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skzdarlings · 8 months ago

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the ride ; skz ; chan x reader

original ask: requested by @rosequartsz : chan with the prompt ❛ i want to fuck you so badly. ❜ like the reader is the same age as jeongin so chan kinda feels bad but at the same time he wants to corrupt the reader so bad cushsisjsis

original ask: requested by anonymous : Chan and ❛ please. make me feel good. no one else can like you. ❜ ❛ have a little trust in yourself, i know you can take it. ❜

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: friends to lovers, chan is a little older than reader, reader is not actually that innocent but pretends to be and they both get off on it lol. some not very safe driving lol keep ur eyes on the road. car sex, dirty talk, teasing, corruption play, puuuuure smut. word count: 2400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine��s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

“That’s not fair,” Jeongin says. “I called dibs.”

“Too bad.” You stick your tongue out at him. “Learn to run faster, loser.”

Jeongin scowls, once more relegated to the backseat of Chan’s car. You are sitting pretty in the passenger seat for the fourth day in a row and Jeongin is playfully annoyed about it.

You and your twin brother have been racing into Chan’s car since high school. You are both at university now, but Chan still offers the occasional lift. With storm season making public transit a bigger hassle than it’s worth, Chan has been offering more rides.

Just because of the weather. Not any other reason. Of course.

You smirk, casting a side-glance into the driver’s seat. Chan is smiling at Jeongin through the rearview mirror, looking less like Channie, the boy of your teenage fantasies, and more like Bang Chan, the man of your adult dreams. He is wearing a baseball cap and leather jacket, his whole demeanour oozing an effortless masculinity, the bearing of a competent man who knows he can do anything.

And still, despite his well-earned cockiness, he has an undoubtedly shy side. When he looks at you, the tips of his ears flame an embarrassed, fiery red, and his dimpled smile is almost boyish in its sweetness.

“Right then,” he says. Then, like the endearingly cheesy goofball he is, he adds, “All aboard, ready for takeoff!”

“Jeongin,” you say, blinking innocently at your twin through the mirror. “You have your presentation notes, right? You don’t want to forget them.”

Jeongin double-checks his bag but you already know he won’t find them. You deliberately took them out and placed them on the kitchen counter.

“Damn,” he says, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt. “I thought I put them in here. Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Jeongin practically flies out of the car and up the driveway, leaving you and Chan. It happens quickly, before Chan can even compute it. You can see the gears turning in his head, but you are faster, sighing melodramatically while gathering the hem of your skirt.

“Silly boy,” you say. “What should we do while he’s gone?” You draw your skirt up your thighs just enough to tease the skin of your upper thighs.

Chan is staring there with his mouth open, his words evaporating on his tongue. He clears his throat after a second, ripping his gaze away. He looks across the dashboard and laughs, a shy, awkward laugh.

“Your brother will be back in a second,” Chan says. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yeah?”

He is white-knuckling the steering wheel, like all his restraint is being poured into that physical grip. Even so, it is not hard to pry his hand off the wheel. You know a stronger, more belligerent shove could not bend a determined Bang Chan, but the softest touch from your gentle hands will have him breaking in seconds.

You are slow, casual despite your racing heart, guiding his hand onto your knee. He makes a little noise that turns your whole body to pure, liquid heat. You make a similar sound, a faint whimper in the back of your throat, as you slide his hand up your thigh.

“Channie,” you say, your too-sweet, too-innocent voice part of your acting, but your breathlessness undoubtedly real.

“Don’t—” His voice breaks and he clears his throat. “Don’t say my name like that. You know—”

“What do I know, Channie?” you ask, blinking at him with wide eyes while you curl his fingers around your thigh. You bring your legs together, holding his hand between them.

He visibly swallows, throat bobbing. The redness has spread from his ears down his neck.

“We’ve talked about this, baby girl,” he says, his tone stricter, taking on that darker edge that makes your heart – and everything else – gush. “We’ve been good so far, okay?” If stolen kisses, open zippers, and groping touches count as good. “You’re my – you’re my friend. You should be like a little sister or something to me… yeah? Yeah… Yeah!” He shakes his head, pulling himself out of the distraction caused by you unzipping your jacket. He squeezes your thigh, a firm, warning grip. “Don’t make this so hard,” he says.

“What’s hard for you, Channie?” you ask, reaching into his lap and touching his thigh, then higher, finding the evidence of his words. A shiver moves across his shoulders, his breath catching as you cup your palm around the bulge in his jeans. “Is it something I can help you with?” You lick your bottom lip then smile.

“Oh,” he says. His eyes crinkle with amusement but there is a score of different emotions on his face, all of them smoldering. “You really wanna play that game, huh?”

There is no chance for an answer because Jeongin returns, hopping into the car with his notes. You and Chan separate, looking out the dashboard window. You pat your hot skin and try to slow your racing heart.

Sensing the oddly silent tension, Jeongin narrows his eyes and looks between you. Eventually, his expression sours like he smells something bad.

“Oh my god,” he says, then punches Chan in the shoulder. “Are you fucking my sister!”

“What!” Chan says, getting redder by the second. “Jeongin, how could— I wouldn’t— I don’t—”

“What, you don’t fuck?” Jeongin asks, then laughs until he is wheezing. “You can do better, man.”

“Jeongin, shut up!” You reach back to smack at him, rubbing your hand all over his stupid face and messing up his hair while he wails in protest.

“All right, all right!” Chan says, breaking you up. “Let’s just… let’s just go, okay? Okay.”

“Yes, daddy,” you say, mostly out of spite.

Chan squeaks.

Jeongin pretends to gag then slumps against his window.

“I’m gonna need to start taking the bus,” he says, morose.

Fortunately, thanks to the impromptu revelation of your shenanigans, it does not take much convincing for Jeongin to find another ride home. When Chan pulls into the campus parking lot to pick you up, you approach his vehicle with a grin and a wink.

You slide into the passenger seat, smoothing down your skirt while he sighs. It sounds more amused than frustrated.

“Where’s your brother?” he asks.

You shrug with theatrical exaggeration.

“Right,” Chan says, starting the car. “Got it.”

He puts a hand on your headrest to leverage himself, looking out the rear window as he reverses the car. That proximity alone gets you hot, the temptation to grab him already strong. You play a patient game, as always, stealing glances and suggestive smiles while he drives.

Halfway home, you put a hand on his knee. At first your touch is innocent, tracing slow circles on the denim, then you get a little more brazen, fingertips brushing up his thigh.

“Baby,” he says in that warning voice, eyes on the road. Holding the wheel with one hand, he uses the other to stop your wandering ascent.

“Yes?” you ask with all that faux-innocence. Rather than fight his touch, you guide his hand to your lap, placing it on your knee.

Unlike this morning, he does not play nice. You make a startled, high-pitched sound when he immediately dives under your skirt, his rough palm pressing down where you are already aching. Your thighs slam shut out of instinct but his hand is where it wants to be, his fingers curled around your pussy in a proprietary touch.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice playfully mean. He grinds the heel of his palm against your throbbing clit. He never takes his eyes off the road. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, though you cannot help but rock yourself against his hand.

“Mmm,” he says, patting your pussy then stroking your thigh, guiding your legs open again. “We’ll see about that.”

You keep your eyes ahead too, pretending not to notice when he glances at you. Then you gasp because he reaches out and tugs the zipper on your hoodie. You instinctively clutch it, wearing nothing but a bra underneath, having taken off your other layers to surprise him. He is the one surprising you, a secret sexy menace under all that shy sweetness. He unzips the hoodie halfway then reaches past the material to squeeze a handful. Your body practically sings under his touch.

“Channie,” you say, breathless again.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “Channie’s gonna take care of you, yeah? Always.”

“Take care of me how?” Your question toys with that false innocence, the little game that gets you both hot, but there is genuine curiosity there too. This game has been escalating slowly over time. You want more and you are starting to get desperate.

Chan looks at you. His gaze moves over your mouth then your body, your skirt rucked up and breasts practically spilling out of your hoodie. He swears, looking back at the road with that red blush on his ears again.

“Fuck,” he says. “I want to fuck you so badly. You have no idea.”

His words have a raw, honest edge. He swallows, hard. You feel like one tightly coiled ball of tension, ready to snap apart.

“Please,” you say in that breathy voice. “Make me feel good. No one else can like you.”

You do not make it all the way home. There is a nearby lookout point at the park, a shrouded parking area that has undoubtedly seen its fair share of hook-ups. Chan parks there and you dive at each other like randy teenagers. You climb into his lap, bumping everything on the console on your way, the honking the horn with your backside for good measure. It makes you both giggle.

Then your laughter is swallowed by hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses.

“Mmm,” you hum against his lips. You push his hat off his head and sink your fingers in his curly hair. “Channie, please,” you say.

He cups the back of your neck, holding your head where he wants it so he can kiss you thoroughly. His ravishing touch leaves you shaking with need, rocking against him to no relief.

“Poor baby,” he says with a little laugh, squeezing your neck then drawing his hand down the curve of your chest. He unzips the rest of your hoodie. His mouth follows the same path as his hands, down your chest and back up again.

He is working you up, deftly and swiftly, using just a few well-placed throat kisses, a few flicks of his fingertips across the sensitive peaks of your breasts. He seems so composed under you, other than the flush to his complexion, the heat to his skin that has him shedding his leather jacket. You feel completely undone, half-naked and writhing in his lap. Your hands tangle together, fumbling around his belt.

“Let me,” he says. He gets his belt open and his fly undone, then his hands are on you. He doesn’t just tug your panties to the side but rips them apart, snapping the seams like they’re nothing. Then those strong fingers are inside you, finding just how wet and ready you are for him. He makes a low, guttural sound, thumping his head against the headrest. “Fuck, baby girl,” he says. “You know what you do to me?” he asks.

“I dunno, Channie.” You pout and bat your eyelashes. “You better show me.”

He laughs. He holds your hips and moves you, positions you where he wants you. You are pressed so close together, chest-to-chest, so you cannot see when he finally enters you. But you feel it, hot and hard and filling you, stretching you, almost painful but burning so good. You slap a hand to the roof of the car, eyes closing as you moan.

“S-so much,” you say, because it feels like you have been sinking forever and he is still not all the way inside.

“Yeah, I know, baby,” he says. His thumb is expertly circling your clit while your whole body seems to soften, changing to fit him, like you were made for this moment. “That’s it,” he says. “Have a little trust in yourself. I know you can take it.”

His thrusts are small, his hands guiding your hips over him, grinding him deep inside you. Then you are clutching his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he fucks you slowly and steadily. It is everything you needed and not enough, only spurring more desire. You know you will need him again, the way he needs you. Just the way he says your name as he holds you, as he fucks you, as he takes you apart and puts you together again. It feels like that when you come, when he fucks you through it, saying your name and praising you.

“Good girl,” he says, barely above a breath. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

When he gets close, he pushes the seat back. You get on your knees between his legs and take him in your mouth. He comes with a low groan and another breathless slur of your name. Then you are back in his lap and his hands are everywhere, clutching you possessively to his chest. You are both breathing hard, riding the slow come-down of your frantic desperation.

“Fuck,” he eventually says. He seems shy again, giggling as he looks at you with a blush on his face. “We, uh, we just did that, in the car, uh wow, yeah, I, uh—”

“Channie,” you say with a laugh of your own, grabbing his face and kissing him. He smiles into the kiss, returning it with the same tender softness.

You kiss for a long time, ignoring the world around you. Eventually you have to crawl back into your seat and mostly redress yourselves, still smiling and giggling at each other the whole time. Your phone was buzzing in your bag so you finally check it, rolling your eyes at the message there.

You show it to Chan who laughs, blushing again, but nods.

“Right,” he says, “We should probably go get him.”

You laugh too, sending an emoji with its tongue sticking out in response to Jeongin’s message that reads: My ride fell through. When you are done not-fucking each other, can you come back and get me? Thanks. Sluts.

#bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x reader #chan x you #bang chan smut #chan smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz x you #valentinesdaystories

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clockwayswrites · 4 months ago

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Birds and wings and hope Part 13

Masterpost

Danny had thought hat if he finished with Frostbite early that he would spend a few days in the zone to catch up with some of the other ghosts. He hadn’t wanted to with the wings. It wasn’t that Danny was ashamed of the wings, not from the fact of having different features, but Frostbite had seemed certain that Danny was in a heavily mutable state right then. The more people that knew Phantom with wings, the more likely they were to stick as they cemented in consciousness and identity.

Or something like that.

Danny had a whole stack of reading tucked away in his chest to go through later.

Just wanting time alone, Danny had given himself somewhere between an hour and a day (time was hard to tell in the zone) to sulk among the sparks and dust that were long dead stars before forced himself to get a grip and go home. He was an adult for, well, him sake he guessed. He could deal with this.

