Multi-Fandom One-Shots Part 2

2.bring it on home to me -Stydia (Teen Wolf)

Lydia woke up to Stiles's nose pressed up against her neck.

Blinking sleepily, she tried to pull away from him, but his arms just pulled her in closer, still looped around her waist. Sometimes she managed to make it through the night without ending up in Stiles's arms, but those times were far and few between- she swore to god, her boyfriend was like an octopus.

Not that she particularly minded. Stiles's arms were one of her favorite places to be, right up there with the Opera House stage and the Boston Ballet studio. His arms were paradoxically strong and soft, comforting and protective all at once. It made her feel like she was home, nestled against his chest, hearing his rhythmic breathing and feeling his steady heartbeat against her skin.

Blearily, Lydia stared at the clock on their bedside table, the green numbers blinking back at her and telling her that it was past time to get up. Somehow she always managed to wake up on days she had dance, but when Mondays came around, she and Stiles could sleep much later than they ever intended to. Having the same day off did that to them.

"Stiles," she murmured, turning in his arms and nosing at his cheek. "Wake up, babe."

He whined sleepily, his eyebrows furrowing together and his arms tightening around her. As much as Lydia wanted to keep sleeping, though, she knew that they had to get up.

"Stiles," she said again, more insistent. "Scott said to get there right when they open."

"They don't open till nine," he mumbled back, burying his face in her hair, sighing sleepily. Lydia almost laughed- he was really adorable when he was so sleepy. His hair was flat on one side, completely sticking up on the other, his mouth pulled in a pout and his eyebrows scrunched together. She could lay here and just look at him all day, but she knew that they had to get up if they ever wanted to get there on time.

"It's 8:15," she informed him, turning her head to kiss his cheek gently. "Come on, we promised Scott."

Stiles rolled backwards, releasing her with the most dramatic groan she had ever heard, his body flopping onto the other half of their mattress. Lydia laughed softly, sitting up and throwing back the covers of their bed. "Come on," she said, poking his side. "I'll make breakfast."

"Wait, no," Stiles whined as she got out of bed, heading for the hall. "Lydia, you can't cook!"

She ignored this comment, knowing that if she went into the kitchen of their apartment, Stiles would have to follow her. Besides, she could too cook. Not as many things as Stiles could- he had an annoying talent of being able to just toss anything together and make it taste delicious - but she could read and follow instructions, meaning she could make a few meals reliably. One of those meals just happened to be spinach omelets.

She already was sautéing the spinach in the pan when Stiles shuffled into the kitchen, and Lydia looked away from the stove for a minute to admire him. His t-shirt clung to his torso in all the right places, displaying his much-broader shoulders and toned arm muscles. The plaid pajama pants he wore, though, reminded her that he was still that spastic, clumsy guy she'd fallen in love with years ago.

"Omelets?" he asked, running a hand through his hair as he surveyed the pan. Lydia hummed in confirmation, pouring the beaten egg into the pan on top of the spinach, then sprinkling it with cheese. Stiles wrapped his arms around her, leaning over to rest his chin on her shoulder.

"Remember the first time we talked?" he asked her suddenly, his arms tightening around her. Lydia laughed.

"You mean when you tried to hit on me in that bar and failed miserably?"