouble than what I’m really worth.” Your forehead stayed pressed against his as your hands slid down his chest, unbuttoning the small line of buttons that kept the flannel closed. “That the more you learn about me, you’ll realise that it would be easier to run than to stick around.” 

“Nah, I think I’m good where I am with you.” Bradley kissed you a little harder as you removed his top, exposing him for all he’s worth. You’d seen him shirtless a million times—but in this very moment he looked otherworldly. “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me that you don’t wanna do this.” 

“I do, I do wanna do this—“ You couldn’t hold back the soft moans that escaped as Bradley started a soft assault on your neck. Leaving butterfly-like kisses up and down the junction of your neck and shoulder. “But things are complicated, you have to know that—“

“I’ll do complicated for you, fuck I’d do just about anything for you.” Against your neck Bradley moaned as you started to move your hips across his crotch. “Please Fe, just let me in?” There had been a handful of times where you'd gotten close enough with Bradley that you’d almost followed through to a home run. But it had never gone any further than third base. Until now. 

Nodding before you captured Bradley lips in a feverish kiss, only pulling away so you could remove your own shirt. Setting the pace for how this was going to go—Rooster caught on immediately. You were in control. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty Y/n.” Bradley smirked as your hands went to tug at the waistband of his pyjama pants, lifting yourself up to rid yourself of yours as Bradley discarded his own. “Do you wanna, maybe—“ He was trying to ask if you wanted to mess around first, but the look in your eyes told him all he needed to know. You were ready and you wanted him now. “Are you sure?” Rooster's voice hitched in his throat as your fist wrapped around his length, palming him up and down creating a perfect friction. “Ahh, fuck Y/n—ohhh.” 

“I want this Roo, I want you.” You lined his lip up with your entrance—already slick and needy just for him. “Are you sure?” Nodding frantically, Bradley’s hands helped to guide you down slowly. Taking him inch by inch as soft moans echoed off the walls around you. “Ahhh fuck, yes!” Throwing your head back as you bottomed out on Bradley, he said still beneath you while you adjusted. “God, Bradshaw how the fuck do you walk around with this thing?” 

“You’ll notice the slight limp now that you’ve mentioned it.” Rooster took your lips hostage once again as his hands helped to guide your hips. Slowly, you began to ride him. Bobbing up and down along his slicked up shaft. “Oh fucking Christ you’re perfect.” Capturing one of your nipples in his mouth—Bradley reveled in the sounds you made all for him. The whimpers, the groans of pleasure, the shift gasps whenever the head of his cock pressed against the velvety walls of your dripping cunt. “So pretty, all for me.” You’d never heard such loving praise before, and it was doing something for you. 

“Please keep talking—“ You begged as your hands came up to rest on Roosters shoulders for more stability. Still remaining in full control. “Please Roo.” 

“You’re beautiful mamma, so beautiful while you ride me.” He wasn’t lying, he was telling the whole ass truth. ��Bet you look even pretty when I do this huh?” Rooster waited for you to tell him otherwise, his hand slowly coming down from your hip to rub small soft pressure against your bundle of nerves. 

Ahhhhh fuck!—“ You didn’t stop him, if anything you got just a little faster as you picked up the pace to match his rhythm. “Bradley—I—I’m.” 

“I’m right with you baby, I’m here—you can let you.” Bradley sweet nothings were coaxing you closer and closer to your high, a feeling so overpowering it took control of all your senses. “You don’t have to be scared, or afraid, you—Ahhh, ohh ffgghh, you don’t have to run from me baby I got you.” 

Crumbling into a pile on Bradley's chest as you came, Bradley bucked his hips as you cried out through your high, jaw slack on his shoulder as he quickly gathered himself and pumped his shaft till his own high was splattering onto his lower abdomen. He didn’t want to cum inside you, he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. He knew just from what you’d told him that it would feel like a sense of ownership—Bradley didn’t own you nor did he ever want you to feel like that. 

