pairing: bsf!jj maybank x reader
content: fluff, comfort if you read between the lines, cuddling in bed, reader pov
synopsis: when anticipating a midnight jump-scare from your movie, you get one from jj instead. but the quiet and cozy time the two of you spend together in the aftermath is proving to be a threat to your heartrate.
hi #hopethisisokay. another j character study except this time i wrote it on my phone in my notes app instead of on my pc on notepad. hopefully that makes 0 difference in regards 2 quality...
silence fills your room, save for the footsteps coming from your movie. you know there'll be a jump-scare, but you can't help yourself from pulling the sheets of your bed up to your face.
each of your limbs freeze, muscles tensing with anticipation.
it isn't the movie that ends up scaring you, though—it's the sudden knock that just came from your window.
as you attempt to choke down your startled scream, you hesitantly shut your laptop and flip the switch of the lamp beside your bed.
as its old bulb buzzes on, you're able to make out the figure beyond your window.
you yelp—quickly covering your mouth when the noise leaves you.
jj maybank appears crouched outside your window, smug grin and messy blonde hair warmly lit in the range of your lamp.
the instant you realize it's him, you unlock the window. jj pushes it up and ducks into your room, shutting it behind him as quietly as possible.
"j, what the fuck?!" you huff, crossing your arms across your chest. "it's midnight! give me a warning next time, yeah?"
jj shrugs and lays next to you on top of your blankets. "never stopped me from comin' over before."
"it's different this time! you scared the shit outta me!"
"whoops. when ya screamed earlier, i thought you were just happy to see me. makes sense now."
"you little shit," you laugh, turning to lay on your side so you can face him. "think about it! what if i'd been sleeping?"
jj bites his bottom lip, seemingly in thought. "then i woulda slammed on your window all night."
"until i woke up?"
"until you woke up." he nods, lacing his fingers through yours and pulling them up to his chest.
you can't help the smile that pulls on your lips. "or until the cops get called on you."
he smirks. "id find a way out of it."
"or a way to drag me into it." you retort, giving a playful squeeze to his hand.
eyes widening, jj feigns offense and puts on his best 'how dare you!' face. "woah, woooahh. when would i ever do that?"
with a roll of your eyes, you ready yourself to start listing times jj has gotten you into trouble—but he stops you.
"actually, uh, forget about that." he laughs, probably knowing you would've gone on for hours about it. "what were ya watchin'?"
right, the movie. you sit up in your bed and pull your laptop onto your lap. jj follows suit, his hand not leaving yours.
when you flip open your laptop, the hbo max tab on your browser reloads, and the gruesome imagery you'd just been hiding under the covers in avoidance of reflects light off your faces. it takes everything you've got not to flinch.
a breathless chuckle leaves jj, who notices your reaction. "shit man, evil dead? that's fuckin' brutal. were you tryna have nightmares or somethin'?"
"not really," you mumble. "wanna watch breaking bad?"
jj squints at you.
"are you tryna get out of finishin' it?" he snorts.
defensively, you raise your voice. "no—" you clear your throat, the obviousness of your lie sinking in. "no, i'm not. just thought that we could continue where we left off." you continue, calmer and quieter than before.
jj doesn't push back, he just gives you a knowing smirk.
"s'fine with me. fuckin' love that shit anyways. where'd we leave off?"
with netflix now open on your browser, you pull up the show. "still on season one." your gaze shifts to jj, "since someone keeps falling asleep."
"damn. wonder who that asshole is."
you can't help yourself from laughing under your breath.
"dunno, but thanks to him i've seen the first five episodes eight times now." you note, elbowing his bicep.
shoulder now flush against yours, jj hums thoughtfully. "well, a ninth time wont hurt. and it'll be the first time f'me."
distracting yourself from the feelings evoked within you from the newfound closeness, you hover your cursor over the play button. an observation stops you from pressing play, though.
"j, take off your shoes." you stare, just now realizing he's wearing outdoor clothes on your recently washed bedding.
he blinks, looking at you like it was the last thing on his mind. regardless, jj kicks off his shoes. they land on the floor with a muffled thud.
another moment passes as you look him up and down.
…
"actually.." your eyes meet his. "could you change?"
again, he stares at you like the thought never crossed his mind. "sure. ya still got my clothes?" jj doesn't seem to be bothered by it, but his hand slips from yours as he gets off your bed.
"uh-huh. top drawer in my dresser." you subtly nod in the direction of it. as if he doesn't already know the layout of your room like the back of his hand.
the dim light outlines jj's silhouette as you watch him change from your bed. its warm hues highlight the curvature of his back as he slips off his shirt and—
woah. catching yourself before you begin to overthink it, you avert your gaze. it wasn't uncommon for jj to go shirtless or half-naked in general, but it also wasn't unusual for you to look at him a little too closely—and then reflect on it in shame afterwards.
once the sound of clothes shuffling stops, a weight on the side of your bed creates a dip that brings you back to reality.
jj grins, "permission to get under the covers?" he was clearly teasing you. it's not as if you were acting crazy about wanting to preserve the cleanliness of your fresh sheets—jj just teases you over the slightest things. and you eat it up every time—you love that smile of his.
"permission granted." you smile back and pat the space next to you on the bed. jj promptly slides under the covers, his body flush against yours. after that, it was his head leaning against you, then his hand returning to its rightful place in yours—little, common touches that the two of you share together. but no matter how little they were, they always sent your heart off on a rollercoaster.
to distract yourself—no, to continue the original plan, you start the episode.
the sound of walter white's coughing fills the room, several scenes of episode four roll through your mind before they even occur. really, you'd seen this so many times. with the current rate of progress, you'd finish the show in fifty years.
jj fidgets with your hand, fingers sliding in and out of yours with varying pressure—tracing each digit on your hand one by one.
"what's on your mind, j?" you tap the space bar on your keyboard, the show abruptly pausing. attention now fixated entirely on him, in this lighting, you're able to see the look of uncertainty in his eyes.
he answers with a rare sense of honesty, free of any sort of banter to ease into it.
"jus' had a rough day. seein' you's already made it better." his voice is quiet, each syllable less confident than the previous.
you anchor his fidgeting hand with yours and give it a meaningful squeeze. his grip relaxes against yours, settling down.
jj glances at you, though is quick to avert his gaze. was he embarrassed? it wasn't often you got to see him like this—but now wasn't the time to gloat.
"…means a lot." you mumble. the words come out softer than you intended. "that you came to me, i mean. i'm just uh, i'm glad you're here." this wasn't your strong suit—words of affirmation—not when they meant this much to you, not when you know how much they mean to him. it makes you nervous—that delicate, glass-like vulnerability.
but jj smiles—it's still small, but it's brighter than before. genuine.
a weight that you didn't know existed feels like it's been lifted from your shoulders.
he clears his throat, the action leading you to notice the toothy grin he's trying to suppress. "thanks for lettin' me stay."
it was nearly a whisper—that gentle string of words—yet somehow, that made it mean even more.