The reading set on the left side of the coffee table with a fresh notebook next to it. It wouldn’t do to mix up this work with his actual work, so Danny was sure to pick out one with a green cover from the stash that he kept on hand of his favorite dot patterned paper notebooks. He’d draw a blob ghost or something on it later. A few color pens and a highlighter joined the little pile, set in a battered and chipped Amity Park tourist trap mug.

Sam had gotten it for Danny as a present due to the so hideous it was funny caricature of Phantom on it.

On the right side of the coffee table went a box of protein bars, electrolyte drinks, suck’em candies, and Danny’s well stocked pill container. He moved the coffee table a little closer to the couch, turned the TV on to a playlist of Mythbuster episodes, and made sure he had his favorite blanket in hand before he transformed back.

And fuck that hurt. Pain shot up Danny’s back, radiating up through his shoulders, and shooting along his Lichtenberg scars so intensely that they burned. Danny collapsed inelegantly onto the couch with a defeated whimper.

Maybe it was the wings? Did having a different set of limbs as a ghost cause transfered muscle aches to his human form? He didn’t even have muscles as a ghost, not really, but the mind was a very powerful thing and not even Frostbite was entirely sure of how exactly the two parts of a halfa effected each other.

After the worst of the pain had dulled slightly, Danny managed to toss back his medication (missing doses while Phantom never did him any good) and pulled the candies close enough that he could use them as a distraction for his senses. Slowly the muscle relaxant worked its magic and Danny became a boneless lump. The episodes of Mythbusters idly distracted him as he just let his thoughts drift over what Frostbite had said.

Frostbite was sure that there had to be a reason— or several— that Danny’s form had shifted into a bird and after retained the wings still. Frostbite felt the first step to this all, if Danny was determined to either control or to get an understanding of where this all was going, was to understand the subconscious or symbolic particulars of the change.

The why Frostbite felt was clear: Danny had been without a haunt for too long now. Yes, he accepted, the pollen may have certain accelerated matters (hence the full bird then and only the wings now), but Frostbite was admit that the change wouldn’t have been occurring at this stage if Phantom had still been the protector of Amity Park.

Phantom had a purpose in Amity Park. Phantom was a protector and guardian. That guardianship extended to a very limited range. Now that Amity Park was many, many years behind him and Danny was living in a place already full of its own protectors, the Phantom part of Danny was left adrift which allowed for this new stage of ghosthood.

Why couldn’t his ghost half just be happy with a nice long nap?

“Fuck you, Phantom,” Danny grumbled as he watched a car be vaporized upon impact on the screen. Idly Danny wondered if he could get an object up to that speed if he flew fast enough.

Several hours and several protein bars later, Danny was managing to sit up enough to start going through some of the reading Frostbite had sent and make notes. Two more episodes and delivered Indian food later, Danny scrawled on the top of a fresh page ‘The Subconscious & Symbolic Particulars of Wings’.

Why on earth and beyond did he have wings?

‘Flying’, Danny wrote first and then as many reasons he could think of why he loved flying from the freedom of it to space to the way that it felt to move through a cloud. ‘Freedom’ branched off into movement and escape and getting to become his own person without the weight of Amity. ‘Gravity’ and ‘Identity’ sprawled into transformation and his death and the million of ways that it had changed everything about his life.

It was hard to think about.

Danny turned the page.

��Wings’. Wings and feathers. Birds. Pigeons and crows and ducks and robins. And Robins. Biblically accurate angels who created the cosmos. Hope. And always hope.

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers — ”

Hope and Robins and Bats.

And always hope.

Was Gotham his haunt?

Was he the thing with feathers?

---

AN: shhhhh I've been writing as my wind down before sleep. Also special prize for @stoiczee. I promise we'll see more batfam next part. Danny just needed some time to react!

#dp x dc #birdritch

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unteriors · 2 months ago

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Since you're Australian, why are so many of the posts from the US? Did you start with Australia and then move onto other countries once you'd felt like you exhausted it? Or is the US particularly interesting for your purposes?

A big part of the reason is the enormous difference in scale. Australia has about 25 million people, versus 300 or so million in the US. Each of the 50 states has at least one or two major cities, most have many more than that. In addition to the volume of real estate imagery produced by this market, there are a few things about the US in this context which draw me in from an Australian perspective. One is how real estate listings weirdly embody how much more visually apparent the harmful economic forces of the past 50 years are in American society than they are here or elsewhere. Australia's welfare state was developed roughly during the same time as in the US, and has similarly been cut back since the 1970s. But it was always much weaker in the US than in Australia or Western Europe, and correspondingly the effects of its deterioration - along with other economic trends - have been much more visible than they are here. The way this is played out in terms of localised funding for public services means that many American cities have pockets (of varying sizes) where poverty and other forms of systemic oppression are concentrated and left open to the elements. The sort of stuff Jacob Holdt documented in his photos in the 70s, or that you see in a lot crime films and thrillers with location shooting. Gentrification and other forces since then have pushed these pockets into other areas and made some places seem less grim, but from what I've heard it seems like it would be hard for the average person in the US to ignore that these large, systemic problems exist. Conversely, in Australia, this kind of intense poverty has been pushed into the margins of society during the same time period - to remote communities (where people suffer from chronic diseases that have been eradicated in most other wealthy countries), country towns with shrinking economies, or to the fringes of larger cities (where people sleep in their cars in parking lots, or multiple families form sharehouses to afford $400-500+ pw rents). Though as things have gotten worse, particularly since COVID, it's getting harder to ignore. But still there's a substantial part of the population here who have grown up in ignorance of any of the larger, percolating structural problems in Australian society, and who proactively retain that ignorance into adulthood.

I think you can see these different perspectives play in out in real estate listings. In most American states, even in most of the towns I've looked at, you can see a broad spectrum of living conditions (and commercial interpretations of ideal living conditions) - from burnt out trailers, to overpriced renovated shitty older houses with cheap grey vinyl flooring and white walls, to clearly lived-in time capsules to McMansions to actual mansions. Some photographs are clearly shot by owners, others by real estate agents with a great variety of care and attention to detail (from elaborate staging to crime scenes). Rightly or wrongly, I feel like I get a broader, more honest (or at least more direct) feel for the housing crisis. It's a more honest horror film.

Australian listings, I think in part due to concentrations in corporate power in the real estate industry (similar to other monopolies that have formed in our economy), tend to more heavily adhere to the visual language of advertising and are more heavily regulated by agencies. The problems still exist, the housing market here is among the worst in the world and little effort is being made to address the underlying structural issues, but you can see the lack of will to acknowledge these issues in the level of gloss that's applied. You can look at a listing of an older house in Western Australia, for instance, and know for a fact that it's riddled with asbestos and probably has several other structural issues, but most likely enough time and effort will have been spent on staging and lighting and maybe surface-level renovations that it will seem otherwise fine. Lots of turds that have been polished successfully enough that you need insider knowledge to properly identify them as dogshit. Incidentally, I spent part of my childhood in a house built in the 1960s that had asbestos in the walls and ceiling.

I'm still interested in images from Australian listings (and other sources) though, I just look for other things that are interesting. Anything that runs contrary to the artificially positive, limited world view that advertising promotes. Even if its a poorly-lit time capsule that is directly aesthetically opposite to the ideal of house-beauty at the moment, or an obviously run-down house that has had every realtor photography trick in the playbook thrown at it until it becomes deeply uncanny. And it's always interesting to see what other people find interesting; I genuinely think the housing crisis underwrites every other political issue we have to contend with, its tendrils extend in many different directions, and I think this also means imagery like this can reach people in a diversity of ways. Aesthetically, nostalgically, inspiring fear and self-loathing and horror. All good sources of inspiration for creativity.

#anon feedback #Australia #enormous self-indulgent essay answers #that don't really address the point

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majestyeverlasting · 2 months ago

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𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 | 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞

Pairing Frank Castle x Reader [friends → lovers]

Summary A fresh start with no more loose ends—that’s what you promised yourselves. But when a quick outing stretches longer than expected, dread creeps in and reveals how deeply you care for Frank when he’s finally back by your side [3.7k]

A/N First time writing for Frank. Deeply appreciate Jon Bernthal’s embodiment of the character ♡

The rain hasn’t stopped by the time the van eases into the parking lot, where the water on the ground reflects the cherry-red motel sign shining against the night. It makes no difference to you—lips parted, head tilted against the passenger side window—until Frank gears into park and taps your thigh with two thick fingers.

Your eyes flutter open to tiny droplets pattering on the outside of the cool glass. That’s when you notice how still the world has grown. No more potholes, smooth turns, or periodic swells of acceleration to pass other cars who thought they had all the time in the world.

After cutting the engine, he runs a heavy hand down his face and tips his head back, disheveling the back of his dark hair against the headrest. It’s gotten longer. So has the coarser hair of his beard. He never asked for your opinion, nor had you mustered the courage to give it, but the look suited him, as if it was innately right. As he briefly closes his eyes, he misses the way you turn to study his profile, noting how the bridge of his nose catches the glow of the lights outside.

A satisfied hum escapes you as you stretch out your legs, drawing his attention back your way. He blinks observantly, eyebrows set in that eternal furrow that makes him hard to read. But you know he’s alright—content. There’s no other reason not to be. A couple hundred miles ago, he’d tied off one final loose end, and the world went silent for the first time in a while. It was over. No more living ghosts breathing down your necks. You and Pete Castiglione were free to start a new life, be whoever you wanted to be. That’s what you told yourselves.

Clearing his throat, Frank shifts in his seat and reaches into the cup holder, tossing the room key into your lap. “Room 103. There’s two queens,” he tells you. “I’ll grab the bags.” The finality in his tone suggests he won’t entertain any alterations to the plan.

You reach down to grab your crossbody. “Can I get this one, or is it too much?” You’re trying to be funny. He waves you off, mumbling under his breath, but there’s an undeniable flutter in his gut when you smile at him before hopping out of the van.

He purses his lips when you break into an amusing little jog, eager to escape the rain and key into the room. A muted yellow fills the space as you flip on the lights. No sooner does he watch you peek through the curtains like a groundhog popping up from its burrow. It’s hard to make him out, but you swear you can see him chuckling from behind the windshield.

It’s impressive how he manages to carry both your belongings in one trip. He hums in appreciation as you hold the door open for him. Rather than dumping everything in the main walkway, he trudges the extra few steps to where more space opens up, and a small bench rests beneath the full length mirror hanging on the wall.

The air is thick, as it always seems to be at motels, but the citrus undertones suggest recent cleaning. You stake your claim on the bed closest to the bathroom, ready to settle in. The wrapper of a meal bar crinkles as you dig it out from your purse.

Frank’s own mattress squeaks as he plops down onto the foot of the bed and lays back, tucking his hands behind his head. The movement makes the hem of his hoodie rise up just enough to reveal the light trail of dark hair leading down from his belly button. It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but you’d be back on the road in the morning headed for central Virginia.

A modest house in the Blue Ridge Mountains awaited, courtesy of one of his buddies who lived further north in Quantico. Of all the other options, it seemed like a promising place to find your footing away from the endless bustle of New York City.

“Frank?” He looks over at you. “Thanks.” For everything, you want to add.

“No worries,” he says. A few moments pass of the rain slowing down outside. It’s a lulling sound that masks the quiet gurgle of your stomach.

Eyes closed, Frank hears you begin to peel open the bar you’re holding. It’s one of the protein-packed ones that are supposed to taste like chocolate, but always end up too chalky. It’d been a while since the late lunch the two of you had.

“I’ll go get you something hot.” He sits up. “Passed a few places coming in.”

You can see how drained he is from driving. It’s in his voice, the slump of his shoulders. “This’ll tie me over for the night,” you insist.

He looks at you with partial belief. Frank was the type who could get caught up in the task at hand and go without eating, if it wasn’t for your reminders. Earlier, he’d brushed over his hunger, only to sit down across from you in that cramped diner booth and inhale his hamburger and fries as you watched with amusement sparkling in your eyes. That look often spurred him into a spiel about how he could get by on a handful of nuts every few hours if he really wanted.

But there was no such talk this time around. The food was good and hearty, and he enjoyed sitting down and sharing a meal without having to look over his shoulder. There was also something special about the way the sunlight streaming through the windows caught your eyes.

“Really, Frank. It’s been a long day,” you say as he stands and makes his way to the door. There was no stopping him when he made up his mind. “I can come with you.” That earns you a disapproving look, and you sigh your defeat. “Drive safe, okay?”

“Yep.”

The rain subsides shortly after he slips out the door. To avoid the risk of falling asleep, you decide to take a shower, considering yourself lucky that the warm water doesn’t run out after the first five minutes.