“Holy shit, Y/n, that was—“ Bradley cut himself off when he heard your groans turn to gentle sobs, tears against his skin soon followed. “Hey, hey what’s wrong Fe?” It came out more panicked then it probably should have, But Rooster had never had someone cry after sex with him before. “Y/n? Hey darlin what's wrong? Did I do something?” 

“Nothing–” Bradley cupped your face as you rose up to meet his gaze, the slightly rough pads of his thumbs worked to wipe away the tears that streamed down your cheeks. “I just forgot what it was like before the world fell at my feet.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~

The next morning, wrapped in Roosters arms, Dot had you both waking with a gasp as she screamed from her bed at whatever god awful hour it was. 

“Holy shit.” Rooster groaned as you scurried off the bed to collect your very excited two year old. “I'm up, I'm awake, just give me a second.” 

“Santa! Santa! Santa!” Dot jumped around as you picked her up with tied eyes. “Did he come mamma?” 

“He sure did.” Rooster teased as he sat up rubbing his eyes. You sent him a look as you held Odette to your hip, settling her just enough so that she didn't break your hip. “What? I'm just telling the truth.” Rooster was quick to defend himself as he rose from his spot on the bed. All of you matched in the red striped flannel pyjamas and it was just the sweetest sight. “Come on you two, let's go see what’s under the tree yeah.” 

You thought Odette’s eyes couldn't have gotten any bigger, but sure enough when she laid eyes on all the presents sitting neatly and tidy under the tree she’d helped you and uncle Jake decorate, she was screaming with pure joy and excitement. 

Rooster took picture after picture for you on your phone so you didn't miss a single moment of Dots third Christmas. Her first was when she was just a newborn, born the eleventh of January. She was only just now starting to take things in, her brain starting to develop the ability to remember things long term. 

When Bradley wasn’t taking pictures, he was cleaning up the sea of wrapping paper Dot had torn through. Two massive bin bags full of the stuff sat on top of the lounge. He couldn't believe just one little girl could make such a mess but here he was, trialling after her mess like every Dad ever on Christmas day ever. 

“You didn't?” You beamed as you helped Dot in your lap and helped her unwrap the present Rooster had gotten her. “Bradley Bradshaw you surely didn't.” Oh he had. 

“I know, I overdid it.” He ginned ear to ear as you held up the flight suit. Custom ordered for Dot. “But I couldn't help myself, she's an avid aviator already.” Holding the Normex up you couldn't help but to laugh, it was the cutest little thing. “Odette “Polkadot” Dolan reporting for duty.” 

“This is just amazing, thank you–I'm definitely going to keep that even when she grows out of it.” It truly did mean the world to you. Rooster didn't have to get your daughter a single thing. But the fact he;d gone to such great lengths to make it something special just melted your heart. 

“I got you something too.” Rooster crawled under the tree to fetch the box he’d snuck under the tree last night. Grabbing it out gently before passing it your way. “Here.” 

“Oh–Roo you didn't have to.” You had grown up in a family where gift giving was barely non-existent. And when there was a gift involved it usually came with a but or would be thrown in your face at a later date. “Really–” 

“Just open it.” Bradley huffed as he sat beside you, an arm coming to rest behind you as Dot squirmed out of your lap to investigate her newest toys. “And I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to.” Yuu didn't think arguing would lead you anywhere, so reluctantly, you opened the gift Rooster had gone out of his way to get for you. 

“Oh Rooster–” You gasped when you opened the bracelet box. Speechless as Bradley kissed your shoulder. 

“I've still got the receipt if it needs to get resized, the lady said the warranty should cover it.” It was the white Gold bracelet you'd been eyeing off each time you went past the jeweller in Westfields. “But I'm hoping it fits just right.”  

“Can you help me put it on?” You asked just above a whisper as you held yourself together, not wanting to cry on Christmas morning. Noone had ever gotten you something so special. “It's beautiful.” 

“Beautiful women deserve beautiful things.” Bradley clipped the claps together as you held out your wrist. “See, it fits perfectly.” 