"i mean, duh. of course." unintentionally reflecting his earlier gesture, you clear your throat. "i'll always want you by my side, j. i mean—there'll always be a place for you here, y'know?"
he answers with a gentle "mhm." the gesture soon followed by a shift of his hand—that familiar, soft squeeze.
the night went on quietly, the dialogue of the show filling in the silence. eventually, jj had fallen asleep against you—as per usual—but this time, with a rare, vulnerably giddy smile on his face. it was almost childish.
you close your computer with a deliberate carefulness and set it on your nightstand. you'll have to rewatch breaking bad again some other night.
your hand slips out of jj's, and his unconscious body twitches at the loss of contact. his eye flickers open, and half asleep he shifts closer to you. you want to laugh at his near subconscious antics, but your endearment overpowers the urge. jj mumbles something incoherent, sliding himself down the pillows until his head lands on your chest. one of his arms drapes lazily over your body, fingers twitching against your side until he settles. with how uncharacteristically peaceful he looks, your heart aches. he needed this—needed you. and knowing that made you feel like you were on top of the world.
sure, he's heavy as hell—but it's a grounding weight. warm, comfortable, and familiar. albeit a bit of a struggle, you manage to drag your trapped arm out from under him, wrapping it around the back of his neck to thread your fingers through his hair. you pet him thoughtlessly as the scent of your fabric softener clinging to him soothes you to sleep.
pairing: bsf!jj maybank x reader
content: fluff, forced proximity, pope featured, unfiltered chaos
synopsis: you and jj team up against pope for a spontaneous water balloon fight—that, he can handle. but a few quiet moments with you? that'll keep him up for days.
jj laughs, adrenaline coursing through him as the sound of frantic yelling busies the chateau—specifically pope's voice alongside yours—and his own.
a perfectly aimed throw of a water balloon hits pope smack-dab in the middle of his chest, and judging by the wet, heavy smack of impact, jj can tell it stung.
"jj, get back here, you shit-for-brains!"
running clumsily out of the chateau, still high on the satisfaction of his hit, jj hollers back. "i ain't lettin' you get me back, pope!"
originally, it was just an impromptu water balloon fight concocted by jj. but now? it's a full-on war. an unfair one, at that, since pope has officially claimed the garden hose as his weapon of choice.
the water sprays mercilessly, soaking you and jj to the bone.
"holy shit, pope!" you shout, back turned to the onslaught of water. "that's gotta be cheating!"
pope instantly retorts in a similar volume. "there's no cheating when it comes to self defense!"
before jj can throw in his two cents of a witty comeback, he feels your fingers lock around his wrist. his brain malfunctions for a moment, needing a second to process why your touch felt this warm.
eh, probably because he was drenched in cold water.
the tugging on his wrist quickly brings him back into the chaos as you lead him to the dock and onto the hms pogue through a fit of laughter.
deeming it safe to relax now that you were both out of reach from the hose, jj slips out of your grip and pulls you in for a soggy hug.
"fuck, that was insane." he laughs breathlessly, arms wrapped around you tight. the touching isn't necessary. he knows that. but in what world would that stop him?—especially when it comes to you?
your warm breath against his chest as you laugh makes his arms tense. "dude, that was perfect." you pull yourself away from him, just enough to make eye contact. "j, you're a fuckin' genius."
a smug grin pulls at his lips. "ain't that right? doesn't this genius deserve a little prize?" staring at you expectantly, jj's smirk widens.
"hmm, let me think about it."
you pause, putting on a show of serious consideration. jj knows it's absolute bullshit."
"nope!" you give him a cocky smirk and slip out of his arms.
he rolls his eyes as you turn your back to him to wring water out of your shirt. "reaaally? are you sure? like, so damn sure? cos i'm pretty sure i do." you look over your shoulder and glare at him.
throwing his arms up in surrender, jj concedes. "but you know best! so, i won't complain. at all. nada. not complainin'. not thinkin' about it."
jj leans over, resting his chin boyishly on your shoulder.
"but like, are you super sure?"
you swat him away. he quickly steps backwards. "okay, okay!" jj huffs. though, he doesn't mind. because in three seconds, you'll fold.
3, 2…
"alright. what d'ya want?" you turn to face him with half-dried hair. jj took most of the hits for you during the civil war with pope, and he fully intends to use that as leverage.
he looks away, putting on a grand display of thoughtfulness—purposefully mocking your theatrics from earlier. "well, my face really hurts from when pope slapped me with that water balloon earlier." jj bats his lashes.
your eyes roll, but you're approaching him. like, super close. you're getting really close—close enough to make his brain short-circuit.
"oh." jj's breath hitches, his jaw dropping slack in surprise.
before he can even process the moment, you make your move.
"you little shit!" he shouts, suddenly chasing after you as you flee from the boat and scurry back to the chateau.
"pope, i'm switching sides! jj's gonna fuckin' kill me!" you yell, grabbing pope and using him as a human shield. pope tries to wrench himself free, but your grip is tight on his shirt.
"what the fuck!? i just dried off, man!" pope whines, but he readies the hose regardless.
on your head rests jj's red cap, fitting so snug it looks like it never belonged to him in the first place. it makes his heart skip a little—which is exactly why he's going to get you back for it.
jj bends down to grab a water balloon from the bucket. "pope, you're on the wrong side of this. think about it, man. would i really do this for no reason?"
pope blinks. "yes. yes you would."
"then that settles it!" you chime in. "pope, attack!"
the hose screeches as the water turns on, chaos commencing. you scream, pope lets out some…weird war cry, and jj launches his balloon right into the fray.
-
after maybe an hour of 'running around like fools,' as pope puts it right before he has to go home, jj crashes onto the couch. the old, weathered beach towel draped over his shoulders does near nothing to stop the water from rolling off of him and soaking into the cushions.
you plop down next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. neither of you say anything for a long moment, the humid ambience of summer settling around you.
until jj breaks the silence, of course.
"it looks good on you."
in the corner of his vision, he notices your eyes shifting to glance at him. taking it as a silent cue to clarify, jj follows up, although with far less confidence than he had out on the dock.
"the hat," he mumbles, gesturing vaguely to his red cap still resting on your head. "it looks good on you."
the only response he gets from you is your fingers sliding between his.
rides on his bike, getting ready together, excessive physical touch, hours on the beach, sunrises, sneaking out together, constant trouble, how close is too close? the radio
bsf!JJ who always finds excuses to hold your hand. constantly creating useless reasons like 'don't want you gettin' lost,' or 'jus' so you wont run away when i'm not lookin',' etc.
bsf!JJ who hogs all of the blankets during movie night. he says it's 'because he's cold,' but he's the one who chose not to wear a shirt.
bsf!JJ who climbs through your window at night (god knows how) because he 'thought you might be lonely,' but eventually fesses up that he was lonely.
bsf!JJ who leaves his clothes at your place—says its 'convenient'. you've accumulated a pile of his shirts and hoodies on your dresser. he likes to see you wear them.
bsf!JJ who writes messages for you in the sand when you go to the beach, making sure they wash away before you have the chance to read them. he likes the risk—the chance that you might see them before they fade.
bsf!JJ who stays outside your house for fuck knows how long leaning on his dirt bike, waiting for you to wake up so he can give you a ride to school.
MASTERLIST.
01) it's a wash - the runarounds
02) the great escape - boys like girls
03) for me this is heaven - jimmy eat world
coming soon:
say hello 2 heaven - temple of the dog
memory - sugarcult
ocean avenue - yellowcard
love songs - ax and the hatchetmen
riled up - jack murnin & more...
pairing: peter parker x reader
content: peter's pov, sort of bnd peter parker, no spoilers js post memory-wipe, unlabeled relationship, angst?? i guess? i don't know...
synopsis: peter parker debates calling you, but the universe decides for him.
only 300ish words! the weakest attempt at angst ever. spitting this out while i write part two to this little shit...
spider-man, new york's hero. spider-man, who's quick on his feet and can face any situation head-on.
but peter parker?
he could hardly manage a simple phone call.
