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trvelyans-archive · 4 years

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for @goblin-deity, pollux and ortega being cute via text because writing fics that include text conversation is my fave thing ever <3 i hope you enjoy this lovely owen !!!

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It’s rainy season in Los Diablos, and today is no exception. Occasionally a gust of wind sends the tools on your shelves rattling, and though the sound of you working on your armor drowns out the worst of the noise, it’s hard to ignore the constant flickering of the albeit dim overhead lights and the creaking of your base around you, threatening to collapse underneath the pressure of the wind and rain at any second.

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead, and examine your handiwork. It’s been a learning experience to figure out how to repair your own armor – there’s a million different components to consider – but you’re definitely starting to get a better hang of it, and it looks almost just as good as it would if Mortum had done it. You lean down to pick up your wrench again when you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket and you stick a hand inside to fish it out. Of course it’s Ortega, and of course he sent you five messages in a row without realizing how irritating that is. You frown and stand up, opening your phone as you pad towards your workbench, hoisting yourself on top of it as you read.

Ortega: Hey, Pollux, what are you doing tonight?

Lux?

If you’re alive, blink twice.

Sorry, that was supposed to be a joke but you probably won’t find it funny.

Anyway, text me when you get these. I’m trying to be rational but I’m also 50% convinced your lying in a ditch somewhere so… yeah. Give me a call, will you?

You bite your lip, quickly typing out a response you hope will annoy him and hitting send.

You: *you’re

You’re about to put your phone down and get back to work when Ortega replies.

Ortega: Hey :)

You: You’re just going to ignore me correcting your spelling like that?

Ortega: I don’t really care. How are you? Are you okay?

Before you can reply, another couple messages come in. You roll your eyes as you read them, biting back the smile spreading across your face.

Ortega: Love you.

Hope you’ve been doing well.

You: You’re turning into such a romantic.

Ortega from eight years ago wouldn’t believe this with his own eyes.

Ortega: He was a self-absorbed jackass.

You: You’re saying that like you aren’t still a self-absorbed jackass.

Ortega: I like to think I’m less of both, but fair enough, I guess. How are you, really?

You: Busy.

Ortega: Mmmm. I love it when you talk dirty.

You: I’m going to throw my phone into the ocean.

Ortega: No, I was just kidding!

You: What if I did it anyway?

Ortega: :(

You laugh, running a hand through your hair and pulling it out of its ponytail as you tap out another response.

You: I won’t for now. Did you have a reason for annoying me today or were you just bored?

Ortega: Are you ever going to stop being so caustic?

You: Ooo, fancy word. Did you have to look up synonyms for ‘asshole’ to find it, or…

Ortega: That’s not what I meant, and that’s also not what I thought it meant. My aunt said it to my mom a couple weeks ago and I’ve been trying to work it into conversation.

You: You’re hopeless.

Ortega: Hopelessly in love with you, maybe.

Groaning, you consider smashing your phone with a hammer, or perhaps dousing it in acid, but instead decide to give in and play whatever game he’s secretly challenging you to. You’ll get the best of him. You always do.

Most of the time, anyway.

Besides, if you don’t have a phone to text him with, he’ll probably end up tracking you down and kidnap you to his apartment to play board games and eat cheese bread and watch movies. At least talking on the phone staves off his undying desire for quality time a little.

Not that you’re entirely opposed to it, but… you have better things you could be doing. Like right now, for instance. Your villain armor is hanging open in your workshop, begging you to crawl inside and fine-tune the HUD, and instead you’re wiping your fingers on a dirty rag so you don’t get oil on your phone screen when you message Ortega back.

You: Shut up.

Or I’ll throw my phone out.

Ortega: You keep saying that, and yet here you are, still texting me…

You: Do you want me to do it, then?

Ortega: No, of course not.

Sometimes it feels like we talk in circles. We had this conversation already. Let’s move on to another one! :)

What are you doing tonight?

You: Being busy.

Ortega: Creative excuse, I like it.

Seriously, though. You have any plans?

You: Depends who’s asking.

Ortega: ???

You: I know it’s you texting me, idiot. It’s just a thing that people say.

Ortega: Oh, I thought…

Sorry. Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Are you going to answer my question?

You: I’m doing nothing tonight.