“Okay well, now you have to open your gift.” You sighed as you reached under the tree for Roosters present. “And don't argue that I got you something when you just did the same thing.” Calling Bradley out on his bullshit before he could even start, he held his hands up in surrender before accepting the gift. 

“Oh. My. Gosh.” Bradley laughed as he unwrapped the present you had given him. “He’s gonna love these.” You couldn't help yourself after the whole boxer brief incident with Jake in the Kitchen. You'd given Bradley a few pairs of briefs with Jake's face plastered all over them. “For when I get up for water right?” 

“Exactly, for when you get up for water.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Jake Seresin stood in the kitchen of his parents place on Christmas morning helping his mum peel potatoes of the potato bake she was planning to make for Christmas lunch. He’d already gotten over the festivities when he’d been asked about the possibility of a girlfriend in the future. He loved his family to death–but sometimes they were a little much. And when they all got together, they were a lot. 

“I forgot to mention earlier that I ran into Jaidyn earlier in the week.” Jake recoiled at the name, he hated that the man who’d caused you so much pain behind closed doors for so many years played it off that he was an upstanding citizen. 

“Who?” He pretended not to care as he peeled the russet potatoes for his mum. 

“Oh you know Jacob, Jaiydn Dolan, He was dating Y/n for the longest time.” 

“Ma, I haven't spoken to either of them for at least two years.” Jake had chosen to play dumb when it came to you for your own safety. He didn't even want his family knowing you were still as close as you were. “What's Jaidyn doing talking to you?” 

“I ran into him at the grocery store, it turns out his reposting to North Island cone the new year.” If Jake hadn’t been paying so much attention to what he’d been doing, he was sure he would have cut his finger off with the potato peeler he was using. Gasping a sharp hiss when he slipped and nicked his finger. 

“Ah fuck, Mum what do you mean he’s reposting to North Island?” Panic. Pure panic rose in the Depths of Jake's heart. This couldn't be happening. 

“Well as it turns out that Y/n girl ran off with his daughter a few months back, just took off with her without a trace, he hasn't heard from her since and with nothing left for him here he decided to take up a new posting.” 

“And he just told you this in the aisle of Wholefoods did he?” Jake huffed as he ran his hand under the stream of water racing out of the fossett. “Y/n probably left his bitch ass because he’s a wife beater.” 

“Jacob Seresin!” Jake's mother hissed his way. “You know that girl’s no good, you always have, ever since you were kids.” 

“Yeah well, not everyone can come from money ma—Y/n’s good people, she always has been—she just didn’t have good people around her, you know that.” It’s not that Jennifer Seresin disliked you. She’d taken you in more times then she could count on one hand. She’s even been the one who helped you get your driver's licence. But she had a distaste for people who could easily drag her beautiful baby boy down into the gutters. She knew with your background that wouldn’t be hard. “You know she’s a good person, heart of gold.” 

“A girl with a heart of gold would run off with a man’s only child?” 

“Just because you never had the guts to leave dad doesn’t mean Y/n had to tolerate the same treatment.” Jake was seething, he loved his mother with all his heart but sometimes she saw the world from a less than perspective. He couldn’t blame her all too much—it was his dad who’d reprogrammed her to believe the things she did. “If Y/n ran? She’s running from him mum.” 

“What do you know, Jacob? Hmm? For someone who hasn’t seen or spoken to either of them in two years you seem to have an awful opinion on the situation?” Jake knew he had to quiet before the questions came down on him like an avalanche. He also saw just how much of a bullet you’d truly dodged forfeiting the invite he’d given you to the Seresin family Christmas. “That girl will always be family, you know that–if she's in trouble she can always come to us for help but lord have mercy on my soul if she ever corrupts my baby boy.” 

“Did Jaiydn really say North Island?” Jake asked as he stood with his mother in the kitchen. Holding his finger under a cloth to dry it, stop it from bleeding.