-
the red fabric of peter's suit hovers over the glowing screen, his thumb hesitant to press the dial button. his mask was pulled off, resting in his lap, letting the crisp night air hit his face and rustle his hair. all he had to do was tap it and say 'hey, this is peter.' it was painfully simple. it was just that—for some reason—he feels as if calling you would start something he isn't capable of handling.
with no regard to peter's internal dilemma, a bird flies by his head, startling him out of his daze. his phone slips from his grip, heading straight down to the streets of queens.
did spider-man seriously just drop his phone? how tired was he? shaking off the shock, he snaps his wrist forward. a strand of webbing shoots downward, snagging the glass screen just in time. he yanks it back up into his palm, but as he caught it, his eyes widen.
it was ringing.
had he called you? surely he hadn't pressed the button before dropping it. or was it the impact of his web? no, that'd be ridiculous.
before he has the chance to weigh the pros and cons of hanging up, your voice rings through the speakers.
"hello?"
he takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his messy, wind-blown hair. a sort of 'you can do this!' coping mechanism. "uh, hey! this is purtur. i mean, peter. this is peter. …parker."
your amused laugh echoes through the phone. peter winces, his cheeks and ears instantly flushing a warm, vivid pink in the open air.
"sorry, i think you have the wrong number."
the call ends.
any warmth peter was feeling quickly withered away, the crisp new york air feeling harsher than ever.
what was he expecting? you didn't know him—you didn't know peter parker.
pairing: peter parker x fem!reader
content: fluff, forced proximity, mr. cobbwell featured, peter geeks out a little (i had to watch a yt video for this bs), peter's pov, spiderman is mentioned and peter fumbles miserably, if i had to pick id probably say this takes place during hoco
synopsis: mr. cobbwell assigns a project to the class, and due to the lack of a deskmate, peter assumes he's working hans solo. spoiler alert: he isn't.
first time writing for peter so this ends on a 'tbc'-esque note. might make a part two if its requested, but otherwise, i have other peter fics i want to work on...
the bell rings, and the sound of overlapping conversation simmers down. textbooks open, a few people are still whispering to each other, but the loud boom of mr. cobbwell's voice pierces clearly through the noise.
"till the end of the week, you'll be working on a project about biological locomotion. basically, taking the mechanics of how animals move in nature and applying it to modern engineering."
a few groans are heard throughout the classroom.
"i know you may be thinking, 'you've guac to be kidding me,' but don't fret, you'll be working in pairs with your desk mate."
peter looks to his right, the seat left unoccupied. he didn't mind working on the project alone, but he was a bit worried mr. cobbwell might try and weasel him in to someone else's group. he didn't want to be stuck at a cramped desk trying to fit three people.
but before he could strategize a proper negotiation on why he should and can work alone, the classroom door swings open.
"hey, mr. cobbwell." you smile, waving your hand as you catch your breath.
mr. cobbwell blinks, his once travelling marker now hovering over the whiteboard. "you're late." he frowns, giving you a dry, unimpressed look.
"i know, i know. but let it slide this time, yea?"
an expression that can only be described as pure guilt mixed with a hopeful grin was etched onto your face, clearly cranking up the charm in an attempt save you from a trip to the office.
with a roll of his eyes, mr. cobbwell points at the seat next to peter and resumes the lesson.
peter watches as you approach the desk with leisure, and you catch his gaze. he smiles, feeling extremely awkward.
but rather than ridiculing him, you smile back.
you take the seat next to him and drop your bag on the floor. the thudding sound earns you a few glances, and peter was no exception. your bag was slouched on the floor, zipper slightly ajar for what he assumed was easy access. there was something that stood out to him on the d-ring of your backpack's strap—a small lego spider-man keychain. it looked well loved—a little worse for wear.
"i heard a bit of what he was saying from the hallway, so i'm assuming you're my project partner?" peter looks away from your bag and meets your gaze, realizing you're speaking to him.
"oh—yeah. i'm peter—peter parker."
"nice to meet ya, parker." you smile, introducing yourself right after.
-
you're fiddling with your pencil, letting the lead hover over an empty page in your notebook. peter's drafting ideas for the project in his, seemingly settled on a spider as the subject.
"so," peter trails off quietly, letting the syllable hang between you as he searches for what to say next.
"so?" you retort.
he blinks.
"so, uh, for the project…"
although the movement was subtle, peter notices you looking at his notebook a split second before you meet his eyes and speak.
"if you don't mind, i was thinking we could make it about spiders."
his eyes light up. "i mean, i was thinking that too. i already started writing some ideas about how they use hydraulic pressure to scale walls. since, you know, their whole mobility relies on the fluid force in the cephalothorax, we could focus on how their setae—the leg hairs—react with their gripping claws."
that came out faster than he'd intended.
before peter can ramble out some 'sorry for being a massive geek' speech, your thoughtful expression snaps him out of it. he could see the gears turning in your head—you were seriously considering what he said. having your full, undivided attention like that made him instantly self-conscious. he wasn't blushing, was he?
"yeah, i think that'd be cool. since you seem to have that all figured out, you can compile the information and i'll organize it and make it work for a powerpoint. you can cover the nerd shit, and i'll make it palatable."
if he was blushing, you didn't say anything about it.
peter nods, "that would—that would be great. ...thanks."
-
class moves on, and mr. cobbwell reviews last week's unit while some students work on their projects and others take notes. peter, though, hasn't been able to process a single word. it was as if it were taunting him, saying 'peter, look at me!' 'peter, talk about me!' 'peter, everyone knows you're spider-man!'
lightly slapping his own cheek, he tries to snap himself out of the spiral. the sudden movement, unsurprisingly, catches your attention, and a look of genuine concern crosses your face as you turn to look at him. instantly freezing, peter offers you a tight, sheepish grin to show he's fine, his shoulders tensing as he tries to nonverbally apologize for being weird.
in an effort to brush over the fact you just caught him having an internal argument with himself, peter clears his throat and blurts out the first thing that comes to his head.
"so, um, spider-man's cool. saw your keychain."
your eyebrows press together in a silent, playful judge of his terrible distraction tactic. an unbidden heat crept up his neck.
"yea. he's doing his best out there. it's pretty badass."
peter breathlessly laughs, "no, for sure. i mean, everyone's counting on him. kind of."
"kind of?" you press.
"well, i mean, it's not like he's on iron man's level or anything."
there's a thoughtful pause that leaves peter worrying he's said something wrong.
but as if intending to ease his worries, you reply:
"iron man is really cool, but i just—i think there's a different appeal to spider-man, y'know? the avengers might be doing all of this crazy shit, but spider-man started here in queens, returning stolen bikes. it's just…really cool. makes him feel like more of an actual person. like, he's just a dude in a suit. there's this sorta human appeal to him, like, rather than being some super impressive idol, he's just a super impressive guy."
did he accidentally just goad you into rabbling on about how great spider-man is? how great he is? his ears were surely bright red by now.
peter stutters, stumbling to find the right words. "i really appreciate—i mean, i'm sure spider-man would love to hear that."
"yeah, he probably would." you smirk, "but you're pretty impressive too, parker. your notes are mental."
instinctively, he shuts his notebook. how much had you seen? he was confident that at some point, he'd been mindlessly scribbling new compound ideas for web fluid. choking down the thought, peter fumbles an attempt at a response.