By the time you dry off, moisturize, and change into old pajamas, Frank hasn’t returned. When you peek out the window at the sound of an engine, it ends up being construction workers. Despite how much you try to will it away, a familiar sense of dread settles in your gut. It only roots deeper upon realizing that he’d left his BlackBerry behind on the bed.

Time continues passing by.

•••

Red and blue police lights appear blazing in the distance in a showy glow. Frank watches from the inside of a family-owned pizzeria, where beautiful candid pictures adorn the walls. The air is rich with the scent of parmesan and garlic, but his face is fixed in a scowl. There’s bruising beginning to develop on the apple of one cheek, and a thin bleeding slash on the other. A few chairs are overturned while tables are askew.

Under different circumstances, maybe in a different life, he would’ve been able to appreciate the homey charm of the place without trouble finding a way to fall at his feet. The universe had deemed him as the only alter fit to handle it.

The woman behind the counter, stout with a long ponytail, nearly collapses in relief as the wailing sirens draw nearer. Frank’s jaw ticks in irritation at the whole ordeal. Other customers who were once inside have either left or are now standing watch from the parking lot.

Frank turns to look down at the two young men sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall. The masks have been ripped down from their faces, and it’s clear they’ve been roughed up. Despite feeling Frank’s gaze, they refuse to meet it.

Off to side stands another employee who’s around the same age as the men on the ground. He’s holding a wad of napkins to his bloody nose and can’t keep his eyes from flitting to Frank with reverence and gratitude.

“Hey,” Frank barks to the seated men. “When they bust up in here, you don’t run, you hear me? Cause I’m gonna be out there and you won’t even make it to the next lot over,” he says. “If you wanna come in here and be tough guys while your buddy’s trying to make a living and do better for himself, then you own it.”

Their nostrils flare in frustration, but they don’t dare open their mouths. He can see the misplaced anger of his own youth coursing through them.

“Whatever’s going on between you…you talk it out, yeah?” He looks between all of them. “One bad decision, and your folks will be crying and snotting in a courtroom while some guy with a gavel calls the shots.”

As the police cars turn into the parking lot, Frank walks over to a table and picks up the carry out bag of food he’d ordered.

“How do I get outta here?”

Both the long-haired woman and the young employee point to the back hallway where the bathrooms are, watching him disappear as if he were never there at all.

Frank makes it to his van as the police enter the pizzeria. In the rearview mirror, he can see the two men standing from the ground with their heads hanging low. Sighing, he pats down his pockets for his phone with the intent to call you. Nothing. All he can do is curse under his breath and start up the engine.

The No Vacancy sign is switched on when he makes it back. He sees you staring out the window, but you slink back into the room as if the sight of his return was all you needed. A mix of guilt and frustration stir in his chest when you don’t let him in. He has to dig out the key and do it himself with his free hand, the carry out bag crinkling with his efforts. When he slips in and shuts the door behind himself, you’re standing a few yards away. There’s a palpable intensity as you study the afflictions on his face.

Your body wants to fuss over him and push him away all at once—for leaving his phone, for scaring you, for coming back looking like he’d sought out yet another fight. Most of all, you feel foolish for believing that there was ever a chance at normalcy. There was no rewriting the curse that all the trouble in the world fell at Frank Castle’s feet so he could set things right.

Unlike eight months ago, when you thought he was bad news, you can’t imagine losing him. You wouldn’t survive it. That magnitude of that fear cloaks itself in anger and puts a target on him when it’s the last thing he deserves.

“What the hell, Frank? You can’t be serious right now.”

Your piercing gaze is muddled with a myriad of emotions, and he can see them all. He stops the knee-jerk reaction that almost makes him raise his voice and go on about how he didn’t ask for anything that transpired within the past hour. How happenstance wasn’t within his control. How the whole idea of the two people like you finding a sense of normality was probably closer to a fairytale.

He doesn’t get into it because he loves you. Even though neither of you have ever said it aloud. It was an unspoken truth, written between the lines of the fact that you worked each other’s nerves, but knew how to sooth them even more. Chasing after a fairytale would be worth it with you.

“Let’s just eat, yeah? Can we do that?”

He brushes past you to put the food on the small table. You track his movements, watching as he takes out a few small boxes. There’s wings, garlic knots, mozzarella sticks—a variety so you can take your pick and get your fill. It was never really too late for pizza, but he knew you would complain about the layers of cheese grease so close to bedtime. You’re not even sure you have an appetite anymore, but he motions for you to come sit and you can’t say no. Your eyes follow him as he goes to wash his hands, wishing you had it in you to scream.

There’s only two chairs and your knees knock beneath the table when he sits down. As you nibble on a garlic knot, you stare at the dried blood on his cheek and the forming bruise.

“Please tell me what happened.” Your tone is lighter than before.

Frank squints briefly then wrinkles his nose, gears turning in his head. Similar to when he walks into a new room, his gaze tracks around different points of your face, as if he’s trying to piece together what he wants to say as he assesses where you are. His thoughts are always written in his expressions even if they aren’t entirely clear.

“It was nothing,” he says.

“Nothing, Frank?”

Nine times out of ten, him coming back to base camp bearing signs of a fight meant that he’d either taken care of everything or it was time to bounce—no in between. There’s no urgency that suggests the latter, so he must be telling the truth. The events of the night have pissed him off more than anything, like a side quest he couldn’t avoid. As much as he dreaded playing it over in his head for the sake of relaying it back to you, he can see that you need it.

“Alright, look.” Frank waits for your attentive nod to continue.

“It was a couple of kids. Came in all loud, making a scene,” he starts. “Long story short, they gang up on their buddy who works there.” Your eyes drift to his lips as he talks, watching the way he wets them every so often. “Everybody starts freaking out, some suit who looks like Mayor LaGaurdia calls the cops.”

He shakes his head like it was all a big mess. “And I’m not about to sit there and watch this kid get the snot beat outta him, so I get up and do somethin’ about it.” The righteous indignation in his tone stirs an admiration within you. He notices the shift in the way you’re looking at him.

“What?”

You shake your head and bite your lower lip. “So you broke them apart?”

He nods. “One of ‘em got a lick in, pulled out a pocket knife,” he says. “Then I shook both their asses up and made ‘em sit ‘til the cops came.”

“You pulled your punches.”

“I pulled my punches,” he confirms.

This wasn’t the story you were expecting, but you’re grateful for it nonetheless. Frank breaking up fights and setting kids straight was something you could live with—better than dealing with crime rings, crooked feds, and personal vendettas.

A wave of rowdy laughter soon erupts from somewhere in the distance. When you look down, you realize the two of you have made your way through more of the food than you were expecting. Frank wipes his hands off with a napkin and leans back in his chair, watching as you do the same.

The silence is intimate. Frank’s knees are still pressed against yours. He looks like he wants to say one thing but changes his mind to another at the last minute. “I’m gonna go grab a shower, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you mimic the quick, New York way he always clips the word onto the end of his sentences.

He’s never minded your teasing. Every time he thinks he’s gotten away with masking his amusement, you always catch a tell that gives him away. This time, it’s the twitch of his nose as he stands up to throw his stuff away. You file it away in your memory.

“Hey, Frank?” He looks over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was scared.”

“I know.”

Later, the lights around the mirror provide a Hollywood-esque glow as you stand at the sink brushing your teeth, one hand braced on the counter. The rest of the bathroom is sectioned off behind a door, so you feel the lingering steam from Frank's shower as he steps out in his sleep clothes, drying off his hair. The air smells like the complimentary soap, light and fresh. You absentmindedly shift to make room for him as he drapes the towel around his neck and leans close to the mirror to assess his face.

Now that the blood is gone, the cut looks less imposing. Unphased that you’re bumping shoulders, he reaches for his own toothbrush.

You’ve never paid any mind to how heavy-handed he is while he brushes, but it stands out now that you’re right beside him sharing the same sink. Perhaps it only appears that way, but you force yourself to bite back a teasing comment as you move on to floss. Frank just stares at you in the mirror with a soft, tired look in his eyes that makes your insides feel all fluttery. You’re sure he’s not even aware he’s doing it—or maybe he knows perfectly well.

After he’s ditched the towel and the two of you are making your way to your respective beds, you bring a halt to his movements by wrapping your arms around him. It’s an awkward angle at first because you come at him partially from the side, partially from behind. But he adjusts himself so that your chests are pressed together as he wraps an arm around you—just the one initially, taken aback by your embrace.

“Okay. Oh, boy,” he chuckles in that low way of his that playfully denotes trouble.

You’re not sure why you made the move. As he adds his other arm, it occurs to you that there are too many motivations for there to be just one. Affection seldom looks like this between the two of you—maybe once every blue moon during notable partings or close calls. The seamless way you melt into him says otherwise. It’s as if relishing his warmth and the steady constant of his frame was all you were made for. The possibility doesn’t even offend you. You keep holding him and he keeps holding you.

“You okay?” he asks after a while, smoothing his wide palm up your back.

You nod before slowly pulling away. “Sorry, I’m just…” You touch a gentle finger to the center of his chest as he looks at you with that familiar furrow between his brows. “Glad you’re back.” Glad he’s still alive.

“Where else would I be, huh?” He taps your chin with his knuckle. “I walk out any door without you, best believe I’m making it back some way somehow.”

You nod because you don’t trust your voice anymore.

He gives your chin another affectionate tap. “Alright then. Bedtime.”

•••

A small sliver of light slips in through the slit in the curtains, casting itself onto the lower portion of Frank’s bed right over his feet. Even after staring at it for what feels like forever, you can’t bring yourself to close your eyes and surrender to the grasp of sleep. Yet the steady rise and fall of Frank’s chest continues on like some sort of miracle. You wish you were close enough to feel it for yourself, and when that pull doesn’t go away, you push the covers off and tiptoe over to his bed amid the dark.

When the other side of his mattress dips, he thinks it’s one of those half-waking dreams until your leg brushes against his in your attempt to join him beneath the sheets. He immediately shifts to accommodate you, tugging more covers over to your side even though there’s already plenty. As he moves, you can smell the familiar scent of his skin and feel the weight of his proximity.

“Thought you were—thought I was dreaming,” he rasps.

With the way your heart has begun hammering in your ears, you’re surprised you can hear him. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, you’re okay, sweetheart.” His voice is thick, but not from tiredness this time.

Both of you remain still after you’ve settled, scared that moving would shatter this sweet reality that had been woven together by fate. The warmth of his body calls out to you, but you don’t indulge even though you want to. That hesitation doesn’t last long. The moment he reaches out, you press yourself back against his chest. He lets his hand come to rest over your stomach as he tucks his nose into your head, breathing you in. When you relax further into him, his fingertips venture just beneath the hem of your shirt to grace the soft skin above your waistline. The gesture is achingly chaste. The two of you fall asleep just like that.

Morning seems to come soon, sunlight spilling into the room around the closed curtains. The light is tender in the way it bathes the charming color palette of the room. Frank’s eyes flutter open to find that neither of you had shifted much during the night. You're further away, but his arm remains draped over your middle. He doesn’t know that you're awake—that you’ve been awake.

The first thing your gaze fell on was the alarm clock nearing nine o’ clock. You’d slept in way longer than usual, especially for what was meant to be another day on the road. You can’t bring yourself to mind.

It isn’t until Frank withdraws his arm that you finally allow yourself to shift. The sheets rustle in a tell-tale sign that he’s stretching, and you roll over in time to see him on his back with his arms extended, knuckles brushing against the headboard. You scoot closer, resting a hand on his chest after he lowers his arms and tucks the one furthest from you behind his head, bicep flexing.

Neither of you say anything, but there’s a quiet sense of acknowledgement—of seeing and being seen. With a lone finger, you draw lazy shapes over his pecs through the fabric of his shirt as he slowly blinks down at your hand. And as Frank turns to press a kiss to your forehead, he reckons he could get used to mornings like these.

♡ Thank you for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts.

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fanfic #frank castle x reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #the punisher #jon bernthal #friends to lovers fic #friends to lovers

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avocado-writing · 1 month ago

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Kinktober #25

25. Pussy Slapping // Non Con - Dub Con // Titty Fucking (X24 x reader. dark, be warned)

You have been pushed into a corner with one dull realisation: you have no time.

One of you is going to die and it can’t be Logan. It can’t. You know he’s goddamn self sacrificing to a fault but Laura is a factor here too, and she has a better chance with him than with you.

You tell Logan to give you his suit jacket and, though he doesn’t know why, he obeys unerringly. The shotgun is next, a bunch of shells deposited into your pocket.

“Go,” you say, loading them into the barrel, “I’ll hold him off.”

“But…” you don’t remember the last time he looked so torn, age and fallibility painted over his face as if with brushstrokes. You hold his cheek in your hand, memorising the feel of his beard.

“Go.” There is no arguing with you. Laura begins to lose it, her voice rising with panicked Spanish as she realises you’re going to be left behind, but Logan hauls her over a shoulder and starts to run. She screams and reaches for you, tears streaming down her cheeks, and you can’t bear to face it for too long or your heart will break.