Ortega: Do you mean actually nothing or nothing you’re going to tell me about?

You: Neither. Both. Get to the point.

Ortega: You should come over.

You keep telling me you’re busy lately, and I get that – well, I don’t, not really, but I pretend to so I don’t piss you off – but I miss you.

I’ll pay for the cab.

You: Have you looked outside, Ortega?

Ortega: I have a change of clothes here at my house with your name on it.

You: I bet you bought the wrong size.

Ortega: I didn’t.

I asked Argent what size she thought you were and got it. They’re PJs, and they’re comfy, I promise. I’m pretty sure they’re silk, but don’t quote me on that.

They have little lightning bolts on them.

I thought you’d look cute wearing them.

;)

You: Don’t tell me you got me fluffy socks too…

Ortega: I was tempted, but you’d probably end up tripping on them.

You: Asshole.

Ortega: I just mean because your feet are so small!

You: Still, asshole.

Ortega: Come on, Pollux. I bet hanging out at my place would be better than doing nothing wherever you are…

(Where are you???)

You: Did you get yourself a pair of matching PJs?

You wait for half a minute before Ortega starts typing again. It’s a picture this time, though, not a text, and even though it’s about as blurry as a picture could be, you can faintly make out the tight lightning-bolt printed shirt he’s wrangled over his shoulders.

What an idiot. What a dork. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst open in your chest and you clear your throat to compose yourself even though he isn’t even around to notice.

Asshole.

You: You just put mine on, didn’t you?

Ortega: Maybe. I’ll wear the top, you wear the bottoms. Sound like a plan?

You: You’re not going to convince me that easy.

Ortega: Okay, fine. You wear the top, I’ll wear the bottoms. Or I’ll wear none. Or we can both wear none. Is that better?

You: Go to Hoots or something if you’re this horny.

Ortega: Jeez, way to just come out and say it like that!

You: You’re not denying it.

Ortega: I didn’t care to. That’s not why I texted you, though.

That’s just an added bonus.

You: There was a perfect opportunity for a joke in there.

Ortega: I know, and I almost said it, but I thought maybe you’d kill me through the screen.

You: I’m tempted anyway, so that couldn’t have made it much worse.

Ortega: Is there anything I can say to convince you to come over?

You lean back against the wall and tap your tongue against the roof of your mouth, thinking it over. You’ve done a lot of work today, all things considered, and you could use a break.

You: I don’t know. What do you think?

Ortega: Maybe I could send you a picture?

You let out a huff of breath and squirm slightly where you sit, flattening your hand against your thigh as you consider your reply.

You: Don’t tell me you’re just going to find a picture on the internet and send it to me…

Ortega: I’m perfectly proud of what I’m packing, thank you very much.

Besides, you’d know if it wasn’t mine. Don’t think I forgot the good look you took at it last time you saw it…

;)

You: Those are some big words, Ricardo…

Ortega: I can let you in on a couple other big things.

You: Ugh. Smug asshole.

You grit your teeth.

Imagine if Tia Elena heard you talking like this.

Ortega: Please don’t bring up Mama when I’m trying to sext you.

You: I thought you were trying to get me to come over.

Ortega: I was, but I didn’t think you were going to change your mind.

Are you?

You: Maybe if you convince me.

Ortega: Do you want my face in the picture?

You let out a laugh and hop down from the workbench, carefully tip-toeing around the scattered tools on the ground as you head for the rickety couch in the corner of the room with your eyes trained on your phone.

You: Like you could bend like that, old man.

Ortega: I could for you.

You: I don’t want your broken back or your hospital bills on my conscience. You gonna send the picture or not?

Ortega: Mmm. Impatient, are we?

You: If you’re not going to send it I can just get back to work…

Ortega: No, no, I’ll send it, hang on.

You wait impatiently with his chat screen open as you settle in on the couch, ignoring the temptation to start rubbing your thighs together. You’re not pathetic enough to start getting yourself off before Ortega even sends a picture, and you’re not even sure if it’s going to be good enough to get you horny, too, so you don’t want to warm yourself up for nothing.