"me too," he mumbles. not just spiderman, but peter parker. no—forget that, did he just say 'me too'? way to go, parker.
in an attempt to smooth out whatever narcissistic implication that'd made, peter continues a little clearer, his voice an octave higher than normal. "i mean, thanks—that's really nice of you—to say. …about the notes."
-
the rest of the period flew by in a blur of shared notebooks and messy scribbles passed back and forth until the bell finally rang. peter scrambles to stuff his belongings in his bag, pocketing his phone and slipping on his backpack.
he feels a tap on his shoulder.
"hey, parker."
freezing mid-movement, he spins around to face you with a wide, attentive blink. "oh, that's me. right. what's up?"
"um, here's my number."
a bit sheepishly, you press a small scrap of lined paper into his hand, your ten-digit number written clearly across the center. "for the project," you quickly add.
his face may as well explode with how red he's turned. "right, totally. thank you so much. means a lot—i mean, it's not a big deal. just uh, thanks for remembering. i'd totally forgotten."
peter couldn't be any more flustered than this. though it surely didn't help when you laughed like that.
you cleared your throat, struggling to keep yourself from giggling again. "right, i get it. text me when you get home."
"for the project," he attempts to clarify, his voice cracking slightly.
instead of answering, you just let out one last quiet laugh, throwing a playful wave over your shoulder as you slipped out the door.
-
dismissal having arrived, peter rummages through his locker in search of a textbook. though when done with his thorough search, he deems it missing.
"PETER!"
the frantic squeak of sneakers hitting the floor approaches faster and faster. peter turns, blinking as his best friend comes to a crashing, full stop right next to his locker door. ned hunches over, resting his hands on his knees as he wheezes.
"oh, ned. what's up?" peter asks, his brows furrowing with concern. "did you run here straight from class?"
"i came… as fast as i could," ned pants, letting out a rough cough. he had clearly outdone himself. "and this is super important! you—you totally got that girl's number, didn't you?"
"i mean, yeah," peter mumbles, his cheeks instantly warming up. "but it was just for the project in mr. cobbwell's class."
"hah! just for the project? dude, she was totally feeling you. did you see how she was laughing? it was totally an i'm-in-love-with-you-peter-parker laugh!"
peter let out a shy, breathy chuckle, his hand instinctively reaching for back of his neck. "we just met, ned. i don't think it's even possible for her to be in love with me."
"sure, maybe not right now," ned conceded, finally straightening up and crossing his arms. "but it could totally happen. my ned-sense is telling me she's feeling you, dude!"
peter stares at him. "…that isn't a thing."
"what? you can have a spidey-sense, but i can't have a ned-sense? that's messed up, dude. real messed up." ned huffs, a look of theatrical bafflement casting his face.
an amused grin breaks across peter's face as he gives ned a playful shove to the shoulder. "no, you can't." the door of his locker shuts with a click as peter adjusts the strap of his backpack—swinging it securely over his shoulder. "but, uh, ned, i've gotta head home to help aunt may. so, let's talk about this later, yeah?"
"you're totally dodging," ned rolls his eyes, clearly amused with peter's embarrassment. "i'll let it slide this time. just don't forget to text her!"
dismissively, peter waves off ned and swiftly navigates his typical 'escape route' till he's out of the school.
regardless of whatever interest he might have in you, his responsibilities as spider-man were all-consuming.
pairing: geeked bsf!jj maybank x fem!reader.
contains: mutual pining, fluff, implied smoking, couch cuddling, fem!reader but fem pronouns are only referenced one time ("girl")
synopsis: when the rest of the pogues ditch a high jj at the chateau, you're left to deal with his clingy, lazy chaos. or, "you're the only girl that's taken care of me like this before."
first time writing j so this is significantly shorter than i hoped it coulda been. this serves as a bit of a character study so i can grind out more fics while the new season comes out... (this concept was requested by my dear friend yohan. thank you king)
jj reclines on the porch couch at john b.'s, settling into the weathered cushioning as comfortably as possible.
no one else was around.
—other than you.
which might have been because the rest of the pogues didn't feel like babysitting him while he was baked.
-
jj taps his foot on the achy floorboards, managing a lazy rhythm. the chateau was untypically silent. you were sat next to him on the couch, sparing jj only an occasional wary glance over the top of your phone.
he wanted more of your attention, though. preferably: all of it.
he nudges your leg with his shoe. you wordlessly look at him.
jj looks at you with glossy eyes. "c'mere. miss you."
he knows that face. you're holding back a smile. you're totally glad he asked. feeling pretty damn good about himself due to the observation, jj's smile contorts into a smirk.
but you're hesitating.
"j, it's hot."
he knew that—but jj wanted you entirely on him. he wanted your warmth—even in this sweltering summer heat. though, he wasn't sure if it was warmth he wanted, or just the weight of your body against his.
"can't help it." he chuckles.
you roll your eyes and mumble a 'fine'. he holds back a laugh, knowing that behind all of that attitude, you were happy about it.
yet rather than you settling on him, you pat the space closest to you on the couch. and once the gesture registers in his head, his smile widens.
it's just—this was new, and he loved new things—especially new things involving you. without hesitation, he giddily slides closer to you, pulling himself flush against your side—his upper body now completely in your space and face buried in the crook of your neck.
he sprawls the length of his legs across the rest of the couch while his arms instinctively lock securely around your waist. in a similar motion, your arm wraps around him—effortlessly soothing him with gentle strokes through his hair.
-
every time he breathes, his chest rises and falls flat against your side. jj starts thoughtlessly tracing his finger on your shoulder. at one point, he finds himself letting out a breathless chuckle, having gotten away with drawing a dick without any comment from you.
he really meant it when he said he hadn't been spoiled like this before. it was new, and it was definitely pleasant.
jj hums absentmindedly, his breath persistently warm against your collarbone. "y'know, you're the only girl that's taken care of me like this before."
your reply is instant—it feels too quick.
"pfft, sure. i believe that."
...sarcasm. he pouts. how unfair was that? here he was trying to be sincere, and you're mocking him.
"…i mean it." jj grumbles, poking your cheek.
the words came out more naturally than he'd anticipated, and for that, he was grateful. because if he had kept it to himself, he wouldn't've been able to see the look of pure panic on your face. it felt like he'd won something he didn't know he wanted.
jj gloated in his faux victory, a smug grin tugging at his lips.
"are you blushin'?"
you avert your gaze and set your phone down. jj finds himself sliding his fingers between those of your newly freed hand. he can't bring himself to stop grinning.
you mumble. "…can't help it."
he involuntarily laughs. to jj, this might be the cutest thing in the world. he tilts his head up to press a quick kiss against your neck, which he's pretty confident is the reason your grip on his hand just tightened.
"it's cute when ya get all flustered and shit. s'like a rare treat."
"you're such a jackass."
you sound far from upset. he's pretty sure you're smiling.
"ain't that right."
he pauses.
"still, at least i'm a pretty jackass." jj laughs, squeezing your hand one last time before drifting off.
pairing: stiles stilinski x reader.
contains: stiles pov, fluff, first kiss, friends to lovers (eventually [coming soon])
synopsis: you ask stiles to leave a party with you to go to...his place? you'd been there before. this was normal. so what's up with the not-so-midlife midlife crisis?
it was nearing 10:00pm, and stiles was stuck spending his night at a party he couldn't bring himself to enjoy.
but then, you walked over, making his chest tighten as you invited yourself to stand by him against the wall—the same wall he'd planned to glue himself to for the rest of the night. alone.
well that was out of the picture now.