“Sure did.” His mother confirmed as she went back to cutting her russets. Fishing his phone out of his jeans, Jake went to send Rooster an SOS message. Before he did, he noticed the text he’d missed from Penny yesterday afternoon.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Tags: @a-serene-place-to-be @lilyevanswhore@thescarletknight2014 @blindedbythelightt t @averyhotchner@emma8895eb @blairfox94 @caitsymichelle13 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo

[asmoonlightthroughthepines]

I want a Maxton Hall spin-off that's basically the same story, but from Percy's perspective.

Him eavesdropping on the limo conversations, mentally losing it like "Lydia GIRL, that was your freaking pHilOsPhY tEaChEr's house that I drove you to all summer?!"

Him peeping on the school's group chat to figure out if he needs to pack more emotional support snacks for his favourite boy James, in case he cried in class again because Ruby called him a daddy's boy in public

Actually, do Percy and Lydia have a bet going about how many times James has cried since he swore he would 'take down that girl lickety-split'?

What do Percy and his limo driver mates talk about while waiting for their dumb millionaire kids at their coke parties?

Does he need to cancel his afternoon krav maga class again (always wants to be prepared in case he gets an opportunity to beat up Mortimer) because James wants him to deliver another handbag or Queen Victoria's dress to some girl's cottage?

Bonus: direct link to his full 'Meine Favourite Twins👫 👨‍✈️' limo playlist on Spotify

this show is so stupid i love it

[fruitcoops]

So I was just watching Matty Healy’s “celebrity school run” interview from BCC Radio One, and my mind jumped right to imagining Sirius with a couple awestruck hockey kids in the back of his truck, navigating questions as he drives them around (maybe to hockey practice instead of school??)! Congrats on finishing finals!! <3

Fic O'Ween Day 9: Sugar Rush! Cap credit to @lumosinlove and fest credit to @noots-fic-fests <3 Cutie patootie start to the weekend!

“Ask him!”

“I don’t wanna ask. You do it.”

“Everything alright back there?”

A small boy in a blue shirt dropped an elbow into the side of his, equally small yet significantly blonder, companion. “How does the internet work?” the blond boy blurted.

In the front seat, Sirius Black frowned at the road. “Quoi?”

“I told you it was a dumb question!” a redheaded little girl whispered across the seat.

“The internet,” the blond boy repeated, twisting the pocket of his cargo shorts into a nub in his fist. “How’s it work?”

“Uh…”

“My mom said the government tells you on your first adult birthday,” the dark-haired boy informed him as he leaned forward onto the console. “So you’ve gotta know, ‘cause you’re totally an adult.”

“Your mother is right, Ethan,” Sirius agreed. His eyes darted to the small camera stuck on the car’s dashboard. “That’s—yes, you’ll have to wait until you’re eighteen to find out. I can’t tell you. It would be illegal.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “But you’re Canadian, so American laws don’t apply to you.”

“It’s international.” Suburban homes rolled past outside, surrounded by fresh spring foliage. “The UN decided on that rule.”

“Aw, man.”

“Are you really getting married?” the redheaded girl piped up.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Summer.”

“But when?”

“Summer,” Sirius repeated with a laugh.

“What day?” She poked her head between the front seats as well, bumping shoulders with Ethan. “Can we come?”

“Definitely not. Both of you, sit back, you’re going to get hurt.” Sirius glanced into the rearview mirror as he turned onto another narrow street. “Look at Jacob. He’s doing it right.”

Jacob preened, shooting each of his companions a Cheshire grin. “Lydia said you’re getting married to your boyfriend. Is that true?”

“Fiance, but yes.” Sirius reached back to shoo Lydia and Ethan back into their seats, one hand on the wheel. “Why do you know so much about my wedding? Aren’t you supposed to ask me hockey questions?”

“We have time. School doesn’t start for an hour.” Lydia folded her hands in her lap and squinted to look out at the road. “Also, my sister plays hockey and she was telling me that her team was telling her that you're gonna be the first married hockey player ever.”