It’s weird how normal it’s become to have this sort of relationship with Ortega. When you were Sidestep, you dreamt about it too much and too strongly to be anything but embarrassed by it, and now that it’s real you can barely believe it sometimes. Sure, things have changed – you’ve changed, too, more than anything – but you can’t deny that it makes you feel a little bit like your younger self. What you could’ve been, maybe.

What you can’t be anymore. But you’re going to push those thoughts out of your head right now.

You zoned out staring at the wall, and when your phone buzzes in your hand you practically jump half a foot in the air. You’re still not used to someone having such easy access to talking to you, and you’re certainly not used to having your phone on vibrate (you had it on mute for a long time before Ortega called you drunk and on the verge of tears one night thinking you had died because you didn’t answer). You take a breath before looking down at the screen and yup, there it is, Ortega’s cock in high definition.

Ortega: You like?

;)

You definitely do, but you didn’t have enough time to appreciate it.

You: The picture is good but your follow-up messages basically just turned me completely off.

Ortega: :(

You’re kidding, right? It took me so long to take that picture.

You: Don’t want it all to be for nothing?

Ortega: I do text my mom with this phone, you know.

Jesus, why am I talking about my mom when I’m trying to jack off?

You’re killing me, Pollux.

Don’t you know it.

You take a longer look at the picture before replying. At the bottom of the screen, you can just make out Ortega’s hand wrapped around himself, and you know for a fact it’s just because he wants to show off how big his cock is in comparison to his fingers. You stifle a smile and bite your lip, giving in and sliding a hand in between your legs. You don’t move it, and you don’t take your pants off or anything, either. You just leave it there, waiting, wondering.

You: Send a video?

Ortega: Christ. Okay.

Gimme a minute.

You: Mmm.

Ortega: Don’t send me that ‘mmm’. I’m trying to save myself for when you come over.

You: Oh, you think I’m coming over now, do you?

Ortega: Definitely. Wait until you hear the noises I’m making in this video if you’re not already convinced.

You: Are you done?

Ortega: Yeah, I’m just watching it again to make sure it’s good.

You: Jesus.

Ortega: I want to make sure it gets you going!

You: Using the exclamation point made it 100% less likely for you to ‘get me going’.

Ortega: You’re mean.

Here I am baring my soul for you and you don’t even care.

You: I care about this video you haven’t sent yet.

Ortega: It’s sending! It’s very long.

You: …

Ortega: I meant the video.

You: Sure you did.

Your phone buzzes as the video finally comes in and you look at the door to your workshop to make sure it’s closed and locked. You don’t know who would come in, but whoever they could be you want to make sure they can’t. You turn your volume all the way up and sink lower against the arm of the couch, turning up your phone brightness until the reflected light of Ortega’s virtual cock slants against the wall behind you.

It’s an obscene video, of course. If he sent this to his mother she’d probably exorcise him, but you enjoy it, in any case. It feels a little stupid, though, to hear him whispering your name into his phone’s speaker, to hear the crackling of the recording as you hold your phone closer to your face to get a better look at it. It’s a good video – you’re not denying that – but it certainly isn’t as efficient as it would be for you to just… go over, maybe, and see it all in person.

Ortega: Did it send?

You: Yeah.

Ortega: Well?

You: You said you’ll pay for the cab?

Ortega: Pollux, I’d pay for a private jet if that’s what it took for you to come over right now.

You glance at the clock on the wall. If you call a cab now, you can be at Ortega’s in 45 minutes.

You: I’ll be there in an hour.

Ortega: :(

Well I’ll be waiting. Should I put my clothes back on?

You: You took ALL your clothes off?

Ortega: …

I was excited.

You: Hmm.

Ortega: Pollux…

No. Leave them off.

Ortega: Your wish is my command.

But hurry, please.

You lock the door to your workshop behind you as you rush to change into something a little cleaner before the cab gets here. A black hoodie with a blue long-sleeve t-shirt underneath, some loose sweatpants that you don’t bother tying up all the way. You’ll be lucky if you even have time to stumble to his bedroom and take your clothes off when you finally get there, to be honest. You’re probably barely going to be able to make it through the front door.

You hurry to climb inside the cab when it arrives, and you swear nothing in the world has ever felt longer than the ride to Ortega’s.