"the party's nice." you remark. it was such a general, unremarkable thing to say. yet for some reason, coming from you, it made his heartbeat stutter. he was such a down-bad loser.
"i think i'd rather be stuck in a well with wolves right now."
what did that even mean? why did he say that?
"wolves? that's pretty specific." you laugh.
you fucking laughed.
whenever you laughed, he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. it made him feel like his heart would jump out of his chest and leave him to die. but if it's because of you, he's sure he'll die happy.
"that wasn't even remotely funny," he huffs, clearly musing. "next time you feel like laughing, make sure it's at one of my actual jokes."
"i always laugh at your jokes, stiles."
you did. and it killed him.
"keep it that way, yeah? it's my driving source of motivation."
stiles sees you nod while you smile to yourself in the corner of his eye. and then, you lean forward, turn to look at him, and open your mouth to speak.
"can we get out of here?"
what a blessing. he didn't think you'd ask. like, actually. why were you asking? sure, he was your ride to and from—but you've been here for barely twenty minutes. the party didn't suck that bad. it was one of lydia's, after all.
still, almost instinctively, stiles winks, a dopey grin casting his face. "how could i say no to you?"
-
you're sat next to stiles in the passengers seat of his jeep, parked outside lydia's house. how did this happen? stiles had somehow managed to completely forget the last ten minutes. he remembered that they were great, some of the most fantastic ten minutes of his life, but he couldn't remember. it's like his brain had blue-screened on him. completely crashed.
"…are you going to drive?"
stiles snaps out of his daze.
he clears his throat. "right, totally. where are we headed?"
"is it cool if we head to your place?"
he swallows. you? at his house? he had to be dreaming. you guys hung at his place often, but he could never get used to it. stiles slaps himself on the cheek, completely unaware to the concern that plagues your face when he does.
"yea! totally. that's totally cool. super, super cool."
shit, did he sound overly eager? why did he say 'cool' like that? had he forgotten every other word in the english dictionary? shit. thankfully, nothing on your face gave him any sort of hint as to whether you'd gotten cringed out by him. thank goodness.
in an attempt to cover up the total embarrassment he just made of himself, stiles tries to start his car.
…seriously?
roscoe sputters and gags, the ignition stalling miserably. couldn't she run smoothly this one time?
thankfully, you don't seem bothered by it.
and after a bit of stumbling, the ignition finally catches.
stiles turns back to look at you, giving an apologetic 'sorry about that' kind of smile. you return the smile with one that says 'it's okay'.
he loved when the two of you were on the same wavelength like this. talking, but not talking. like—glancing at each other when coach said something insane, or when scott did something that would come back to bite him in the ass later.
once the car settles into a steady rhythm on the road, stiles reaches to to turn the radio on—more out of habit than anything. silence was never his friend. the second nobody was talking, his brain filled the gaps. mostly with you.
he hits the radio. all time low. of course.
his hands settle back on the wheel, the crackle of roscoe's speakers interrupting the quiet hum of the engine as he drives. he thought the music would help.
it didn't.
stiles has to force himself to not glance at you and keep his eyes on the road. you were watching the streets roll past, each streetlight catching your face before disappearing again. he wanted to know what you were thinking, why you wanted to leave the party so damn early. but the quiet between you wasn't awkward—it was comfortable.
he wasn't about to be the one to break it.
roscoe did it for him.
the jeep lurches over a pothole, sending something in the back tumbling in the wheel well with an obnoxious clunk. his lacrosse helmet, probably. or the toolbox. or one of the dozen other things he'd been meaning to clean out for the last six months.
he winces.
of course it had to happen now. that's just his luck. great. nice one, roscoe.
but you didn't say anything. concerned the disruption had knocked you out or sent you flying from your seat—because that made sense—stiles eased his foot off the gas and looked over.
it hadn't.
you were still curled into the passenger seat, cheek resting against the cool glass, completely oblivious.
…
you were asleep.
stiles finds himself driving slower, more carefully—paying way closer attention to any oncoming potholes.
the rest of the drive passed quietly, and before long, familiar streets gave way to his neighborhood. his house came into view—the porch light still on as he pulled into the driveway.
stiles parks, careful not to jostle the jeep too much. when he turns to wake you, he catches his reflection in the rearview mirror.
he's smiling.
gross.
he immediately fixes his face.
quit being weird, stiles.
because smiling at someone sleeping in your passenger seat was a totally normal thing to do and definitely not something a serial killer would do.
he reaches over, giving your shoulder a gentle shake.
"oi, wake up, dopey. we're here."
you shift as you wake, your head moving off the window and landing against him instead.
hooooooly shit. breathe, stiles. breathe.
nope. stiles held his breath, his brain short-circuiting so violently that oxygen seems like a fantasy.
"ah, thanks," you mumble.
right. words. you're using words. that means he should probably use them too. he can do that.
"yeah, for sure. you're welcome. no problem. cause, you sleeping is literally no problem. people need sleep. that's, like, a very normal human activity."
nailed it. truly groundbreaking conversation. he should win an award for it.
he closes his eyes briefly.
"i'm gonna stop talking now."
a miracle. he finally managed to shut up. except, you were still leaning against him. and now that he wasn't running his mouth off—making a fool of himself—he was painfully aware of it.
he smiles despite himself.
then immediately catches it.
"seriously?" he mutters.
he feels your head shift as you look up at him.
"you know i can hear you, right?"
stiles freezes.
"no, you can't."
"i definitely can."
"no, you can't, which is why we're going to get out of the car and act like none of that happened—because it didn't."
stiles moves with comical haste, a stark contrast to how carefully he just moved your head off of his arm. order of operations: car off, seatbelts unbuckled, doors unlocked, get out before he somehow makes this worse. it's simple; easy; manageable.
except his hands are moving too quickly, and now he's fumbling with the keys like he's never operated a car before in his life.
he manages, though.
stiles closes his door and walks around the front of the car. once he arrives at your door, he opens it—offering you a hand. not because he's trying to be smooth. not because he's attempting some sort of weird knight-in-shining-armor thing. you're tired—roscoe is obnoxiously high off the ground. it makes sense. this isn't a declaration of undying love.
before he could continue to explain to himself why this was very logical and very normal, you take his hand, still half-asleep. he's caught off guard. not because your hand is still in his—and even though you're on the ground you still haven't let go—but because you didn't hesitate.
the two of you walk hand-in-hand up the driveway to the porch. but as stiles finally convinces himself he's in the clear, he gets a glimpse of your expression.
tired. amused.
he was doomed. so, so freaking doomed.
you're at the front door, and stiles is fumbling with the keys. miserably. why couldn't he get this right?
he knows.
he just doesn't want to admit it.
stiles' hand was still holding yours. it's not that he didn't want to let go, but, like, what if you didn't want to let go?
he hoped you didn't.
the lock clicks.
he managed to open the door. nice.
"see? normal. completely normal."
you look at him, far less sluggish than before.
"…did you just say that out loud?"
stiles freezes, barely managing an 'it wasn't me' sort of grin. "…no?"
you laugh. "alright."
he quickly tears his gaze from you, focusing on getting inside like it's his life's mission. your hands naturally separate as you enter his house—stiles finds himself missing the contact.
…that's normal.
the door closes with a gentle thump. the lock clicks.
his dad is sat on the couch watching law and order. he gives you and stiles a nod that is meant to imply some sort of 'welcome home, don't cause any trouble.' message.
