imagines

she's not my girlfriend | lydia martin, teen wolf

female reader

     "[Y/N], you can't just go to the prom in sneakers and jeans."

You grimaced as Lydia flitted between each rack of dresses, pulling ones that caught her eyes out and pushing them into your arms.

"Lydia, I'm not going. I've told you that at least a hundred times."

You didn't want to go because the whole prom scene wasn't really your thing, and because you couldn't go with her. Stiles had got there first; and Lydia was also straight.

But of course, she still tried to force you to go. Naturally, you weren't complaining, it was the girl you'd been in love with forever; if she said 'Jump' you'd ask 'How high' without hesitation.

But at this particular moment you wondered how you had ever fallen in love with her.

     "Why do you need to try on so many dresses anyways?" You look would beautiful in a damn paper bag.

     She laughed, but you found no humour in your question. "Because, [Y/N], quality is found in quantity. The bigger the variety the easier it is to find the one."

     Rolling your eyes for the infinite time that day, you stood next to the shortest rack, watching the strawberry blonde sort through it.

     Accidentally, you found yourself following her every move, watching the way her eyes lit up when she found a new possible selection, the way her hair literally glittered under the harsh lights of the mall.

     It was as if she knew you weren't actually paying attention to the dresses, because the next thing you knew Lydia was pulling you to the dressing rooms.

     Your hand was gripped tightly in hers, but she didn't seem to notice the blush dusting your cheeks.

     "Okay, we can set those down here—" it was if the old lady just popped up; the next thing you and Lydia knew she was spewing profanity, yelling about how being gay is a sin, how publicly showing affection is disgusting.

     But unbeknownst to you, Lydia didn't hear any of it. She was looking at you, watching in confusion as your eyes welled with tears and your hand slowly pulled it of hers.

     It was then it all clicked for Lydia; why you agreed to come dress shopping even though you weren't going to the prom, why you always listened so intently when she complained about her relationship problems. You loved her.

     And she never took the time to notice.

     And now, as you threw the dresses in your arms on a chair and ran away, Lydia knew it was too late to make it better.

     The moment you slid against the wall of the dressing room, the tears came.

     It was just a simple hand hold, it's not like you were making out in the middle of the store! Hell, she isn't even my girlfriend!

     You could hardly breath, but the moment you heard a soft knock on the door you knew your time for moping was over.

"[Y/N]?" Lydia's voice was soft; the door wasn't locked so she gently pushed it open and stepped inside.

She was looking down at you but you couldn't bring yourself to look back; you knew if you did you would start crying.

"I'm sorry Lydia." You whispered. You felt her sit next to you, her shoulder pressed into yours.

"Look at me, [Y/N]." Her voice was a mixture of concern and something else; you assumed it was pity.

Slowly, you turned your head, your eyes flicking up to look into her hazel ones. They had a hard look in them, which softened slightly when she saw how red and puffy your face was from all the tears.

"I'm the one that should be sorry. I— I didn't know. About you, about that, about your feelings."

You furrowed your brows. "Don't apologize for something that isn't your problem. I should have told you. It would have been easier to drop me then rather than in a dressing room."

She lightly moved her hair off her shoulder and chuckled.

"I would've brought you anyways [Y/N]. I—" she chuckled again, "I didn't mind holding your hand to be honest."

You looked at her. Her hair covered her face, but not enough to hide the blush.

"You don't have to lie to make me feel better Lydia. You and Jackson—"

"If that's what you think I'm doing you're wrong. Jackson— I broke up with him. And to be honest, I'm glad it happened."

"Lydia—"

The rest came out muffled; Lydia's lips were lightly pressing against yours, her hand pulling your shoulder towards her.

When she pulled away, you felt a new wave of tears welling.

She looked broken for a moment. "When I saw the way you reacted to that monstrosity of a woman I realized why you put up with me the way you to. And I guess it just made me feel — made me realize that I feel the same way."

You were speechless; all this time you were hiding who you really were when you could've just told her.

With a watery smile, you pushed yourself up off the floor. She was quick to follow suit, wrapping her arms around you and hugging you tightly.

     "I'll make sure to save you a dance, [Y/N]." Lydia whispered in your ear; you knew she couldn't just tell Stiles no.

     "Well you can't go until I've told you that you look beautiful in the seventy dresses you're about to try on." You replied, wiping your tears away and pulling Lydia out of the dressing room.

      With a laugh, she followed you.

     This time prepared to kiss you in front of whoever dared to call you out.