#this was so fuckin fun ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #i hope you like this owen it was so fun to write actually #i wanna write more text fics now i always forget how much i like them #anyway #my writing #chargestep

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minhoslut · 4 years

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♡ summary: Y/N is a fairy in a world of magic hating humans, who moves into a house with seven young men after being kicked out of her old dorm. She learns about all their secrets while hiding hers for as long as she can. Lots of parties, games, sex and maybe even love.

♡ pairing: ot7 x fem!reader, fem!reader x various idols

♡ chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | ? |

♡ series warnings: alcohol consumption, blood mention, drug use, mxm, fxf, threesome, foursome, orgy, swearing, anxiety, depression, past trauma, past abuse

♡ series genre: fluff, smut, slight angst

♡ series rating: R

♡ word count: 2041

♡ posted on: AO3

♡ chapter six: now what?

When you woke up, you were in an unfamiliar room, curled into the body of a man with a mop of pink hair on his head. Jin. Last nights escapades returned quickly and you sighed, looking around the room. The four-poster bed was huge, with white sheets accented with gold. In fact, that seemed to be the theme of the whole room, the side tables, the vanity, and the wardrobe were all a similar cream with gold decals . It was pretty, and it smelled just like Jin. Speaking of, he was dead asleep, and you wanted a shower. Remnants of Jins orgasm were drying on your bare body and it was less than pleasant. The issue now was finding the clothes that had been tossed who knows where and making it to the bathroom. You managed to slip out from the sheets and started looking around the room for your missing garments.

You eventually gave up on your own clothes and threw on the oversized white shirt Jin had been wearing last night. Tiptoeing out of the room and up the stairs to your own, you managed to not bump into anyone else. Probably passed out , you mused. Grabbing an oversized pink sweater, some undies, and a pair of white thigh-high socks, you headed to the bathroom and drew a bubble bath. Once it was filled and you were satisfied with the temperature you pulled off Jins shirt and lowered yourself into the tub. The warm water began to relax your sore muscles immediately, last nights activities had worn you out more than you had thought.

As you ran over everything that had happened last night, you bit your lip slightly. It really had been so sexy, Chungha was stunning and you wished you had gotten her info. Jin probably has it. Speaking of Seokjin, you really hoped that he wouldn’t act weird. The boys had started getting comfortable with you and you didn’t want that to change just because you had boned one of them. You sighed as you began to scrub your body, it’s not like you can change anything now, what’s done is done. You paid extra attention to your shoulders, the spots where your wings grew were feeling tender for some reason. Maybe I’ll mix up some pain-relieving tea.

After rinsing all the soap away, you dried off and pulled the sweater on, letting it fall to mid-thigh. Your white high waisted panties might end up exposed but you didn’t really care, you chuckled while sliding your socks up over your knees. You put your white locks up into a high ponytail with a black scrunchie and left the bathroom. Skipping down the stairs, you bounced into the kitchen and began to gather the ingredients for pancakes, aka the perfect hangover brunch. Playing your 1 of 1 album by SHINee quietly off your phone, you sang along softly as you mixed everything together. After pouring the first batch on the grill you began to cut up some fruit, then set the table. Just as you were putting the fluffy golden-brown pancakes on the plate, Jungkook walked into the kitchen.

“Morning.” He mumbled sitting down at the table and ruffling his hair sleepily. He blinked a few times before looking at you eyes wide. “You made us pancakes? Are you an angel, oh my god, marry me?” He said in a much too serious tone that had you laughing over the grill. “Maybe one day if you’re lucky~” You teased, flipping the second batch and then moving to boil some water. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin came down then, singing your praises as they sat at the table and began to serve themselves. You felt a hand on your waist, and turned to find Taehyung, who had also come down with Yoongi, and was being flirty as always.

Now that all the pancakes were cooked you joined the rest at the table, at the same time Jin also sat at the table. Everyone conversed happily as they ate, discussing the party and their various levels of hangover. When everyone was done, Jimin turned towards you. “Thank you for making us food all the time Y/N! You’re the best~” He cooed blinking his impossibly long lashes at you. You blew him a kiss, “Anything for my boys.” Taehyung smirked, “Your boys huh? When did that happen?” You tapped your chin and pretended to think hard, “The day I walked in here.” You settled on a bright smile on your lips, which was soon mirrored by seven others.