Buy them time to get to the car. That’s all you need to do. Then they’ll be safe.

“Come on,” you mutter, waiting for the beast to arrive. The wind picks up and you hope the scent of Logan is carried from his jacket, enough bait for the creature to take.

The treeline moves, and then there it is, stalking out towards you. Fierce, furious eyes. Nostrils flaring, scenting the air as it moves. Targeting you.

You fire a round into its belly.

“Let’s go, you fucker,” you hiss.

It howls in pain as skin fixes itself immediately, teeth bared to as if it is about to show you what it will rip you to pieces with.

You have its attention. You start to run.

It lets out a roar and starts to chase you, feet beating loudly on the dry grass. You shoulder your way through the trees, thin and vicious as they whip you, drawing blood with every slap. You can hear it coming after you, moving far quicker than you can, hunting you down, oh god, you’re going to face the end of your life–

It tackles you hard to the ground as you swing your gun around to aim at it. It knocks the weapon from your grasp and you watch with horror as it slides far away.

X-24 stares down at you, the weight of its body pinning you to the ground. You grit your jaw so hard you fear that your teeth might shatter. If you’re going to die, you’ll do it without looking away.

“Do it,” you hiss, defiantly.

But it doesn’t.

X-24 holds your gaze. An agonising moment passes as you wait for him to sheathe it claws inside of your soft belly, finish you off… so imagine your surprise when it buries its face into your neck.

“Oh… oh!” you whisper, feeling how it nuzzles into where your pulse beats, how its tongue flits against your pulse. Its hips dip down to notch into the space it’s forced your legs open to create and starts to grind down into you, simulating fucking with none of the relief.

Your eyes go wide.

“Wait… wait…” you grab it – no, him, surely – and hold him back. He whines like a dog and his hips don’t stop their movement, but they do still a little. He’s hard as rock against your clothed cunt, incessant with his little thrusts. “You want to…?”

You’re not sure if he has the capacity to speak back, at least not at the moment, but he understands enough to realise you’ve cottoned on. He must see this as consent, as his hands drop to your jeans with a snik you recognise from Logan, begins to slice them off of you. Panic floods you. He’s the enemy, isn’t he? This isn’t… you don’t…

“Ah–no…” you mutter but, for some reason, you can’t muster much force behind it. This thing… this man… it's just a feral version of Logan, no? The same as the man you love? Is it that affection for you is so hard-wired into his DNA that it comes through with every single iteration of him, even something as wild as this?

Perhaps it would not be such a bad thing. Perhaps what this creature needs is someone to show it softness.

“Whoa, okay. Slow…” you whisper, reaching to cup his jaw. X-24 whines at the touch, nuzzling into you as he removes the scraps of your jeans from your waist. You move his face to look up at you, make eye contact to try and assert your dominance, even now. Treat him like a needy puppy.

“We can, okay? We can. But go slow, baby.”

Your words sink in and when he goes to tear off your underwear, he is gentler. The shock of cold air still makes you shiver when it touches your surprisingly wet cunt but you are warmed when he buries his face against your folds, scenting and licking you desperately. You gasp at the suddenness of it all, go to bury your hands in his hair like you would with Logan… only to be disappointed when you realise it’s been buzzed to his skull. You drop your grip to the grass instead, pulling up tufts as you try to hang on.

There is no skill in what he is doing, he just desires to be as close to you as he can, totally drown himself in your musk. The feeling of his beard on your clit keeps strumming pleasure through you, though, and the way he attacks you with lips and teeth soon has you coming all over his tongue. He lets out a ragged groan, dragged deep from the cavern of his chest, and then he’s over you again: hips jerking down ineffectively against yours.

“It’s okay, shh, wait…” you mutter, hands going for his fly and freeing his hard cock as quick as you can. There is no surprise: you are faced with Logan’s length and girth, thick and hard and oozing with desire for you. X-24 growls a little and then wastes no time in finding your entrance, sliding himself up to the hilt in one motion which has you gasping and writhing.

Logan would let you adjust, tease you. This creature, this man, does not have the facility to understand that. He ruts wildly, dragging himself out to the tip and then slamming back home, obsessed with the way your needy cunt soaks his entire cock, entranced by the idea of more of you. His hands wrap around your thighs and pull you even closer to him, as if he fears that if he doesn’t pin you down that you’ll disappear. You clutch onto his shirt and try to ground yourself.

“I’m not going anywhere… It’s okay…”

He growls and whines as his pace picks up, hips slapping loudly and lewdly against yours in the quiet of the woodland around you, and then with a snarl he’s releasing himself into your body; filling you full of cum and, as far as he is concerned, claiming you.

He at least has the acumen not to collapse on you, crush you with his skeleton. Instead he nuzzles his face into your stomach as if trying to guard the womb he’s just flooded with himself. As the world settles again you stroke your fingers against the prickle of his hair, not entirely disliking the way he holds you in a vice-grip.

He whines at the softness of your touch, and you can almost make out a word.

“Mine.”

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bloodywankers · 6 months ago

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tw. yandere, forced pregnancy, mentions of nudity, toxic relationships, implied murder, not proofread (pls tell me if you see any typos), 1.4k words

You knew your husband wasn’t normal. You weren’t a fool, the avoiding gazes of people around you, the nervous stutter of every waiter and service person that approached you, the hesitance of new aquintaces when they had to shake hands with you, all of it under his watchful gaze. It was hard to ignore.

If you had to put a finger on when it started, you’d blame that one time years ago, when you were both still young, much younger than you are now at least. When you complained about that one classmate that always got too handsy, about his annoying jokes and obnoxious personality, all under the guise of “a joke” as tasteless as it might have been. You knew he wasn’t fully okay in the head, even back then. It was by no mistake that you found yourself complaining to him of all people, sure he was a bit more reserved than now, a bit more hesitant at the thought of potentially committing a crime but all it took was a fluttering your eyes at him a few times and he offered himself up for you, he had never been the smartest of the buch after all.

When you heard news that the classmate had apparently dropped out and been seen with injuries beyond what any sane person would inflict, you knew who to blame. But you wouldn’t, maybe your underdeveloped prefrontal lobe couldn’t grasp the concept morality back then. But a guard dog that shows such loyalty couldn’t possibly deserve punishment. It was then when you cemented future by his side. He wasn’t all too bad, you thought, if you could avoid any and all contact with the opposite gender, even with women you could never make him feel unwanted. He was needy and big and scary but extremely gullible, at least when it came to you– as long as nothing sparked his jealousy, he was beyond reasoning if that were to happen.

There were times where you cursed at yourself for your past decisions, namely when you found small splatters of blood on his clothes that you assume were too small for him to notice, or when another person you had been unhappy with (but never voiced this in front of your husband) disappeared entiorely from your life. A dog that goes and bites all those that approach its master is no good at all.

Selfish and evil as you may have been, you were still human and the thought that your mere presence could ruin someones life took a toll on you so you started to retreat into your shell, to avoid going out as much as possible, much to your husbands pleasure who started coming home on time and didn’t drift off somewhere in the middle of the might anymore. Your relationship almost started showing a semblance of normalcy.

You had started feeling exhausted as of late, too tired despite your schedule full of nothing. It was strange, you started losing appetite and under a constant spell of lethargy, too tired to do anything beyond maybe brave the journey to the bathroom when necessary or to the kitchen if your husband wasn’t home to do it for you. Then started the cravings, so strange that you doubted even a pregnant woman would have them.

That’s what you thought, until night you managed to wake up just in time to see your husband rummahging through your drawer, the small sheet of what you could only make out to be your contraceptive pills in you hand and another one that looked eerily similar (that one wasn’t yours, you were sure of this since you were down to your last sheet).

You instinctively closed your eyes again before he could turn to you, waiting until morning when he was gone to work to check your drawing, only to find one sheet. It was then when things started to click, your period had been a few weeks late, you hadn’t been particularly alarmed since it happened sometimes but now you felt fear sink in as you rushed out in your car to the nearest pharmacy. The drive felt eons long when combined with the ever increasing feelings of dread that you were experiencing but you almost wished you could go back to that time as your clothes were tossed to one side and the bathroom door left slightly ajar, you were too rushed to have cared about those details as you stared at the two lines on the test.

‘No no no no no no no no no.’ You couldn’t think clear, you werent ready to be a mother, you didnt want children, there wasn’t a single motherly bone in your body.

You took back what you had said earlier, you were most definitely a fool. Why did you think he’d never do something like this when hes probably already done enough to secure his place in the 8th circle of hell just for you.

“Darling, I was looking for you-” Your husband said gleefully, pausing as he fully opened the bathroom door, finding you sat with a pregnancy test in hand, a few other ones already tossed around you, the unmistakeable positive already visible on them. And yet, as if he had no hand in this, he feiged ignorance, acted worried as he approached you.

“What’s happened here, what’re you doing, dear? Are you alright?” He kept asking these questions as he slowly neared you.

“Get away from me, don’t touch me!” You screamed, you were crying at this point and he was left at an arms length. That was when his entire demeanor changed, the almost idiotic smile of his nowhere to be seen as he let out a frustrated sigh.

“I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. If anything I’m surprised it took you this long, you’re quite the slow one aren’t you, love?” You probably would’ve launched the nearest object his way in any other situation but you couldn’t tell heads from tails in your current predicament.

“Why would you do this? Was what we had not enough for you?” You couldn’t help but ask in a moment of clarity.

“How coy, I wonder where this side of you was when you asked me to do all those terrible, terrible things.” His smile felt cruel, especially so when you realised that you were the dog if anything, he had always been the one to hold your leash, not the other way around.

“You dug your own grave, we couldn’ve had what most normal people have but you chose not to, you used me until your heart was fulfilled and in the process, you dug yourself deeper and deeper. The fact that you didn’t realise any sooner says more about you than me.” He finished, before hoisting you up, ignoring your cries as he removed what little you had on and placed you inside the bath. It had become a routine ever since you started feeling sick but today you couldn’t help but feel disgusted by his touch, alternating between sobs and protests as he cleaned, his grasp much harsher than usual, you weren’t sure if it was because he no longer had to uphold the persona he had you believing in up until today or because of your protests.

“Aren’t you curious, what you’ve been eating in place of your birth control lately?” He asked in the midst of washing your hair, the glint of excitement in his eyes only adding to the psychotic expression of his.

You couldn’t bear to ask, looking away in hoped that he would at least grant you this much. “Aww, I was hoping you’d want to, I’ll tell you ayway. It’s a sedative of sorts, I started with low dosages so you wouldn’t get alarmed. Don’t worry, it’s nothing strong enough to harm the baby.” The mention of the baby had your stomach twisting again. You felt exhausted from crying, letting him dress you, moving you around almost like a ragdoll until he plopped you on the bed, joining you soon after he showered and changed himself. Engulfing your smaller figure into a hug as he went on and on about the baby.

“I’ll get some books on parenting for you, we need to make sure our baby doesn’t turn out twisted and skewed like their mommy. Don’t you agree?”

#I should be studying lmao #very self indulgent #can’t wait to reread it just to learn that it’s incoherent rambling #yandere character #yandere x reader #oc #original character #yandere oc #yandere blog #yandere #yandere male #dark fic #yandere original character x reader #yandere scenario #dark romance #x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere original character #scenario

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doromoni · 1 year ago

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I hate you , right? | GR63

George Russell x Red Bull Driver! y/n

warnings : swearing

Summary : George was a little too attractive after the summer break.

“Oh fuck off Russell! Are you blind? Side mirrors are there for a reason! Learn to fucking use it! You almost cost me my race, dickhead!”

Y/N L/N the first ever female driver for the Red Bull racing team, only through sheer determination and hardheadedness was she able to achieve such an amazing feat.

Being the only female on the grid was hard enough as it is with misogyny and sexism biting at her rear , but adding a British asshole really did put the cherry on top on the cake of ass-hattery that Formula 1 offered.

“Not my fault you drive like a fucking lunatic, that turn was mine and you know it L/N! maybe next time learn how to actually drive rather than depending on your car”

The two drivers are at each other’s faces yet again . This had been a normal event, that even the teams have grown accustomed to the shouts and curses of each driver — whether its swearing at each other in the Red Bull garage or nearly pouncing and succumbing to physicalities at Mercedes. Y/N L/N and George Russell are sworn enemies in and off the racing track.

They used to be friends, best friends even. Both driving for the Mercedes driver academy with George racing in F2 while Y/N in F3. When George won the F2 championship, earning himself a seat at Williams ; Y/N then was promoted to a seat in F2 . A year later Y/N had won her own F2 championship, but no F1 seat was offered in Williams nor in Mercedes to the female driver. Another year had passed, George was offered a seat at Mercedes while Mercedes had no news for Y/N L/N. That was until a seat was offered by Red Bull — giving a shock to the whole motorsport world. As Y/N raced for the Red and Blue team , she had flourished and proved everyone who doubted her wrong.