“That’s…that’s not true.”

“Of course it is.”

“There are so many married hockey players!” Sirius laughed.

“Oh yeah?” Jacob challenged. “Who?”

“James Potter, Pascal Dumais, Sergei Ivanov, Adam Fox, Mika Zibanejad, Brad Marchand—I think most NHL players are married, actually.”

“Is the Earth actually round, or is the government lying?” Ethan asked, picking at the back of Sirius’ seat.

Sirius pressed his lips together for a moment. “Ah,” he began, coughing through a laugh. “Nope, it’s definitely round. People have known that for a long time.”

“My uncle says the government lies a lot.”

“Well, my uncle works for the government,” Jacob scoffed.

“Well—”

“Why is the Earth round?” Lydia butted in. “I think you’re lying. If it was round, everything in Australia would be upside down.”

“Oh god,” Sirius muttered. “Okay, new rule: no flat Earth discussions in the car.”

“Cause you’re lying?”

“Cause Galileo is spinning in his grave.”

“Isn’t that the bird from the movie with the girl and the volcano and the lizard and Russell Crowe and that one lady?”

Jacob gasped and turned to her. “My mom loves Russell Crowe! Y’know, Mr. Sirius Black, you kinda look like Russell Crowe.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He kinda does,” Ethan admitted.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh—”

“Okay,” Sirius announced as he paused at a stoplight with a thousand-yard stare. “We’re not doing any ‘nuh-uh’s until you are safely at school. Do you act like this when your parents are driving?”

All three children stared at him from the backseat. For a singular second, their fidgeting paused. “Like what?” Lydia asked, clearly bewildered. “The lady with the camera told us to ask you questions.”

Sirius seemed to process that for a beat. His fingertips drummed on the steering wheel while they waited for the light to change. “I’m starting to realize I don’t spend enough time with kids to know how you’re supposed to act.”

“Isn’t your brother a million years younger than you?”

“Six years.”

Lydia gave him a skeptical look over her glasses. “I’m only eight, so that’s basically forever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“How come clouds have different shapes?” Ethan asked. “Is it because birds fly through them and turn them all thin after they’re fluffy?”

“No, the wind does that.”

“Why?”

“It’s the wind, it doesn’t have reasons.”

“How do you know.”

“Because I’m an adult. Hey, look, a pigeon.”

All three children lunged toward the window, straining at their seatbelts and booster seats. Sirius glanced at the dashcam with a small, pleased smile and made a smooth left turn onto Main Street. “Where is it?” Jacob asked eagerly. “Was it big? What color was it? I don’t see it.”

“Oh, I think it was in the parking lot back there,” Sirius said casually. “Keep an eye out, see if there are more.”

“I’m never allowed to ask adults this many questions,” Lydia gushed, swinging her feet above the floor of the car. “Do you pay taxes?”

“Yes.”

“How do they work?”

“Good question. I have no idea.”

Ethan, apparently tired of pigeon-spotting, sat up straight and began peeling a sticker off the side of his booster. “Do you speak French?”

“Ouais.”

“Can you say something in French?”

“Ouais,” Sirius repeated with a grin.

“Please?”

“I just did.”

“Way,” Ethan mimicked. “Ha! That sounds like a duck. Wah-wah-wah-wah—”

“Yellow punch buggy.”

A flurry of movement and stifled ‘ow’s followed on swift wings; Sirius winced, but didn’t seem particularly regretful. “So,” he tried again. “What do you guys like to do at school?”

“Have lunch.”

“Read.”

“Recess.”

He nodded with a light laugh. “You know what, that’s fair.”

Jacob cocked his head to the side. “Did you like school?”

“I loved school.”

“What was your favorite subject?”

“Math.” A simultaneous false gag from three different mouths made him jump slightly, glancing over his shoulder. “Jesus—”

“I hate math,” Lydia declared. “We started multiplication and it makes my head hurt.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Ethan’s nose wrinkled. “I like math, but it’s definitely not my favorite. Hey, do you have tattoos?”