“It was so smart of me to suggest we get another roommate.” Jin said crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair. “Your idea? Since when?” Yoongi said laughing with the other boys at Jins claim. “Namjoon was the one who did everything, and he suggested it in the first place!” Jungkook added. “So what! It’s my house so really I have the final say, so you better be grateful.” Jin said turning up his nose. “Seokjin, we’ve all lived here for like, ever, so don’t even try that.” Hoseok snorted, standing up and clearing everyones plates. Jin, mature as he is, stuck out his tongue but joined Hoseok in cleaning up. Jungkook filled the sink and Jimin stood by with a towel ready to dry the dishes as they were washed. Taehyung settled on returning the ingredients you had pulled out to their homes.

“Ah~ Really having so many roommates is nice! At my old place, I always ended up doing the cooking and cleaning.” You said, making a face at the memory. “Your old roommates don’t sound very good.” Namjoon said, shaking his head, you grimaced, They didn’t know the half of it. “Well if they had been great, I would have never come here, so in a way, it was a good thing.” You said with a smile. The familiar anxiety that always came when you thought of your old home began to settle in your stomach, prompting you to announce that you’d be going for a walk.

You tried to ignore the slightly confused looks you received from a few of the boys, slipping on some shoes and heading out the back door.

The air outside was crisp, and the sun was peeking out from behind a few fluffy white clouds. You took a deep breath and headed down the same way you had the first time. Humming to yourself as you walked, you tried to shoo the horrible memories of your previous home out of your mind. It was frustrating that you couldn’t seem to shake them, you had tried many spells but trauma had always been quite magic resistant. The underlying gnawing in your stomach is always present but worsens at times like this when you feel pulled back into your past.

Times like this made you wonder if life was even worth it. It was tiring, hiding your true self. You often worried that you would never find someone whom you’d want to spend the remainder of your life with. If you did, would they accept you? If they were human they would die much earlier than you, so would you even try? These questions plagued your mind and clouded the future. You felt yourself start to cry and began to run farther into the woods, letting the wind whip your tears away. The world was a blur of green as you ran, your feet pounding on the moss and dirt-covered ground.

You didn’t know how long you ran, but you came to a stop when you found a huge tree with long and wide branches. Beginning to climb the tree, you tried to focus on your steps rather than your crowded thoughts. You climbed about midway up the tree, still under the cover of the forest but higher than most humans could get too. There was a breeze up here and you pulled your knees into your chest while you sat on the branch, resting your head atop them.

You wished for a different world, one that was without prejudice. Your heart had broken the day you had been told to leave your village, only to be shattered once more when your roommate had betrayed you. You had loved her so much, the two of you had always spent the most time together out of all your roommates. The five of you had been so close, yet they had thrown it all away in an instant just because you were a fairy. You curled tighter into yourself, tears returning to your eyes. Why did nobody want you for who you were?

You sat in the tree for a while longer before jumping down and making your way back to the house. When you got there you found Seokjin, Jungkook, and Taehyung messing around in the pool. “Yo Y/N! You ready for round two of the party?” Taehyung called, pushing his blue hair out of his face. “You can bet your ass I am!” You answered laughing slightly as you watched Jin shove Jungkook under the water. “Join us, the waters perfect~” Jin said a small smile dancing across his lips, “I think I will actually, be right there!”

Up in your room, you pulled out a baby blue high waisted bikini bottom and a matching rectangle top with spaghetti straps. Pulling it on and grabbing a towel, you returned to the pool and jumped right in. The water was the perfect temperature as it wrapped you in its welcoming arms, making you smile to yourself. Coming to the surface you shook the water off your face and threw yourself onto Taehyungs back. “Gotcha~” You teased, holding around his neck lightly, feeling his back muscles against your chest.

“No fair, why hug him?” Jungkook whined from the headlock Jin had him in, apparently, they hadn’t settled their play fight quite yet. “Jealous Kook? Come here and get me then!” You said with a flirty wink. “I’m wounded that you’d leave me so easy doll~” Taehyung said wiping a fake tear from his eye. “You’ll have to keep me away from him then I suppose.” You shrugged, sticking your tongue out at him cheekily.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist and you shrieked as Jungkook pulled you off of Tae. “Success!” Jungkook cheered carrying you over to the deeper end. You couldn’t stop your laughter as Taehyung chased after the two of you, faking slow motion. You saw Jin shake his head and let out a laugh of his own before joining Taehyung in his oh so slow pursuit of rescuing you back from Jungkook. Somehow you ended up in Jins arms, princess style, while Tae and Kook were having a pool noodle sword fight. “They are absolute five-year-olds I swear.” Seokjin muttered, making you nod in agreement.