No one knew how George and Y/N’s rivalry exactly started , but all hell broke loose when George collided with Y/N during the 1st lap and both had DNFed the race.

Y/N was furious and snapped , storming into the Mercedes garage straight to where the English driver was standing still holding onto his racing helmet— shoving him with all her strength into the garage wall. Their faces almost touching as unpleasant words were exchanged ; rendering both teams speechless and leaving them with a horrendous PR mess to clean up.

This time was no different. Y/N and George were at each other’s throat, only this time it was Y/N pinned to the wall inside George’s driver room . George tightening his grip on the Red Bull driver’s waist, leaning his full body weight on the girl who was squirming for release.

“What even is the problem Y/N? We’re both on the podium and you’re team got a 1-2. Stop being a child, it’s racing! What do you expect”

“My problem is you Russell! You’re so careless and aggressive, we could’ve crashed again. You never changed, George , you’re still the fucking same!”

George’s eyes darken as his face drew even closer to the female driver— his voice like honey, dripping as it lowered an octave.

“Yeah?!And you changed so fucking much, I don’t even recognize you anymore Y/N! Now all I see is a bitch obsessed with winning. Tough luck! You’re Verstappen’s teammate, you will always be second.”

Not backing down , Y/n drew herself closer to the english driver ,enough that their noses where touching. A teasing yet derisive smirk formed on her lip, tongue darting out wetting her lips. Catching George’s eyes , as it glanced down towards y/n lips.

“Oh how rich! Coming from the guy who’s living in Lewis Hamilton’s bloody shadow. Like I care what you see me as , you were blind from the very beginning.“

A deep chuckle vibrated in George’s chest , drawing shivers up Y/N’s back , as he said

“ I hate you”

“No, duh Sherlock. I hate you more”

His eyes quickly darting from her eyes to her lips , as if contemplating something. Having enough of his antics and taking matters into her own hands, Y/N fisted his Fireproofs as she brought him down to her level. As their Lips almost touched , rapid knocks on the door distracted them from their daze.

Suddenly realizing their positions , Y/n pushed George away from her. Fuming, the female driver parted ways and left the Mercedes garage with a huff ; wrapping up the first race of the seond half of the season with glares and silent threats. Not realizing what was on each other’s mind

“ Such a rude mouth, what i’d do to shut that up and get a taste”

“I need to control myself. I was ready to pounce on George and have my way with him. Damn him and his perfect hair and golden skin”

The Red Bull and Mercedes driver starting the other half season with pent up anger and sexual tension thick enough to suffocate.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #george russel x reader #mercedes #george russel imagine #george russell #gr63 #red bull formula 1 #red bull racing #f1 imagine #mercedes amg f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 2023 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #george russell x reader #george russell imagine

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castiwls · 7 months ago

Text

tolerate it pt2 - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt;

Requested; anon

Notes;highly requested sorry its taken so long.

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

In the days since Dean had left, you’d spent most of your time thinking. You’d gone over and over your conversation with Dean until you were pretty sure you’d analysed every single word a few times over.

You’d come to the conclusion that upon Dean’s return, he was gonna have a choice to make. It killed you inside to even think in this way but you knew something had to be done. Living life locked away in a bunker was nothing you’d imagined, nor wanted. Before the bunker your life had been filled with long car rides and late-night conversations whispered under the covers of old motel rooms.

You’d never bothered much about Dean’s protectiveness back then because you’d still had the freedom of exploring new towns and finding small hidden treasures. You’d loved the whirlwind of moving from town to town. State to state. Until it had stopped. Until you’d found yourself trapped in a metal prison.

By no means were you kept here forcefully. You could leave at any point but you didn’t want to. Walking around the same town on your own was only entertaining for a certain amount of time before it grew repetitive. While before Dean used to join you as you’d both explore the new towns, now he barely left the bunker unless he was hunting.

Even when he was here he’d always have a reason to stay behind while you adventured out for supplies.

Which is what brought you to now. What brought you to sit on your bed, a duffle bag in hand as you slowly worked up the courage to begin the task of packing. It almost broke your heart in two reaching from the draw and slowly opening it. Pulling out the first piece of clothing felt like you were poking small holes in your heart.

You loved Dean, you truly did but you couldn’t live like this any longer.

“What are you doing?” You jumped slightly at the voice, dropping the top you’d been holding. “Your back.” You quickly picked up the top before turning to face Dean who stood staring at you. His eyes darted between the bag and your open draw before back to you. A small look of fear crossed his face for a moment before quickly disappearing. You were leaving?!

“Sweetheart.” He slowly began walking towards you, his arms reaching out to grasp your own. “What are you doing?” He repeated.

“Giving you a choice.” You responded simply, keeping your expression calm. “You let me come with you every so often, or I leave. For good.”

Dean faltered for a moment. His grip on your arms tightens. “You..you can’t leave. Sweetheart why would you…no.” He shook his head as his mind raced a mile a minute. “I can’t keep doing this.” A small frown pulled on your lips as you softened your gaze. “It’s not fair on me. I feel useless here Dean! You never let me help anymore!”

“I’m trying to keep you safe! Why can’t you see that.” He threw his arms up turning his back to you before running a hand through his hair. “You being here is the safest place you can be.”

You shook your head. “What’s the point of this relationship if you're never here and I'm constantly sitting here doing nothing? I spend my time worrying that one day Sam will walk through that door and you won’t be with him!” Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes as you tried to reason with him. “I can’t keep doing this Dean.” You pressed a hand to your mouth taking in a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Either start letting me help or I’m leaving.”

You held your breath, feeling your heart beat faster in your chest as he stayed silent before turning back to face you. His heart beat in his ears as he considered his options for a moment. Losing you would break him, but seeing you in harm's way would also break him.

He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place as he stared at you. Taking his silence as an answer you nodded, pushing the tears back. “Fine.” You turned back to the draw beginning to throw things into your bag.

The feel of arms wrapping around your waist stalled you slightly. “Stay, please. I can’t lose you.” His lips pressed against the side of your head before he nuzzled his face against your neck. “We can compromise. I’ll teach you how to hunt but on my terms.” He turned you in his arms allowing you both to come face to face.

“I'm so sorry.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before repeating himself. “We can fix this. I promise.” You nodded slightly. It was a start. Him even considered the idea of training you was a step up from before.

“You better keep that promise.” You nodded towards the bag. “Or I really will leave, I swear.” Dean nodded before pulling you impossibly closer, his hand caressing the back of your head.

“I promise.”

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icarusredwings · 3 months ago

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I rewatched Deadpool 2 and took notes.

Disclaimer: He's mentally ill and does mentally ill things (GASP, who would have thought?). Also, violence. A lot of violence. It's really long. Like.. really really long.

The very first words he says is "fuck wolverine"

Then blows his own head off with a shit ton of gasoline. Wonder if he had insurance on that appartment.

He started taking worldwide cases

He also admits to knowing "8th grade spanish"

"Passion of the christ. Then me." Says the man whos marvel jesus now.

I wonder how much wade owes cab guy.

Cab guy killed bandu Lmao

"What is it?"

"My IUD"

"A bomb??" Tell me why he was lowkey excited for it to be a bomb?

I love how serious he gets talking about how scared he is to be a dad.

This empire joke traveled from the first movie too.

"Pretty sure it doesn't work that way but we can try" yes.

When making toaster strudles its almost as if he could sense them coming despite it being so silent. This kind of makes me think that Logans not the only one who just jumps up sometimes.

This man really just said "Fuck it" jumped out of a 2 story window, BOLTED after this guy as fast as he could, got hit by a car, rammed another car, and whole ass hugged this guy before jumping in front of a truck with him. I don't want to see anyone try to tell me he's one sandwitch drop away from jumping off a cliff.

Cinatography by Blind Al.

Directed by one of those guys that killed john wicks dog.

God I love Ryan Reynolds because you know it was him.

Wade stop peeing your pants in public.

Weasel "We still have bowie..." Yeah id lie to him too at this point.

"Yeah im fine"

Fucked up

Insecure

Needy and

Emotional. Kübler ross apprently.

"Buck no more speaking lines for you" and he meant that shit.

Al is so humble and sweet. Making tea and giggling. Tries to shoot him and then just hears him collapse on the floor. How many times do you think he collapses on the floor a week? Just to be drimatic?

"Sweetheart can you speak up? Its a little hard to hear you with yhat pity dick in your mouth" Oh so shes his mom. Al is his fucking mom. Hands down. And the best one.

I love how he decided to do an entire bag of cocaine before dying. There was no reason for it and honestly was a waste of cocaine until you realize that these cocaine is wades whiskey. Shots dont work for him really, probably because hes already done it so much, but its the same way how Logan chugs that bottle before wade kidnaps him. Its easier to blame it on a substance then accept those were your actions.

Ness is so cute. The poster behind her has "I love you wade wilson" scratched into it. Its nice to know that his version of heaven is literally just a cozy Saturday morning with his wife.

Colossus just walking in to find wades body parts everywhere and put him in a bag like old dirty clothes lol

"Why cant I fucking die" tone was SO serious.

The fact that theres an x men rule book and its lowkey thicker then a bible. I bet you scott and Logan made 80% of those.

"That asshole was me" oh the tears. Baby boyy.

Wait isnt cable literally scotts son.

Im never going to understand this fucking time line jesus christ

Mutant rehabilitation?? What is he a drug addict? That kid is clearly in pain dipshits.

"X men trainee" is so funny

"Please stop cheating on me"

Daniel the pedophile looking ass

Bro casually signs ryan reynolds on the wolverine cereal box and then destroys his knee caps.

"Those guys hurt you??" It was at that moment, wade went ape shit.

Wade having fun in prison is so him. But come on imagine going to prison just for standing up to an abused child. Not to mention, His face when he immediately realizes how fucked he is and that "oh shit I actually DO have cancer now and it SUCKS"

Is it just me or does Cable reminds you of forge with all his cool fix it abilities. Or is he just futurey.

He didn't say were not friends to make him upset but to draw attention to himself. Him just eye rolling when stabbed in the hand was so funny too because he was like "Ouch. God damn it. Ducking OUCH."

Hes literally pleading with russel to find someone else to peotect him or hes gonna get molested because he cant do anything. His entire power is replacing dead cells WITH new cancer cells. His entire body is dying 24/7 but never fast enough to actually kill him, always regrowing way too quickly. Cancerous is better then dead.

"Get away from me kid" yeah cause he knows hes trouble and he REALLY doesn't wanna watch this kid die.

"Who the hell tries to kill a 14 year old boy"

"Kids give us a chance to be better then we used to be"

Dopinder is so wholesome. I love him so much. No i dont care that he killed a guy. Hes the type of friend you call to take to the movies or the zoo once every year and hes stoked just to be invited.

Peter: I just thought it looked fun :D

Dopinder: FUCK

Peter is that one dad whos kids left the nest and now he needs friends and a hobby so searches for the biggest weirdos he can find.

"Grab the boy- NOT INAPPROPRIATELY >:("

i love his crayon maps/plans

Oh my god weasel im not telling you anything ever again you snitch (same dude, cable is terrifying)

After crying over the love he has for his new team (x force) Wade confirms that he spent 10 years in special forces.

I love how supportive wade is with Peter despite him just being a normal dude only for him to immediately die LMAO

He just cassually lets his impulse win in which he steals a moped.

Oh i just noticed Dominos vitiligo. I always loved vitiligo charaters. Theyre so unique and barley ever given movie roles. Like why not?? Why wouldnt you want someone so beautiful? Im pretty sure she just has make up but it would be cool if not.

Something else is that cable just starts yeeting criminals out onto the street lol

"Theres nothing I cant kill" Let me intorduce you to the man whos on a constant road to dying but can never actually get there.

Im assuming cable wants to kill russel because he unleashes a big bad guy or something.

*cassually snaps neck back into place* Oh god that hurt!

Oh I was right! It was Juggernaut :)

Wade: *gets excited about being PHYSICALLY ripped in half*

"Rub my legs mama 🥺 I got growing pains"

"Oh noo! No no no Dp not again!" We love you Dopinder. Do not ever stop caring. "This shits happened before!?" Yes weasel. Sometimes your friends get ripped in half. Get used to it.

Wade just moves her gun to the right position.

Wade talking about saving russel is so serious that it makes you forget that he has a tiny baby ass rn. I couldn't make a deal with someone woth tiny baby legs... just... no. Not to mention that those baby legs are made of cancer.

"50 years from now you're super fucking dead"

Wade standing outside of the xmen mansion with his phone and a picture of a boom box playing music for Colossus to come outside and help him save russel is something i can see happening to Logan. They have a fight and he storms off to the mansion only for wade to stand outside like that.