"thanks, sheriff." you nod, smiling.
"yeah, thanks, dad." stiles mimics.
the older man's attention returns to the television. looks like they found some guy's fingerprints. stiles didn't care, you were leading the way to his room like you owned the place.
it's not like he was staring because he was overjoyed or anything. he was just observing. there was a difference. he was an extremely observant person. especially when it came to you. it was practically a skill.
…that's weird.
okay,
he was just…observing the fact that you knew where everything was. that you weren't shy to sit on his bed or look at the stuff on his walls and desk. it was objectively nice. not nice in a "my heart is becoming a medical concern" way. just nice in a normal, human, non-embarrassing, non-insane way.
you interrupt his train of thought. thankfully.
"you cleaned up. it's looking less grim in here—even with the amalgamation on your wall."
"i told you so."
"you were right." you hum, lowering yourself onto the edge of his bed.
-
the two of you ended up talking about this and that for an hour or so—school, lacrosse, scott, coach, whatever. the entire conversation was a blur because his stupid brain had turned on the 'i love you' alarm in his head, and it wouldn't shut up.
you were on his bed. that happened when you came over. you'd sit on his bed, against his bed, at his desk—in his room. you were in his room. that also happened whenever you came over.
so why was it making his heart do flips? was it because he could still feel the lingering touch of your fingers against his? or because the image of you leaning against him in the car was still fresh in his mind?
no, stiles. that would be weird. he clears his throat.
"why'd you want to come here anyways? you barely lasted twenty minutes at lydia's."
you give a thoughtful pause before answering.
"i'd rather be with you, i guess?"
you guess? you just threw his heart for a loop, all because you guess? that might be the worst possible answer you could've given. yet stiles was ecstatic. no, no, ecstatic would imply he wants you to be thinking of him like how he's thinking of you. but he's not thinking of you because he can't stop thinking of you, he's thinking about you because you're right in front of him. he would never think about you if you weren't around.
that would be really, really weird.
but maybe stiles was weird.
…he could debunk that later. he needed to respond, quick.
"i feel the same way."
stiles covers his mouth with the back of his hand. what was that? he sounded so…honest. genuine. earnest. how many synonyms were there for sincere? he'll have to settle for i-meant-what-i-said-but-i-never-planned-on-saying-it-out-loud-before for now.
his hand drops back down to his side. he doesn't know what to do with it. or his mouth. or his brain. think, stiles. …he couldn't think. who was he kidding? he didn't want to undermine what he said because, what if you were okay with that? the possibility was below 20% in his head, but that sliver of hope was keeping him from making a further fool of himself. please say something.
"really?" you tilt your head, peering at him. you look amused. were you making fun of him? when his hearts in knots because of you? you're a menace.
a lightbulb goes off in his head.
"i guess?"
the perfect deflection. how's a taste of your own medicine, huh?
you laugh. of course.
"well, i guess i don't mind."
smart-ass.
stiles, who originally, was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, sits down next to you. you look at him with…your eyes. that's all they were. they weren't anything special. just, normal, average eyes. totally normal. what he was feeling was normal, too. not that anyone asked.
"you guess." he reiterates.
you nod, "yup."
stiles rolls his eyes, a smile following soon after.
a comfortable silence takes over, the muffled sound of law and order from downstairs filling the space. stiles looks at the wall. he didn't want to see what face you were making. yet he wanted to say something, ask you some of the other 1,000 plus questions that'd been filling his head the whole night. but he couldn't. what if he blew it? what if your answer was just as ambiguous? could his heart take that? could his brain take that? what if he short circuited?
"stiles."
why did you say his name like that? you're such a dick.
"that's me." he meets your eyes again.
why'd he say that? obviously he's stiles. you're you. he's stiles. and he's an imbecile.
"it's late. and a school night."
"so…"
"give me a ride home?"
"thought you'd never ask. but, is that all i'm good for? just a ride to-and-from wherever your whims direct you?"
"yes, stiles. you're my personal chauffer. who, thankfully, happens to be my favorite person. can you imagine how annoying it would be if i didn't like the guy who drove me everywhere? my life would be miserable."
stiles, found dead in his bedroom at 12am. cause of death?
…
anyways.
"your life would be pretty miserable without me around."
you nod, getting up from his bed and walking to the doorway. he trips over his foot when he gets up. thank god he stopped himself from falling. and thank god you didn't say anything about it.
...laughing doesn't count.
the two of you make your way downstairs, exchanging stupid jokes that make you laugh that stupid laugh.
not that you were stupid. stiles was stupid. your laugh made him go stupid. not that it was your fault, though. because—
-
the drive back to your place goes similarly, banter, jokes, slug bug. you always punched him a little too hard. but he didn't mind. the bruises were a bit annoying, though.
...he really didn't mind.
roscoe settles in front of your driveway, rattling as stiles parked her.
you unbuckle your seatbelt. he looks at you. you were already looking at him. he feels like dying.
"thanks for the ride."
he scrambles to find a reply.
"no problem. not that it was a problem in the first place, obviously. since i love—like, like spending time with you. even if that means being your personal driver."
what the hell was that? you laugh anyways. like always.
"right, well, i'll see you at school?"
"…yeah." he mumbles. not because he's embarrassed. that's stupid. he wouldn't be embarrassed right now. he's been embarrassed before, and he's always been very open about it. so, he's not embarrassed.
"thanks for the ride, stiles."
he nods. you continue.
"and, thanks for ditching lydia's party for me. you've been really great tonight. you're always great. it means a lot."
stiles smiles, soaking in all of the praise. he knew his face looked smug as hell. "'course. you're super welcome."
you opened the car door, and when stiles had assumed you were going to get out, you hesitated. because you were looking at him. why were you looking at him? just go home already. the car door is already open, do you need him to walk you to the front door? …he wouldn't mind.
nope.
you kissed him on the cheek.
what the hell?
stiles couldn't see your expression. you turned away and closed the car door behind you like you were running from a crime scene. what? there's no way you just pulled a hit-and-run. he fumbles with his seatbelt. it had never been this difficult to get off before. and the door—why wont the door open?
click.
the door opens, and stiles trips on his way out. other than the small scrape on the side of his left hand, and his left cheekbone, and probably his knee too—he'd check when he got home—stiles manages to save himself. pretty gracefully.
not gracefuly at all. that really, really, hurt.
still. he wasn't letting you dine and dash. not when you just sent his heart for a home run. he wasn't letting you get to home plate.
why was he making baseball analogies? did he get a concussion?
luckily, you had handled that for him. you hadn't gone inside yet. nice.
"stiles," you can hardly manage to speak through your laughter. "are you…okay? pfft."
he manages to get up, back hunched over with his hands on his knees. he looks up at you.
you. you were a jerk. a stupid, stupid jerk. you always tease him, laugh at his jokes, act sincere at the perfect moment, care about him just enough to where it gives him the wrong idea. and then you ki—did that? this must be karma. if past lives were a thing, he must have hated puppies or something in his.
"you…"
he catches his breath.
and while you're anticipating an answer, stiles stands up tall and closes the gap between the two of you. up so close to you, it felt like the world froze. and as much as he wanted to savor the moment, he couldn't.
he kisses you.
…
or at least, he tries to. your noses bump. stiles looks the most embarrassed anyone has ever looked in the history of ever-ness. but you laugh. and it wasn't a 'that was funny' sort of laugh. what was that?
but before he can articulate some sort of bogus excuse, you say something. something that makes his heart cease all function. his brain, too.