“By the way Y/N, I just want you to know that what happened last night doesn’t change anything.” Seokjin said, his tone turned serious. “None of us really view sex as something that changes a relationship, other than the sex itself, and if the parties are both in agreement more closeness or flirtiness. I don’t want you to be worried, and I’m fairly certain from what I know about you so far, that you feel a similar way.” You leaned your head against his broad chest, “I do have pretty much the same view. I want all of us to stay close and comfortable, and for me, sex is just something that happens when there's mutual physical attraction. I’d love to be flirty and close with all of you like I’ve said I’ll tell you if I’m uncomfortable.” You felt him give you a squeeze, letting you know he heard.

It was like a huge weight had been removed from your chest, knowing that the boys felt the same way you did. “You can share the message with the others, and I don’t mind if you talk about what we did with them. I have a feeling I will end up with all of you at some point but don’t tell them that yet.” Jins laugh made your own body shake, “You really are a unique person Y/N, I’m glad it was you who joined our little group.”

#bangtanhq #bts #bts x reader #bts polyamory #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #park jimin #min yoongi #kim taehyung #everything is not what it seems

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sophia1644 · 7 years

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Scarf Boy

Pairing: Isaac x Reader (Platonic, Best Friends)

Warnings: slight swearing, nothing else just really cute fluff and friendship goals

Summary: Y/N’s best friend, Isaac, returns from Paris, to live with her and her family. The only issue is that she’s a Stilinski, and Stiles takes any moment that he can to show his distaste for Isaac. (Isaac and Y/N have a pizza and Netflix night)

A/N: Thx for requesting this!!! Reminder that my requests are always open :) and I write them asap, so feel free to request whatever with whatever character (even platonic imagines!) Ok, hope you guys like this one :)

SCARF BOY

I scroll through my Instagram feed on my phone, bored out of my mind, waiting for Isaac to finally get here. I double tap a meme, smiling lightly and sending it to the Pack’s group chat.

“Hey, Y/N,” my dad calls, commanding my attention. I look up at him, clad in his sheriff uniform. “I’m not going to be home for dinner, so I left you and Stiles 20 dollars on the kitchen counter.” I grin, nodding my head.

“Stay safe,” I say, right before he’s about to shut the door.

“Always,” he replies while popping his head out from behind the door frame, blowing me a kiss that I return. “No parties,” he jokes.

“Don’t worry, we’ll only have like 100 people over,” I respond sarcastically. He laughs, closing the door, his car engine sounding and the vehicle soon driving off.

I sigh, going back to my phone and opening twitter to see the newest internet drama.

After a while, I hear the doorbell ring, a smile forcing its way onto my lips. I push off of the couch, throwing the blanket aside and running across the wooden floor. I immediately regret all decisions in life as I slide not-too-graciously across the living room because of my socks.

I shuffle around, trying to gain my balance, but fail miserably. I end up colliding with a wall, muttering incoherent profanities, and making a mental note to never run in socks ever again. “Y/N, do you always have to be so damn clumsy?” I groan.

I can hear the faint chuckle outside, coming from Isaac as he probably heard the whole situation because of his amplified hearing. “Lahey, don’t you dare laugh at me,” I warn, another chuckle ringing from outside.

I stand up, brushing off my sweatpants, and closing the distance between me and the front door. As soon as I can, I swing the door open, pulling my best friend into a hug.

The embrace obviously takes him by surprise as he stiffens when my arms encircle his waist, but soon he relaxes, his arms wrapping around my back.

We pull apart, his smile matching my own. “I missed you so much!” I squeal, taking in how his physical appearance had changed. He had let his facial hair grow out a bit, stubble all around his jaw. His curly locks were also longer, and messier, probably from traveling for so long.

“I missed you too, Clumsy,” he returns, messing with my hair and making me push his shoulder back half-heartedly.