"Hi Wade🎀✨️" "Hi Yukio!🥹 you guys make a super cute couple 😊 where was I? 🤨"

"So you wear a helmet so your brother cant read your mind?" "Yeaaahh" average kid conversations.

"Lets fuck some shit up is my legal middle name"

Okay sir edgelord.

Apprently wade has a gluten sensitivity

What is it with wade and metal men??? My man has a type.

"Im just gonna use this brick and maximum effort" Same wade. Same.

Yaayy!! Go yukio! Eveyone loves yukio.

"Thats how we do it in mother russia" What? Shoving an electrical cable up their ass and then put them in a pool? Damn. Ok.

That "I never should have never left you in that prison" with the hug? Man hed be a decent dad I think.

"Dont be ive been trying to make this happen for awhile" okay someone supervise him 24/7. Hes on the active watch list.

Wade: *is dying* Hi Yukio :D

Yukio: Hi wade :)

"R-dog" Oh my god hes too cute.

Them carrying the racist joke all the way til the end made me cringe but that was the point.

His last words being "do you wanna build a snow man?" Is such a deadpool thing.

I was NOT expecting to cry at the end of this stupid ass movie, AGAIN

"Dont fuck colossus" VANESSA KNEW

THE FUCKING COIN

"Is there a knife in my dick?" "There's a knife in your dick."

Oh I just didn't even notice she has heterochromancia! <3 Aahh!!

PFFT DOPINDERS SECOND CONFIRMED KILL

"WERE DEFINITELY NAMINF OUR KID CHER"

"Dont scratch!" *shoots himself 8 times* "Love you! Bye."

Wolverine: ???

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christronomy · 1 year ago

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Hi!! Its the anon who sent in the chan car ride hard thought with the insta reel, if u remember me. But i have came to give u a new hard thought. First off, HAVE YOU SEEN THE VID OF CHAN DOING THAT LIL FINGER MOVE IN HALL OF FAME?!? i feel dizzy. 😵‍💫 anyways, onto my hard thought, picture this, y/n is scrolling on twt and that tweet that says imagine chan fingering you till you cry (or sum like that i hope you know what tweet im talking abt) and it has the chan vid attached to it, THEN BANGCHAN COMES INTO THE ROOM AND CATCHES Y/N AND FINGERS HEER OMGGGG (also i jus noticed that i used twt and tweet instead of X, sorry lol)

of course i remember you! hi, love! and YES, of course i saw that tweet, and i feel totally not normal about it! i would link them but i can't remember which accounts they're from sigh. also i hate calling it "x" bc cause wtf is that. LMAO

but onto this gem of a thought. honestly, he'd tease you so much if he caught you gushing over those tweets, he'd be so sweet about it though. if you don't mind i wanna add some more to this under the cut cause it just came to mind hehe (it's so long and i didn't proof read. help).

he caught you trying to finger yourself in his dorm room after spending almost hours scrolling through your timeline. you weren't really expecting to see anything interesting, but the only thing that popped up was the clips of him and that finger movement that caught your attention and immediately drove you insane. you couldn't help but keep watching the same clip over and over again in awe. it was just so attractive, especially when he made that certain expression and looked right straight at the camera, almost as if he were looking right at you.

so here you were now, desperately bucking your hips up against your hand, sticking your fingers as far inside your cunt as you could, palming your clit to gain some extra friction. you whined exasperatedly as you failed miserably yet again, not being able to get that stimulation you so desperately wanted.

chan got home a few minutes ago, so he's already been watching you, chuckling to himself softly cause you just look so cute like that—legs spread, face flushed a bright red, fucking your fingers in and out of your sopping hole. you keep going for a few more minutes, until you finally toss your head back to groan in frustration because it's just not enough.

his cock is already twitching, straining in his pants at the sight of you, so he can't help but open the door, and he finds it cute how you immediately close your legs and draw your hand back, the surprise of having been caught in the act showing on your face. he laughs softly and sits next to you on the bed. "what's wrong, love? you upset?" he asks, his tone teasing, yet sweet, and you can tell it's because he knows exactly what you were doing.

you nod and sigh, trying your best to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why you were naked on your boyfriend's bed, alone, when you knew he'd always expected you to wait for him whenever you needed to get off. "i was scrolling through twitter, and i saw these tweets about you... i got curious so i spent a while looking at them, and then..." you trail off with a gasp as he suddenly grabs your phone from where you'd put it next to you on the bed. you try to snatch it back, but he's a lot quicker than you. he scrolls a little bit, his expression serious, and then a smug smile plays at the corner of his lips as he looks at you again.

"aw baby, is this why you were so hot and bothered?" he asks, as he shows you one of the clips he was looking at, the same one from earlier, and your face turns an even darker shade of red as you nod. "that why you were using your cute little fingers, even though you know they're not good enough? you've got me right here. you could've asked me instead of just watching videos of me. i'll do whatever you want as long as i can make you feel good."

you feel like you're melting at the way condescension practically drips off his tongue, and you let him spread your legs for you again, this time using his own fingers to tease your swollen bud. he's such a dream come true. "'m sorry i couldn't wait for you," you start, but he shushes you softly. "that's okay, baby. i'm here now. i can help you," he says, and you want to thank him, but your words are cut short by the almost embarrassingly loud squeal that escapes your throat when he suddenly sticks his pointer and middle fingers in without warning, curling them just right, just like in that clip, finally giving you that pleasure you'd been chasing for hours now.

he watches you intently, from the way your back arches, to the way you clench around his fingers, but his expression stays blank. it doesn't take you that long to cum, and when you do, he doesn't stop. you look at him with furrowed brows, whining from the overstimulation, and he simply chuckles at your expression, not saying anything as he keeps torturing your walls with his fingers mercilessly. he's pushing you close to the edge all over again surprisingly quickly, and once you reach your second orgasm, you're already asking him to slow down, stop for a minute, so you can catch your breath. still, he doesn't. by the time you reach your fourth orgasm, you're already a sobbing stuttering mess as he makes you even more dumb on his fingers, begging him to stop, but that only makes him go much faster, his palm smacking your clit as he does so.

"this how needy you are for me? wanting to get yourself off without me cause of some video? you poor thing, thinking your fingers alone would satisfy you. you know you can't do it without me. guess i just have to remind you, hmm?"

#solieverse: planet anon #heavy deep breaths #when will it be my turn #skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #stray kids hard thoughts #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours #bang chan hard thoughts #bang chan hard hours #stray kids hard hours #bangchan smut #solieverse: planet reverie

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obriengf · 5 months ago

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Empatheia ✽ Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: The trio investigate the meaning behind Scott’s dream, while Y/N searches for her own answers from Derek Hale. Words: 9.8k Warnings: swearing, awkwardness, not proof read ✽ Series masterlist ✽

Chapter Three: 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 /Part 1

Exhausted was beyond an understatement when it came to the way you were curled up against the pillows of your bed; textbooks were found discarded by your feet and the soft glow of your bedside lamp created a gentle yellow haze over your face. You were lacking peacefulness in your slumber, as seen in the way your heavy eyes clung with scrunched edges and your pursed lips that quivered every so often in time with a disrupting element of your dream. Your new life didn’t account for worriless sleep and easy days, neither did it give room for you to take a deep breath and embrace somewhat of an eventless few hours. No, your life was now branded by a thick fog and clouded by shadows, everything of which you knew was now questionable, and the people that you once assumed had since been altered by new elements and revelations. This life was difficult and sceptical, and maybe that’s why you just simply couldn’t get enough. Valerie was more observant that you were giving her credit for - always watching, always paying attention to how you’ve changed so dramatically over the past couple of weeks. She took notice in your new company and how conversations were now hushed when she was near, even how you took more frequent journeys in the neighbour’s old blue Jeep rather than her car when it was offered to you instead. She saw the more prevalent darkened circles that tore down your eyes more and more each day, and how your face refused to settle when you managed to sleep. But what she especially discerned the most, was the way you flinched at any present emotion that was, at first, not of your own. She couldn’t quite tear her gaze away as it settled with discomfort over your sleeping stature – reminded of the nightmares that would plague your dreams and how they twisted their way into a scar that she hoped you would never have to bear. History repeating itself, she thought.

The only sound that could be heard between the walls of your house was the gentle creak of a door closing behind an anxious Aunt. She wandered with soft steps downstairs, hiding herself in the furthest corner of the kitchen. You were out like a light, but she couldn’t risk being overheard as she flicked through her phone, selecting a contact that she hoped she wouldn’t need to call upon. Valerie took a deep breath as it rang through, repeated tones sounding against her ear that built uneasiness with every loop.

“Hello?” The voice was rough, raspy as if interrupted from a sleep stage. Valerie nearly felt bad for calling at such an hour, until she remembered the reason.

She drew a deep breath, eyes closing momentarily as her head lent back against the fridge door, “You told me to call you when it was happening again.”

“Who-? Valerie?” A sigh was released in reply, shuffling through the receiver following next. The voice stilled for a second or two before it returned, “I’m guessing you’ve noticed it too.”

“Noticed it? It’s hard not to notice! It’s starting to control her life!” Worry got the better of her as your Aunt snapped, mentally cursing at herself at the volume she didn’t intended on amplifying.

“- Val, calm down.” She didn’t how the other voice remained so steady, but it prompted her to draw a deep breath and lull her head back once more. The voice was losing its roughness; becoming more alert, more awake, “We’ll figure it out, we’ll help her… she won’t reach the same fate, I promise.”

“Is that a promise you really can keep, Derek? From what I know, she’s just like her mother, and you know damn well more than anyone else how that played out…” Valerie was growing protective – more so than usual. It didn’t help in the slightest that you are the spitting image of your mother, and every time your Aunt closed her eyes, all that she can picture is you in that hospital stretcher instead, covered in blood and grasping at the thin thread of life that happened to slip through your mother’s fingers. Destiny had a funny way of making things happen, but she would sell her soul if it meant that you didn’t have to end on that same fate.

Derek sighed once more, agitated at his inability to guarantee safety and happiness. That’s all he wanted for you, but the chance was growing slimmer by the second. “I’ll look again, alright? My mom’s journal has to be here somewhere.” The man glanced around the charred remains of his family home, flickers of candlelight creating shadows among the dilapidated structure, “She would’ve hidden it, the fire… it would have been safe from the flames. That’s something I can promise.”

“Just look out for her, please, Derek.”

He wouldn’t find that difficult – you were nearly glued to Scott McCall’s hip now and that young wolf was tying with you for first place on his list of things to stress about most. Kill two birds with one stone. Derek chuckled lightly, “Won’t be an issue.”

You would hardly deem yourself as ready when you heard three loud rasps of knuckles against the wood of your front door. Slightly charred toast half hung from your filled mouth, hands busily working to tie the laces of your sneakers, and you were glad that you weren’t hardly uncoordinated enough that you couldn’t multitask. Valerie snorted in amusement as she watched you; the same expression she wore when you were bumbling down the stairs not even twenty minutes ago, cursing about how you nearly missed your alarm. Not that she could blame you, really – your Aunt heard the softened whines from the nightmare you were having last night, but knew better than to wake you. Some things just need to be sought through instead of interrupted.

The knocks were heard again, and it made you groan, peering to your Aunt as she coddled the coffee mug against her smiling lips. Your eyebrows rose, voice muffled, “Drrr.”

“What was that?” She questioned, fake obliviousness in her tone.

“Drrr. Kh new get uh drrr?”

She nodded as she snickered at your reply, “Ah, would you like me to get the door?” And your eyeroll was enough of a confirmation before she sauntered to the front of the house, smiling as she shortly became face to face with the neighbour’s kid.

“Mornin’ Valerie.” Stiles chirped, hand straight as it pulled away from his forehead in a welcoming salute.

Your Aunt simply copied his gesture before moving to the side, allowing a space just large enough for Stiles’ frame to fit through. “Hello, Stiles. C’mon in”. The dainty steam from her mug continued to dance over her face, prompting her to blow gently for it to waft into the hallway. She peered over her shoulder at the boy, lips curling at the corners, “You might as well just have your own key at this rate, seeming you’re here every day.”

“Oh, I already have one.” The boy let slip, his tone quiet as it absentmindedly fell in a mumble. It was loud enough, however, for Valerie to stop and twist her torso just enough to nearly face him. Her eyebrow rose in question and Stiles couldn’t hold back the awkward chuckle that he released, “Ya know, for emergencies!”