"stiles. can i kiss you?"
he swallows.
reply, stiles. reply. answer. say something. yes. of course. i'd love that.
"yeeuhhp. please. please, please do. that would be great."
what the fuck?
you stifle a laugh. he can tell. because that was really, very stupid. who says 'yup' like that? was that even english? but on top of that, you sighed. were you just as nervous as he was? he hoped so. but he also didn't. being as nervous as he was can be a very difficult predicament.
forget all of that. you kissed him. again.
it's like all of the worlds greatest riddles were solved just then. he knew what to do with his hands—they were cupping your face. was he sweating? hopefully not. and his lips—they felt impossibly soft against yours. the contact was sending sparks through his body. he prayed it wasn't obvious how clueless he was. were the words 'i have no idea what i'm doing' in big red bold text on his forehead giving it away?
but, like, the effect you had on him had tormented him for so long. so now that the two of you were actually kissing, and it wasn't just some weird daydream of his, how was he supposed to handle this?
he could feel himself smiling. you could probably feel it to. you mouth was on his after all. wow, stiles. that's a real delicate way to explain it.
your lips linger on his before you pull away with what felt like a quiet resistance. he hopes it was. stiles wanted more. like, a lot-a lot more. what if you never kissed him again? what if this was his last chance?
"stiles, i like you." your voice was quieter than usual. your breath was ever-so-slightly uneven. and your—
just stop, stiles. just stop. say the right thing, stiles. say the thing, stiles.
synopsis: you patch up stiles and a genuine compliment leads into some BS-induced kissing. as frustrating as his sarcasm can be, you liked it.
first time writing stiles EVER. hopefully i didn't mischaracterize him too severely. requests are open & im dying for them so please leave some!
stiles stilinski. mischief incarnate. sarcasm god.
stiles stilinski, bitching and moaning over a gash on his chest while he's sitting next to you on the edge of your bed.
his shirt was pulled up over his chest, his teeth holding it in place. which unintentionally served as a sort of gag for his incessant whining.
washing the cut with water? "fuck."
pressing a cloth on it? "shit!"
dabbing on antibiotic cream? "could you do this a little more painfully?"
ass-wipe.
you push the fabric of his shirt back into his mouth. "let me concentrate!"
he complies, but not without rolling his eyes.
after some trial and error, the wound was relatively patched up. albeit your craftsmanship left a lot to be desired, it got the job done. ms. mccall could fix it for him later.
stiles pulls his shirt back down.
"how'd you even get that stubborn thing? are you rolling around with bears?" you probe—this wasn't the first time stiles had climbed in through your window with an injury from an unknown source.
"yea. i kicked its ass though. y'know—left hook, right hook, uppercut."
"can't forget my finishing move either." he grins.
you roll your eyes, indulging regardless. "and that is..?"
"an exquisite drop-kick."
dork of the year.
"well, if your drop-kick is so exquisite, how'd you end up so battered?"
stiles could only make up so many excuses. he knew that, and he knew it well. but telling you about all of the freaky stuff going on in beacon hills? no way. he couldn't.
"i let him get a few punches in so his ego wouldn't be too bruised."
"are we still talking about the bear?" you tilt your head.
he pauses.
"yea."
there were so many opportunities, so many chances to come clean. he wanted to trust you. no—he knew he could trust you. but he couldn't allow himself. not with the life-threatening baggage that came attached to that truth.
"you're lucky you're cute when you're making excuses."
he blinks. cute? he was cute? to you? are you flirting with him? don't ask, stiles, don't ask…
"hold on. was that flirting? 'cause, hypothetically, if it was, i'd need like, thirty seconds to catch up."
fuck.
stiles knew he was blushing, he knew he was running his mouth too much, he knew, okay? so why was it that the hope you'd meant it genuinely—romantically—overpowering any embarrassment he felt?
he felt like an idiot.
before he could lose himself in his inner monologue fueled by unbridled anxiety, you spoke.
"…would it be okay if it was?"
he swallows.
"i mean… sure. most people can't help themselves when it comes to the stiles stilinski. gigolo, womanizer, you know…" he smirks, speaking with a sense of self deprecation only stiles stilinski could manage in a moment like this.
fuck.
he didn't mean any of that. he hoped you knew. knew that it would mean the world to him if your words came from a place of sincerity. from the heart.
"dickhead." you huff, rolling your eyes. when stiles was around, that was commonplace.
he cringes internally. seriously, why did he say that? why had he spoken at all? was he that desperate?
…crap.
"if it weren't for how red your ears are right now, i would've taken you seriously."
he blinks. his ears? red? his body had betrayed him—but stiles wasn't annoyed. he was…relieved? was that it? it was hard for him to describe the feeling without bruising his pride along the way.
but yes, he was relieved. relieved that he had a chance to redeem himself, to communicate clearly.
"i don't know what you're talking about."
fuck!
"suuure."
you ass. you were teasing him. stiles was wracking his brain over how to get his feelings across to you and you were…mocking him.
before stiles could retort, you spoke up.
"you're pretty terrible at playing it cool. i mean, gigolo? really?"
he opened his mouth with what was probably another deflection prepared, then stopped. not this time.
"…i know."
it was so uncharacteristically honest that you laughed.
"you've got no idea what to do, don't you."
that wasn't a question.
he avoids your gaze. "absolutely none."
his smile was small now—nervous, instead of cocky.
but by the time stiles managed to look back at you, your hands had traveled to his shoulders.
he was in trouble.
all he could do was look at you. life hadn't prepared him for this. he couldn't formulate any sort of reply. not even a joke. his brain had blue-screened.
but with how you were looking at him, he managed to throw one together.
"…hypothetically," he said, voice quieter now, "if i kissed you right now, would that be catastrophically lame or…?"
you rolled your eyes with a smile.
"sorry. too many words."
instead of an answer from you, the response stiles was met with was unexpected. you closed the remaining distance yourself.
a small gasp left his mouth. he was clumsy—awkward. eager. he'd forgotten to breathe through his nose.
stiles pulls away, but not without a sense of longing.
"sorry—i, i can't… breathe."
you laugh.
jerk.
"instead of rushing into it like it's your first day on earth, match my pace."
stiles nods slowly.
he leans back in, bridging the gap between your lips. this time, settling into a gentler, steadier pace. his hand was trembling as it drifted toward the back of your head, landing with hesitance so unlike him.
stiles found himself pushing back with a newfound confidence, his fingers carding through your hair as he haphazardly guided your body closer to his. it was such a relief to feel you against him, to feel you accepting him alongside all of his psuedo-crassness.
it was everything.
…
a quiet yelp escaped stiles.
…his wound had reopened.
way to go, stilinski.
stiles held his breath as you lingered close to him even after your bodies had separated. his lips were slightly swollen, pinker than usual. as pink as his ears. and his cheeks. even the back of his neck.
you can't stop the laugh that comes out as you take in his appearance.
he scoffs.
"i'm suffering over here and you're laughing? have you no humanity?"
looks like stiles was back.
"right. let's take you to an actual doctor, yeah?"
he huffs.
you stand first and help stiles onto his feet.
a thought crosses your mind.
"why didn't you go to ms. mccall instead of me?"
the expression on stiles' face could only be described as that of a criminal being caught mid-robbery.