“No.”

“Can we see them?”

Sirius’ brow knit. “I just told you I don’t have any.”

“You’re a hockey player, you gotta have tattoos. Thomas Walker has them, Cole Reyes has them, James Potter has them…”

“James doesn’t have tattoos,” Sirius snorted. “Where are you getting your information?”

“My brother. He knows everything.”

“How old is he?”

“Eleven.”

Sirius nodded slowly, biting the inside of his cheek. “A wise age.”

“How many teeth are you missing?”

“None, dude,” Jacob interrupted. “Didn’t you see earlier? He has perfect teeth. Hey, Mr. Sirius Black, did you have braces?”

“No.”

“Your teeth just grew like that?”

“Mhmm.”

“I just lost a tooth last week.”

Sirius stopped at the corner, looking over his shoulder at them. “Oh, really? Your first?”

“Nah, my fifth,” Jacob answered, as jaded as a third-grader could get. “It’s boring now. I got a quarter for it, though. My sister wanted to tie it to a doorknob, but my dad didn’t let her.”

Lydia nodded solemnly. “My cousin lost her first tooth when a piñata hit her.”

“I lost mine while I was eating a tuna sandwich,” Ethan added. “Then it was a blood sandwich. It was crazy.”

“Gross,” Lydia said with great approval.

Apparently satisfied with the direction the conversation had gone, the car remained near-silent for almost fifteen seconds. They headed past several gas stations (and their pigeon-filled parking lots) before stopping once again at a red light.

Ethan let out a loud gasp. “Tim Hortons!”

Sirius turned as if on instinct, craning his neck, before he seemed to realize the danger of the situation. Lydia slapped at the back of the driver’s seat with an excited hand, bouncing in her booster. “We gotta go, we gotta go, we gotta go.”

To his credit, Sirius spared a half-second to consider it. “Absolutely not.”

To his demise, Sirius spared a half-second to consider it. They fell on him like miniature wolves to a downed caribou.

“Please,” Ethan begged. “Please, please, their hot cocoa is so good, you don’t understand.”

“I’m Canadian, I understand better than you do.”

“Then we have to go!”

“There is no world where I get three kids on a Tim Horton’s sugar rush before school.” He shook his head and began turning off Main Street. “Not in this lifetime. Your teachers would hunt me for sport.”

“You’re Canadian! You’re—you’re Queb—” Ethan made a frustrated noise and turned to Jacob. “What’s the word for Quebec people?”

“…Canadians…?”

“Quebecois,” Sirius informed him. His eyes widened slightly. “Wow, is that the first question you’ve asked that I can actually answer?”

“You’re Quebecois,” Ethan continued, stumbling over each syllable. He made it there in the end, but not before everyone else in the car made a pained face. “That means you have to take us to Tim Horton’s.”

“No.”

Lydia’s eyes were fever-bright in the backseat, as if she had knocked back a handful of jellybeans and Red Bull. “Timmy’s, Timmy’s, Timmy’s…”

“Please, no.”

Jacob and Ethan brightened immediately, because of course they did. Sirius watched the road in mournful disbelief, like he was driving into his personal hell with no exit ramp in sight. “TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S—”

“I’ve never having children.”

“TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S—”

The shouting came to an abrupt halt. Sirius parked the car under the shade of a large oak tree and waited for several seconds, until all three kids started to exchange wary looks. The silence dragged on. Polyester and cotton rustled.

Sirius rested his elbow on the console and turned to the backseat, one eyebrow raised. “Are we done?”

“Are you gonna turn this car around?” Jacob whispered in quiet horror.

“Non. I have a deal for you, though.” Instant curiosity overcame their concern. Sirius held three fingers up. “One: don’t kick the back of my seat. Two: don’t yell in my car, it’s very distracting. Three: Count five pigeons by the time we get to school. I will ask your parents if I can bring you Timbits—”

Gasps of delight filled the car.

“—if you promise to do all three of those things.”