Valerie hummed, seemingly not convinced, but found the subject better to leave as it was. She always knew that Stiles Stilinski was an odd kid – he was too smart for his own good, but he exercised it in ways that made her wonder how Noah was still clinging to threads of sanity. His attention deficit disorder made him very vigorous, and she was used to seeing him as a young boy ride his bicycle up and down the street for hours, just to release said energy. He was constantly on the move and never seemed to slow down, using his intelligence to cause harmless mischief and drive his parents completely crazy. Valerie had also always known that Stiles Stilinski was a good kid. He was thankful for his parents, polite when his mother used to strike up conversations with Valerie in the driveway, helpful when asked for assistance, and overall kind-hearted. Your Aunt saw this more after your mother died – when you moved into the bedroom across the fence from Stiles’, he became an instant friend. She saw him care for you and pick up pieces that continuously shattered. He was your rock, your comfort, and he eventually became your light.

So, in truth, Valerie would always view Stiles as that weird kid next door, but she also held him highly for the large heart he carried so well.

“I’m ready, let’s go.” Your voice interjected from the living room, bag slung over your shoulder and just enough concealer to cover the purple rings that pulled down from your eyes. The attempt to cover your exhaustion and lack of peaceful sleep was good enough to the unknowing – but Valerie and Stiles’ smiles fell just slightly, the truth clear as a sunny day, as they briefly scanned over your face.

It was your cue to shift your gaze to your scuffed sneakers before a cough cleared your throat and you pushed between them both. You knew that they provided you with looks of concern, and somewhat even surprise, but the last thing you wanted was the be the centre of some very unwanted attention. It was best to escape the awkwardness before it settled. With an arm effortlessly linking with your neighbour’s, you pulled him toward the front door with a goodbye call over your shoulder to your amused Aunt.

Slight anxiousness bubbled in Valerie’s chest, and you could’ve sworn you tasted it briefly on your tongue. She called after you, “Have a good day, and be safe!”

It wasn’t too long until you had crawled into the backseat of the Jeep, Scott slipping haphazardly into the passenger side you nursed for a mere ten minutes beforehand. He immediately dropped his head to the window, a guttural groan easily filling the space around you all and creating weak condensation against the glass. Stiles’ thick brows rose to his hairline in question as his eyes caught yours through the rear-view mirror – all you could do was shrug in response.

“You, ah…” Stiles started, reversing out of the McCall driveway, “You all good there, Scotty boy?” He was met with muffled speech, the glass once again fogging due to the inaudible response. Stiles pursed his lips, “Can you repeat that? Away from the window?”

Another groan was exhaled, “Couldn’t sleep last night.”

Stiles hummed, his head dropping into a nod of acknowledgement, voice quieting as he flicked on the indicator and peered down the street for morning traffic, “Seems to be a common thing around here.”

It was difficult to not conjure a bit of remorse for your werewolf friend. Sleeping wasn’t something that you could call a prize possession during these times; your eyes, even now, still fluttering from lack of slumber as you tried to hold back a yawn. You sighed, leaning in between the two front seats, “What happened Scott? Did’ya have a bad dream?”

His head lulled to the side, rolling over the headrest so lazily until his gentle gaze peered into yours, “I-I don’t know… it felt so real, whatever it was…”

Silence enveloped the Jeep for a brief moment; aside from the clutch grating whenever Stiles changed gears, and the morning tunes of the radio murmuring weakly. You could see the stress stem so easily from Scott’s eyes and it made you worry, trauma peeking through due to whatever horrors he saw.

Your lips curled in as your face softened, an attempt at holding back your sympathy was made so that it wasn’t mistaken for pity, “Well, how about you start with what your dream was about?”

“I was with Allison, we were… looking for somewhere private –“The boy started, his view tipping to look out the windshield as the Jeep navigated Beacon Hills’ suburbia.

He was interrupted, however, as you held up your hand and scoffed “I swear, Scott, if this is some kind of wet dream, I will hit you - “

Scott jumped, the accusation prompting his body to jolt awake before his jaw was dropping and his tone spiked highly, “-NO! No, let me finish” The young wolf’s head shook with incredulity, ignoring Stiles as he chuckled beside him. Scott’s breath drew deep, “We were at the school, just hanging out… and maybe making out, b-but that’s not the point!”

Stiles’ sounds of amusement died quickly, his eyes rolling, silently mocking his friend until he caught Scott’s judgemental glare beside him, “What? I didn’t say anything!” He muttered as the Jeep edged closer to Beacon Hills High. The sunlight was sharp; beams of gold flickering through the windows, filling the cabin of the Jeep with the Californian warmth, whilst also creating sparkles of mischief within Stiles’ delinquent wink into the rear-view mirror. You always wondered why his middle name wasn’t troublesome.

“Anyway…” Scott dragged, “We were both on the bus, and everything was great… so great, but then I just – “ His lips pursed as discomfort clouded his gaze, “I started to turn. I tried to control it but I couldn’t. I yelled at her to get away, but it wouldn’t stop!”

You could sense the anxiety. It was a common occurrence with Scott now – the uncertainty, the worry, the panic. He was bathed in it, and that’s how you knew that whatever went on within those night terrors of his must’ve been the worst case of bad. You looked up in time to see Scott’s head in his hands as was slipping lethargically from the Jeep, surrounded by fellow students as they made their way across the carpark. Stiles was next before he flung his seat forward for you to vacate.

As you swung your bag over your shoulder, Stiles turned to the side as feet directed him to the School’s entrance, his hands warming in his jacket’s pockets with a once furrowed brow now rising in question, “So, what? You bite her, or something?” He was wearing obliviousness like a new trend, completely unheeding to the trauma clawing into Scott’s mind until he saw the despair dragging down his friend’s usual lopsided grin, “Or… hang on, did you kill her?”

The two boys pushed open the large doors; your now intrigued senses heightening as Scott exasperatedly shrugged his shoulders alongside rounded worried eyes, “I don't know! I just woke up… and I was sweating like crazy, and-and I couldn't breathe!” He visibly shuddered and it provoked a chill to run down your spine at the small crack within the boy’s voice, “I've never had a dream where I woke up like that before.”

You wanted to reassure him – you’ve woken up like that, plenty of times. It started when your mother died and had reoccurred recently much to your dismay. It sucked, and it physically hurt, and it got to the point where you couldn’t recall what was real or fake anymore. Dreams were bleeding into nightmares, and they were determined to make themselves known whilst you were awake. You desired to reach out to Scott and tell him that he’s not alone, but any seriousness was so easily removed from the situation as Stiles stopped in front of you both, back to the remainder of the corridor.

“Really? I have.” Stiles replied for you, and for a miniscule moment you considered that he would be earnest and thoughtful toward Scott. But instead, his hands fumbled into strange gestures until he was making his point very cringe, and very clear, “Except it usually ends, uh… a little differently.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes rolled quite distinctly as you pushed past Stiles, words muttered with incredulousness. The boy snorted, rascality etching deeply across his features as he watched you venture forward with Scott hot on your heels.

Scott groaned, new images flashing through his mind, and they were beyond not wanted, “A… I meant, I’ve never had a dream that felt that real…” He began, turning to look at Stiles with utter disgust contorting his expression, “And B… never give me that much detail about you in bed again!”

With a nod of his head and whispered affirmation on the edge of his breath, Stiles managed to take a deep breath, the corners of his mouth dropping as he worried about how Scott will react next, “Let me take a guess here – “

“No, I know. You think it has something to do with me going out with Allison tomorrow… like I’m gonna lose control and rip her throat out.” An accusatory finger was directed in Stiles’ direction, Scott sneering at the offence his friend was wearing too well.

Stiles’ mouth gaped, lashes fluttering uncontrollably against the sharpness of his cheekbone. The boy stuttered, “N-no, of course not!” He exclaimed, hands held in front of him. Your lips curled slightly at the twitch of his eyes as Scott stared intensely at him, scepticism also driving the jump of the young wolf’s brow. Stiles conceded, too easily, “Okay, yeah. That’s totally it.”

Stiles peered to the other side of Scott as the wolf sunk his head in glumness, managing to catch your sympathetic eyes. You weren’t sure how to help besides providing a few words laced with wannabe optimism, simply hoping that Scott can’t see past how hard you were trying to appease him, “Hey, come on, Scott. It’s gonna be fine, alright?” You smiled as you lent in closer to him, softly nudging his side with your elbow before ducking to catch his view. Your voice quietened into a whisper, “And personally, I think you’re handling this pretty freakin’ amazingly.”

“You know she’s right, Scotty.” Stiles chimed in, his arm leaning on Scott’s shoulder, “And it's not like there's a Lycanthropy for Beginners class you can take.”

The atypical sarcasm prompted Scott to raise his hands, the dark brown of his irises squinting, showing a forlorn expression in his frown. He appeared pitiful before a sudden change made his head raise, his eyes widening as if a metaphorical lightbulb lit up behind them, “Yeah, not a class… but maybe a teacher…”

Stiles scoffs almost immediately, “Who, Derek?” His words didn’t hold much meaning until he properly looked at Scott, all seriousness remaining in the young wolf’s face. Stiles spluttered nonsense, baffled by what he had heard before his hand whacked the side of Scott’s head. You cringed, trying to ignore the strange looks from your classmates before you heard Stiles’ voice pipe up again in exasperation, “You’re forgetting the part where he got him tossed in jail.”

Scott’s tone matched Stiles, of not with more urgency, as small cracks settled in the base of his words, “Yeah, dude, I know. But chasing her… dragging her to the back of the bus…” He sighed, a hand rubbing tiredly at his face, “It felt so real.”

You pursed your lips as the three of you continued walking the halls of Beacon Hills High, a heavy heart weighing down your chest as sympathy began to flood your system – an emotion, that for once, was purely from your own conviction. You looked to Scott, “How real?”

He drew a deep breath and shrugged, “Like it actually happened.”

Stiles reached out in time with you as you both pushed open the large doors at the end of the hallway, exposing the rear of the school, and greeted unexpectedly with crime scene tape and sirens. The three of you froze in time with the students pushing out from behind you, shocked and slack jawed as you looked at the horror scene that plagued the bus bay. One of the yellow school buses was tainted with a thick red spray and the back door just barely hanging from its hinge after being torn off. There were deputies ushing away growing crowds, and a well-dressed member from the Sherriff’s station taking crime scene photos of a torn back seat, with white cushioned stuffing spilling to the floor.

It was straight off the set of a Hitchcock film, and much to your despair, a perfect description of the nightmares that plagued Scott only a few hours ago.

Stiles gulped, “… I think it might have.”

You almost didn’t feel Scott’s hand as it secured around your bicep until the nausea began to light in your gut, the bubbling of acid and fear rising to your throat. Slowly, you peered to the side, and although your friend wasn’t looking back, you knew that this was Scott needing you to feel how he felt.

“She’s probably fine…” None of you truly knew at this point – initially unsure after Scott expressed his nightmare, and even more after the scene you’d just witnessed outside. Stiles’ words rang clear enough to hear, but Scott was far from listening as he pushed anxiously through the crowded halls, his thumbs racing as he sent multiple messages to Allison.

His teeth were clenched and knuckles white from the grip he had on the small device, “She’s not answering my texts, Stiles.” Scott stood as high as he could, attempting to look over the other students in case he spotted Allison. His features contorted frantically, heart hammering in panic, frustrations expressed through small grunts.

Stiles sighed as he tried to reassure his friend, “Look, it could just be a coincidence, alright?”

“A seriously amazing coincidence.” You muttered, not realising that you voiced your thoughts, and the defeated sarcastic tone that came out with them. You stopped, guilty as you passed over Scott and focused on Stiles and his lack of amusement. His bow raised, and you shrugged, “What? I’m just saying.”

“Guys! Just help me find her, okay?” Scott intercepted, evidently exasperated to the point where you swear he nearly reached for the pocket that once housed his asthma puffer. You all turned and scanned the hallway, beginning to make your way past students as you tried not to veer too far from one another. Class hadn’t started yet, and you were only feet away from her locker, but the girl was nowhere to be found. You pulled out your own phone and sent off a brief text, one to say good morning and ask if she wanted to meet for lunch – surely, much more toned down than what you imagined Scott’s anxious messages to read.

“Do you see her?” He eventually asked after the crowd was recycled, bringing in a new lot of students as they gathered their books and moved toward their first period.

You sighed in time with the slumping of Stiles’ shoulders, your voices in unison as they relayed the bad news, “No”.

Fingers dragged through shaggy brunette locks with jittery movements, and soon, Scott’s feet were moving just as fast. He was on autopilot and the spontaneous need to bolt made it hard for you and Stiles to follow him. He ducked and weaved, using his enhanced speed to escape the ruckus of the situation. It had only been mere seconds before he had disappeared from your sight.

You could feel Stiles grasp onto your shoulder, digits digging into the soft material of your jacket, their strength tense as his own state of worry started to increase. He didn’t ease the further you two moved but it was too late to catch a glimpse of Scott – the halls were too congested. He groaned as he pressed his chest to the back of your shoulder, “Where is he?”