"…wanted to see you."
it was quiet. understated. but despite the subtlety, you heard it.
it wasn't said with the intent to tease you or lighten the mood. he meant it.
pairing: kuroo x reader
content: fluff, comfort, kissing, taking care of kuro without him asking
synopsis: a rain-soaked kuroo stood outside your front door with nothing to say other than: "can I come in?"
first time writing kuroo since 2022 so ive rewritten this a bunch to minimize any ooc content.
knock.
you opened the front door of your apartment.
it was your boyfriend, kuroo.
he looked nothing like himself. his hair was wet with rain, and his clothes clung to every line of his frame.
"tetsu?" you looked up at him, searching his face.
something in kuroo's expression cracked the moment you said his name. for a moment, he didn't answer. rainwater dripped from the ends of his tousled hair onto your doorstep. his shoulders rose and fell with restraint—like he was holding himself together one careful breath at a time.
"...can i come in?"
you stepped aside without saying a word.
he smiled.
it was small. smaller than any smile you've ever seen on kuroo.
once he was fully inside, you closed the door behind him. the lock clicked. you didn't say a word—you didn't ask questions—you couldn't, because even a mere glance at him told you he wasn't ready to answer.
you eased kuroo out of his jacket, the damp cloth reluctant to leave his shoulders. the sleeves clung stubbornly to his arms before finally giving way.
he was cold, slick with water. it hurt to imagine how long he'd been standing outside before deciding to come here.
you handed him a towel. he took it with a quiet, "thanks."
for a moment, kuroo just stood. the towel rested loosely in his hands, his fingers curled around the fabric, but he made no attempt to lift it. you watched him stare at the floor like he was waiting for something—like he'd forgotten what came next.
"tetsu."
his eyes lifted.
you sighed gently.
the kind of sigh reserved only for him.
your hands reached for the towel between his fingers. it slipped from his hands easily, like he'd forgotten he was holding it at all.
you led him to the couch. kuroo sat without his usual comment, without the teasing remark that normally followed. his knees parted slightly, leaving enough space for you to stand in front of him. you wrapped the towel around his head and worked through his hair, focusing on his nape and his bangs. you worked slowly, your touch gentle and grounding. he found himself leaning into it.
now that his hair was damp, rather than soaked, you wrapped the towel around his neck and moved his fringe away from his forehead. you looked down at him. the sight of him like this felt unfamiliar. not because you didn't recognize him. because you did.
"what?"
his voice was quieter than usual.
you shook your head. "nothing."
"that's suspicious."
there it was.
not the easy grin, or the sharp remark he always had ready. just the instinct to tease you.
it was enough.
the pitter-patter of rain against your windows filled the apartment for a while. it was strange how loud rain could be when neither of you had anything to say. or maybe when neither of you wanted to.
eventually, kuroo broke the silence.
"...sorry."
you let your fingers pass through his hair.
"for?"
his eyes drifted to the rain-streaked window, to the blurry shapes of the city outside.
"i don't know."
somehow, that answer hurt more than an explanation could have. kuroo always knew what to say. there was always a response. a quip. something to lift the weight of a moment—not this time. not in this moment.
you ruffled his hair, a smile tugging at your lips. he noticed.
"that's fine."
kuroo looked at you for a moment, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and something softer before his gaze caught the floor. he couldn't find anything clever to say. there wasn't a need to.
your movement slowed, eventually coming to a stop. you started to pull away.
kuroo's hand caught your wrist. it was barely enough pressure to stop you.
you searched his face for any sort of tell of his intentions.
his expression shifted, almost embarrassed by himself.
"...don't."
your gaze softened. "don't?"
he swallowed.
"don't stop."
the words were barely audible. they were unnatural, coming from him. that made them hurt more.
he was someone who always had something to say, someone who could talk his way out of anything. someone who never hesitated to reach for someone else. yet here he was, sitting in front of you, nervous to ask for something as simple as your hands in his hair. as simple as being held—being cared for.
you turned your wrist in his grasp, letting your fingers intertwine with his.
"i won't."
something in his expression finally gave.
not completely. not all at once. but you saw it.
kuroo let go of your hand with a quiet hesitance, his fingers lingering against yours for a moment longer than necessary. your fingers moved through his hair again, slow and deliberate. an unsaid reminder that you were still there.
he wanted to memorize this. the warmth of you. the way you looked at him when he wasn't trying to be anything else. something to remind him that he didn't always have to be.
his hand found your waist before he could think about it. not to pull you closer. just to feel your warmth. just to know you were there.
when he finally looked up at you, you understood. his eyes held a kind of desperation you weren't used to seeing from him. not the kind that begged for an answer—the kind that asked you to stay.
his hand slipped from your waist.
for a second, you thought he'd had enough. that he'd transition to his usual self, say something witty.
instead, he stood.
slowly. carefully.
until he was no longer beneath you—till he could look at you without having to tilt his head back.
"tetsu?"
he didn't answer.
he simply leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours.
"i had a bad day."
the confession was so quiet you nearly missed it.
for a second, he looked like he regretted saying it. as if admitting something so small had exposed something that shouldn't be seen.
you opened your mouth to reassure him.
he kissed you before you could.
at first, it was clumsy. his lips pressed against yours with an urgency that didn't reflect the careful way he'd been holding himself together all night. it was too eager. too desperate. like he was waiting for the moment you'd finally give in.
not to the kiss.
to him.
your reciprocation. your acceptance.
and you gave that to him.
you parted your lips and let him lead.
kuroo exhaled.
it was the kind of breath someone took when they finally stopped bracing for impact.
the reassurance was near overwhelming.
you were here. you wanted him here—it was okay for him to be here.
relief washed over him when you leaned closer. when your breathing grew uneven between kisses, when you didn't pull away.
within the brief spaces where his lips left yours, you found yourself starving for air. it was like you'd forgotten how to breathe. and somehow, that only fueled the ache in his chest.
when you pulled away for air, a quiet whine left kuroo. his hands stayed on you even as you created distance between your faces. they held on with a sense of fragility that felt unfamiliar coming from him.
he wouldn't let go. he hadn't had enough.
"please." he muttered, the syllable spoken so weakly it felt as if it'd been ripped from his throat. "more."
you turned your face away in an attempt to hide the effect he'd had on you. the embarrassment. the way your heart had stumbled at hearing him ask.
but kuroo wouldn't let you hide.
his fingers shifted against your waist, sliding to the small of your back as he guided you closer.
"look at me."
your knees grew weak.
the request was so undemanding, so upfront. there was no teasing lilt or smug grin. just tetsu, waiting nervously for your reaction.
so, you looked at him.
and that too, was enough.
the tension he'd been carrying in his shoulders eased almost immediately—as if he'd been waiting for permission to stop holding himself together.
it wasn't kuroo diving in to kiss you this time.
it was the two of you meeting in the middle.
he could feel the smile that tugged at your lips in response to his gasps between kisses and the needy noises he made when your mouths met. somehow, that was more embarrassing than the desperation itself.
eventually, the affection slowed. neither of you moved.
kuroo stayed close, forehead resting against yours with his arms wrapped around you. like he was afraid that creating too much distance would bring back the rain over his head.
but eventually, he let out a small laugh. not the kind he used to distract you.
just a laugh.
he'd spent the entire day trying to keep everything together, yet falling apart in front of you had been what he needed.
kuroo closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself savor it.
letting himself be cared for.
when he finally pulled away, his eyes met yours. his grin returned, faint but familiar.
"you look awfully pleased with yourself."
"i'm not."
"you are."
"...maybe i am."
a shade of pink crept up his ears as his smile softened. he looked away, unable to hold your gaze for too long.