Jacob tucked his hands under his legs, all but vibrating with anticipation. “Can you get cinnamon ones?”

“Can you find five pigeons?”

“Of course I can,” he whispered.

Sirius nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Do you make a million bajillion dollars?” Lydia asked.

“Non. But I do have money for Timbits for nice kids who ask cool questions.”

Ethan’s mouth fell open. “We’re nice kids who ask cool questions!”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius gave a teasing hum. “I don’t know. Think you can prove it in the next five minutes?”

“What kind of dog do you have?” Lydia asked without hesitation.

“Oh, that is a good question.” The car rumbled to life, and they pulled onto the road without issue. “I don’t know. She’s black, and she has pointy ears.”

“How long do you want to play hockey?”

“Oof. A while. Maybe ten more years? We’ll see.”

Ethan finished peeling the sticker off his booster seat and reached over Lydia to stick it on Jacob’s. “Is being an adult fun?”

“Yes.”

“Is it hard?”

“Yes.”

“If you could get in a time machine and be eight again, would you do it?”

“No.”

Jacob frowned. “How come?”

“Because I like being able to make my own dinner, I would miss my friends, and I wouldn’t be able to get Tim Horton’s whenever I want to.”

Lydia started to kick the back of his seat in boredom, but quickly tucked her foot behind her other leg. “If you were eight and went to our school, do you think we would be friends?”

Sirius smiled, moving slowly past a wire fence. “Sure.”

“Can you say more French stuff?”

“Comme quoi?”

“Um—can you say ‘hello’?”

“Bonjour.”

Jacob chewed on his lower lip. “Can you say…this school is super cool?”

“Cette école est très cool.”

“Is ‘cool’ the same in both?”

“Ouais.”

“Okay, stop, stop, you gotta do English now,” Ethan said hurriedly, waving his hands. “I don’t speak French.”

“That’s okay, you can learn,” Sirius laughed. They rolled to a stop in a mostly-empty section of the parking lot; he waved to someone outside, and the children quickly followed suit. He propped his arm on the console again and raised his eyebrows. “I think your parents are ready to have you back. Any last questions?”

“Do you like books?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What kind of Timbits do you like?’

“Have you been playing hockey since before we were born?”

“How does electricity work?”

“Do you kiss your boyfriend? Oh, yeah, how do cars work?”

“How come the sky changes colors but the ocean doesn’t?”

Sirius didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, blue, all of them, yes, I think it’s something with electrons and metal? Yes, engines and combustion, and because the sky and the ocean are made of different things.”

“Okay,” Jacob said with a decisive nod. “Cool! Thanks!”

“Thank you, this was lots of fun.” Sirius unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car, then came around and opened the backseat door for them. They spilled out in a pile, each meeting his gentle fist-bump with incredible enthusiasm that only grew when he feigned injury at the strength of their hands. Their booster seats came free with little finagling. “Alright, go see your parents. I can carry these.”

“Wait!” Lydia yelped, turning on her heel halfway through a step. “What about the Timbits?”

“Nobody kicked my seat or yelled,” Sirius mused, gathering the boosters in his arms. “Pigeons?”

“Two on the sidewalk, one in the parking lot, and two at the Gas ‘n Sip,” Jacob announced.

“Then they’ll be here when you get out of school,” he promised. They shook on it, tiny hands dwarfed by his palm, before they were off at a sprint once more. “Be safe! Don’t trip on the concrete!”

[rosiebeetle]

"Spinning on this infinite road, no idea which way to go no light above and theirs no hope below"

Lydia deetz mother was murdered when she was just 12. Her case being left as a cold one pushed Lydia to find her own answers. It's been four years and that scrawny teenage girl is still fighting to find her mother's killer and put him in jail. Maybe with the help of some raggedy dead guy she'll finally be able to achieve that.

YES MY BREAK IS OVER GRAHHH this little dumb idea was brought to you by watching pushing daisies and then seeing a nancy Drew edit on my fyp so here! Hope you guys like the pilot :3