“Stop that,” I mumble, trying to fix the now unruly strands. I back into the living room, opening the door wider for Isaac to come in, lugging his suitcase close behind.

He closes the door, taking in his surroundings. “Hasn’t changed one bit,” he laughs.

“I guess us Stilinskis aren’t too great with home decor,” I joke, realizing that the furniture has literally not changed since I was born. “So how was the flight?” I query.

“Long,” Isaac huffs, plopping onto the couch. “Do you know how long it takes to get here from Paris? Plus, I was sat between a crying baby and a mid-forties guy who has literally the loudest snore in the world,” he recalls. “And there was this kid, oh my god, he would not stop staring at me. I don’t even know why.”

“Even the children can’t get enough of your dashing good looks,” I tease, making him squint his eyes at me.

“Ha ha,” Isaac says while scrunching up his nose. “So, what’ve you been up to since I’ve been gone?”

“Nothing really,” I reply truthfully. My life wasn’t quite as interesting as his or even my brother’s. I wasn’t allowed in on all the missions and such because everyone thought it was ‘too dangerous’ for me, which always made me laugh because my brother was allowed. For goodness sakes, he thought a baseball bat was going to protect him from the supernatural.

“How’s the Pack?” Issac asks, blatant curiosity taking over his features. I shrug, sitting down on the couch next to him and pulling my blanket back over my body.

“Happy that you’re back,” I say while smiling. I mean, except for my brother, but I couldn’t tell him that part.

His brows furrow, probably hearing that tiny extra heart beat when I said those words. “Even Stiles?” He questions.

“Well-”

“I heard my name being called,” my brother shouts, descending the stairs to the living room. Stiles’s eyes narrow once they spot my best friend. “Oh god, please, tell me that’s not scarf boy.”

“Hello to you too, Stiles,” Isaac says, brushing his harsh glare aside.

“Lahey,” Stiles grumbles, walking towards the couch that both of us were sitting on. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I thought Y/N already told you that I’m bac-”

“No, I know that part, which I’m really not too pleased about for your information, but why are you here?” He asks, his hands gesturing around to the house.

“Dad said he could stay with us,” I jump in, Isaac and I sharing a smile with each other.

“Oh, no he didn’t,” Stiles mutters. “No scarf boy will be living under my roof.”

“First off, this isn’t your roof, it’s dad’s. Second, Isaac isn’t wearing a scarf, so there won’t be a scarf boy living here,” I correct.

“Once a scarf boy, always a scarf boy,” Stiles mumbles, letting out an exasperated sigh before walking out of the room, down the hallway.

“I still can’t believe he despises me so much,” Isaac says with disbelief. “I mean, we’ve known each other our whole lives. Like I’ve been friends with you since second grade. How does he still have this undying hatred for me?”

“I have no idea,” I answer, playing with the two strings at the front of my grey sweats. “But, on a happier note, I bet you’re hungry.”

Isaac rubs his stomach, a growl coming from it at my statement. “Starving.”

“Well, while you unpack, I’ll order pizza and start up a show for us to binge-watch on Netflix,” I proclaim. “For old time’s sake.” I bend forward, grabbing my phone from the coffee table and dialing Domino’s phone number by heart. To say the least, Isaac and I ate pizza a little too much.

“Music to my ears,” he responds. “It would be an atrocity to not jump right back into our cycle of weekly cheesy goodness.”

“I’m so happy to have the one person who truly understands me back,” I say, half jokingly and half seriously. I quickly recite our usual order to the Domino’s employee, along with what Stiles normally got, thanking them, then hanging up.

Isaac just grins at me, standing up from the couch and dragging his luggage behind him. “Guest room, I’m assuming,” he says.

“Yep, hope you remember how to get there.”

“Y/N, this was the home I grew up in,” he states. “I was here more than at my own, because- well you know.” A saddening expression crawls onto his face, bad memories surely fighting their way back into his head.

“Hey,” I whisper, latching onto his arm, his blue eyes finding mine. “My dad even said once that you’re like a son of his. This is your home.”

The grim look on his face disappears, a charming smile and bright eyes taking its place. “Well, I do love you like a sister.”

“Love you too, bro,” I reply, my heart warming at the thought. It was true; he was like another brother to me. Stiles and him even bickered like siblings and the unwavering love in my heart for him, was just like the love I held for my family.

“Hey!” Stiles screams, ruining the heartfelt moment between me and Isaac. “You never tell me that! And I’m your real brother!”

I laugh before yelling down the hallway back to Stiles. “I love you too! By the way, I’m buying pizza with money dad left for us!”

“Sounds good,” he calls back.

I slap Isaac on the butt playfully, urging him to hurry up the stairs. “Go unpack already.”

“Y/N I don’t think siblings are allowed to touch one another like that,” he laughs.

“Well, luckily you’re not actually.”

“Thankfully,” he jokes. “Because then I’d be related to Stiles.”

Stiles walks into the room, his mouth agape, and sporting an offended expression on his face. “Excuse me, Lahey. You’d be honored to be related to me.”

“You’re funny,” Isaac mutters, running up the steps to go get settled into his new life.

“That kid has some nerve moving into my house and being disrespectful towards me,” Stiles rants, grimacing at Isaac’s retreating form with his arms crossed across his torso.

I slap his arm, him reacting by taking a few steps away from me. “Be nice,” I threaten. “He’s family.”

“Well, I’m family too,” Stiles retorts, stomping away from me and into the kitchen.

An amused smirk forms on my lips, wondering how my older brother still acted like an actual 5 year old. I situate myself back on the couch, remote in hand, scrolling through all the tv shows Isaac and I had been forcing one another to not watch until we were together again. It was almost impossible to wait months for it, but somehow both of us pulled through.

I ended up choosing American Horror Story, because we’d been wanting to watch that one for the longest. It’s just we never got around to it, even when Isaac was still in Beacon Hills.

Knuckles sound against the door and I mentally scream, having to get up from my already comfortable position on the couch. I jog to the kitchen, grabbing the 20 dollar bill and opening the door. I greet the scrawny teenager with jet black hair, giving him the money and telling him to keep the change.

“Thanks pretty lady,” he flirts, a cringe-worthy pucker of his lips making my eyes widen.

I snatch the three cans of soda and pizza boxes away from him. “Okaythanksbye,” I rush out, slamming the door on him and trying my best not to throw up.

“Well, that guy was really smooth,” Isaac teases. He’s now in a different set of clothes, a pair of grey sweatpants matching my own and a plain black tee. His curly hair also looked a bit more put together compared to his previous hair that was sticking up in odd places.

“If smooth also means repulsive, then yes, that was very smooth.” Isaac grins, taking the boxes out of my hands and bringing them to the kitchen, the impatience to eat, clear in his action.

I open the cardboard boxes, trying to refrain from moaning at the most amazing smell the world has to offer. Isaac digs right in, not even caring that it was hot. “Fuck,” he groans. “I definitely missed pizza.”

“Didn’t they have pizza in Paris?” I query, grabbing my own slice and taking a bite, the cheese forcing me to reanalyze my life goals. 'Perhaps, I should work at a pizza place,’ a voice inside me suggested.

“Oh, but nothing beats good ole American 'Za,” Isaac determines, already done with his first slice.

“I highly doubt that,” I state, pushing back the hairs that were falling in my face.

“Believe what you want to, but that doesn’t mean it’s right,” he counters, devouring another slice.

“Let’s take this party in front of the tv,” I nudge, balancing the box in one hand and my slice in the other. Isaac takes our drinks, following my lead.

I put the box down and fall back, sinking into the comfort of the couch. I lean into Isaac, my head laying on his shoulder. This was a normal occurrence that some people felt was weird, but was completely non-romantic to us. We were just cozy like this; there wasn’t another reason for it.

“Good choice,” Isaac compliments, clicking on the first episode, the creepy theme song starting. I snuggle deeper into him, his body heat warming me up. He claps his hands together, brushing off the crumbs, then wrapping his arm around me, moving his legs to rest on the coffee table.

Stiles groans in the background. “Get a room.” I roll my eyes at his nonsense, because he and everyone else knew that neither Isaac nor I felt that way for each other. That spark a person was supposed to feel for someone they like, just wasn’t there, and neither of us cared.

“I’m happy you’re back for good,” I whisper looking up at those blue eyes, a color I only had positive feelings towards.

“Me too.”

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