“He might just need time to chill, Stiles.” You replied, trying to lead the boy to a space that was much more capacious.

He grumbled against your ear, “Chill? Do you remember the last time he freaked out like this? He nearly ripped our faces off with his little wolfy teeth.” Which was much more real than you’d like to admit, but instead you just huffed, a deep exhale, remembering the events clearly as they happened in the room just down the hall. It was absentminded as you reached to your shoulder to take hold of Stiles’ hand, squeezing tightly as you pulled him through the doors of the girl’s locker room. The boy made a small sound of awe, “How is this nicer than the boy’s one? Mm it smells nice.”

Nearing first period usually meant that nobody would be in here for hours – a space baron, vacant, and especially private. Thoughts ran wild in your mind on whether what you had planned would work, you could feel from near, but could you do it from afar? It made your chest fill with your own anxiety now, a thickness that was heavy in your throat and a throbbing in your head. Turning slowly, you glanced up at Stiles, who had finished examining the foreign room and whose large brown eyes had already settled on you with much curiosity.

Your lips pursed hesitantly, “I’m going to try something, okay? But I need you to just… trust the process.”

Stiles’ thick brow rose, perplexed by the process you were referring to. He didn’t get the chance to ask as you dragged him to a bench that sat between two rows of lockers, sitting in time with you as he watched a deep shaky breath being drawn. He could see the way your eyes creased with a lack of assurance and how your hands were rung the same way his did when he fidgeted out of uneasiness. He smiled softly, sympathetically, before he took your hands in his and held them gently in your lap.

This pulled you further to him as the apprehensive flutter in your chest began to die down. You drew another deep breath, this time, much steadier as you began to calm from Stiles’ hold. You sighed, “Scott can hear things, right? Far away. He can do this thing where he cuts through everything else and just zones in on a particular voice or sound. Like on the lacrosse field last week.” Stiles nodded, understanding what you were saying but not where it was leading. It prompted his head to tilt slightly to the left after he twisted his frame, now directly facing you front on with his legs either side of the bench. Your tongue darted out quickly to lap at your lips, “Well, what If I can do that too… but with emotions. What if I can feel Scott?”

“You’ve never done something like that before, how do you know if it’ll work?” The boy questioned, eyes never leaving yours as he observed the desperation to try. His shoulders slumped, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing against your hands as they remained within his grasp. He could see your concern, as bright as day.

“You said it yourself, Stiles. Last time he was this worked up, he wolfed out on us. We don’t know where he is but I can at least try and see if he’s okay.”

Stiles agreed immediately – the line of his lips steady and straight as he nodded his head again. He wanted to help Scott, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t the tiniest bit curious just how far your new quirks can go.

You smiled as you pulled your hands away from his, sitting them flat on your knees, “I need you to be the lookout, and wake me if anything goes wrong.” When you had the go ahead from Stiles, you breathed in through your nose and fluttered your eyes closed.

You didn’t know if this was possible, or how to start it off, but you tried to focus purely on Scott. You thought about the distress he felt only moments earlier and how upset he was in the Jeep this morning. You thought about when you felt his anger on the Lacrosse field, and even more so when he held Stiles up against the wall in his room – how you voice made him stop.

Scott.

Stiles jumped when you opened your eyes, only to be met with that familiar white glow. It terrified him but he couldn’t look away, mesmerised by their tone and ethereal qualities that made you appear so oddly celestial. He waved one of his large hands in front of you but elicited no reaction, and it made him wonder just how this was truly working.

“He’s turning.” You said softly, brows furrowing, feeling the red-hot course of adrenaline that settled in your chest whenever you felt Scott turn before. It was as if he was clenching your own teeth as your jaw began to ache, worried that fangs were going to protrude. The inability to see just what you were focused on only made the feelings stronger. It wasn’t until your fist flew back and the muscles strained with such force that you knew it was getting too much, like Scott hit something, hard. You could barely hear as Stiles asked if you were okay, nor did you notice how he was quick to hold your still balled-up fist and inspect your knuckles. With a shaky tone, you whispered, “Scott, stop, come on… take a deep breath, snap out of it.”

It was a relief when your heartbeat began to drop as instant calmness loosened your tense muscles and relaxed the thumping in your head. You closed your eyes and smiled, sitting in disbelief that it worked, and that your friend was okay.

“Y/N?”

Stiles’ voice rang clearly, a soothing sound as it coaxed you back to consciousness. Your lashes danced over your cheeks for a moment as you gathered yourself, gentle as they opened to see Stiles shaking his head with a wide toothy grin.

He chuckled, “I can’t… you just did that, I mean… you’re amazing –“

“Attention students, this is your principal.” The PA system suddenly sounded, shaking you two out of your bubble as your gazes focused on the speaker. The announcement continued, muffled and crackly from years of going without a system update. You both furrowed your brows as you tried to listen, “I know you're all wondering about the incident that occurred last night to one of our buses. While the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as usual.”

You turned to Stiles in perfect unison, a look of disappointment dragging down your features as your bottom lip jutted out, “I can’t believe they’re still making us go to class.”

Stiles hummed, slapping his thighs as he stood from the bench before throwing a hand in your direction. His fingers wiggled, an invitation as he insisted on helping you up, “Yeah well, I wish that was the least of our worries.”

“You’ve got first period with Scott, right?” You asked, to which he nodded as he offered enough strength to pull you into a standing position. “Make sure he’s okay. It’s crazy just how much his body goes through when… it happens. Poor guy – “

“– your eyes glowed again.”

“What?” Your bag slid onto your shoulder, body twisting as you looked over your shoulder at Stiles. You pushed out your lips, voice hinting at tones of disappointment, “My eyes were closed; all I saw was darkness the whole time.”

“No, they glowed. They were bright… shining. Just like the other night at the Hale house.” He replied with so much excitement, hands moving in explanation. “It was actually pretty awesome.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. The more you use your abilities, the less you seem to understand. The unknowing was a never-ending fog and when you tried to decipher an explanation for the things that you could do, it only ended in getting lost even further – unlike Scott, he has a label, he was a werewolf. There was lore and expectations, books after books with detailed descriptions. But you always came up short, and the optimism that Stiles carried so well on finding an answer was just ever so tiring.

A huff passed your lips, “Can we talk about this later? We have homeroom.”

“Uh, yeah?” The boy replied, deflating immediately as you brushed him off. He didn’t look away as you made your way from the room; eyes wide as they followed you, trying to contain the pity he felt so strongly in case you could sense it. Stiles knew this was hard on you – whatever this truly was – but his determination would never falter. Never for you.

Leaning against the metal doors of some lockers on the first floor, you continued to stare at your phone screen – the text conversations fuelling the thoughts that run over again in your mind. You were in a daze; inattentive, distracted, engrossed in contemplations that you simply couldn’t control. It was the reason that you haven’t been sleeping and now it was taking over your daily life too. There was futility in focusing on one thing at a time. But how could you, with the added dramas from this morning.

You made an excuse to leave your class early when Stiles told you that they recovered a body from the bus. The ambulance rolled him out, and he was believed dead by your friends until the man jumped up in fear. Stiles told you that Scott was even more shaken than before and that second-nature feeling of dread had returned to the pit of your stomach. It was the softened call of your name that broke you from your pondering, to which you glanced up to be met with the two boys – one with a smile of sympathy, and the other with all of the devastation in the world sitting upon his shoulders.

“This probably isn’t going to help, but at least he isn’t dead.” You spoke quietly, your hand sitting upon Scott’s shoulder as you ducked to catch his eyes. You could see Stiles shrugging, hands sinking deep into the pockets of his hoodie as he claimed that he tried that, too. You moved until you could properly see Scott’s large brown eyes and a sigh pushed passed your lips, “Okay, at least it wasn’t Allison.”

“No, but someone got hurt, because of me!” Scott groaned, his face falling into his hands as you began to gently rub at his back.

Stiles piped up as he began to guide you all toward the cafeteria, attempting to bring some sort of contentment to his best friend, “We don’t know for sure that it even was you.”

“This is why I need Derek’s help. I need to know about this dream, what I did last night... I need to know what the hell is going on.”

You were first to the lunch line, trying to muster a smile as you accepted the assortment of food for the day. Looking to your side, you could see Stiles trying to push Scott along as he began to wallow once again in his distress. This was too much for him to handle, for anyone to handle, and you were starting to wonder if Derek really would have the answers for Scott after all.

“But dreams aren’t memories.” Stiles spoke again as you all were huddled together, locating an empty table. Stiles took his place first as you sat opposite him, Scott slipping into the seat next to you.

The wolf sighed and placed his backpack in the chair on his other side, “Then this wasn’t a dream.” He rubbed at his face again, anxious movements as he let out his frustrations, his voice cracking in what you could tell was plain exhaustion, “Something happened last night, guys, and I can’t remember what”.

Taking a bite of your apple you watched as your two friends spoke back and forth, a tennis match between scepticism and rationalising. It would be more amusing to watch if the topic of conversation wasn’t literally revolved around life and death. Stiles rolled his eyes, his body leaning back in his seat as arms crossed over his chest, “Uh huh, and what make you think Derek even has all the answers?”

“BECAUSE –“Scott began, already overwhelmed as his voice rose in anguish before the silent scolding from Stiles prompted him to settle down. He looked around bashfully, hoping that nobody could hear as he continued with a hushed tone, “because… during the full moon he wasn’t changed. He was in total control, while I was running around in the middle of the night… attacking some totally innocent guy!”

A coo pushed through your lips, a sort of sigh, as you lent slightly on the table to face Scott, “You don’t know that.”

But he shook his head, putting his metaphorical foot down, “I don’t not know it.” He stopped; eyes moving in thoughts as he bit roughly at his bottom lip, tugging before breathing out in defeat, “I can’t go out with Allison. I have to cancel.”

“What? No, you’re not cancelling, okay?” Stiles shifted forward in his chair, his crossed arms now settling on the tabletop. With a serious gaze, he looked at Scott, voice beginning to nag, “You can’t just cancel your entire life!”

You intercepted, a hand thrown in Stiles direction to agree with his sentiment, “He’s right, we’ll figure it out.”

“ – Figure out what?” Her voice was one that you didn’t expect, especially as it was followed by her sitting next to Stiles on the other side of your table. Lydia smiled brightly as she saw you, her fingers lifting into a small flutter of a wave, and you were happy to smile warmly back at her. You just hoped that she didn’t hear anything else before she made herself known.

Your greeting with your friend was interrupted by odd noises, fractured syllables and stammering sounds as Stiles grew nervous from being so close to his crush. He was at a literal loss for words as his mouth gaped and he smiled with bashful rosy cheeks. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Just, uh…” Scott jumped in, trying to fill the void that Stiles left when answering Lydia’s question, “Just homework.”

She took that as a good enough answer before looking to the other students that began to sit around the table with you, starting small friendly conversations that you and the two boys felt out of place within. It prompted Stiles to incline across the table, close enough so only you both could hear, his brows furrowed and tongue lapping at his lips, “Why is she sitting with us?” It was a question that you didn’t have an answer to as you shrugged in reply, side-eying Scott that did the same thing.

You smiled at Danny when he sat on Stiles’ other side, his greeting followed by a reciprocated grin and small nod of his head, and when you looked around nearly every seat was occupied by students that you didn’t have very much to do with. Harley slipped into the spot on your right as Allison settled next to Scott. It was a strange experience, and you managed to share your expressions of confusion with Stiles as he pouted from your conversation being interrupted.

“Get up.” Jackson scowled at the head of the table to a poor student, and you were close to banging your head on the surface in front of you just by the sound of his infuriating voice. Today just wasn’t your day, or Scott’s, or Stiles’.

“How come you never ask Danny to get up?” The kid argued, only maiming his case to stay.

Danny smirked as he bit into his apple, “Because I don’t stare at his girlfriend’s coin slot.” He spoke, matter-of-factly, and most of the table chuckled as the kid left in embarrassment and Jackson took ownership of the seat. You wished that your table has just been left alone.

You were looking between Scott and Stiles, thinking of an excuse for you all to leave, until Danny began a conversation about the morning events, “So, I hear they’re saying it’s some type of animal attack. Probably a cougar.”

“I heard mountain lion.” Jackson added, poking at his food with a disapproving glare.

You wanted to correct them both, but a disgruntled Lydia beat you to it with an annoyed tone of voice as she kept her eyes downcast, “A cougar is a mountain lion.” Your space was quiet as others observed her oddly, Jackson looking to her with a blank stare, and it provoked the redhead to tilt her head and speak once more with an airy high-pitched voice, “… Isn’t it?”

Her boyfriend scoffed and you started to imagine what it would look like if you just knocked him off his chair with a well-thrown water bottle aimed straight between the eyes. If only. Jackson groaned, his voice uninterested, “Who cares? The guy’s probably some homeless tweaker who’s gonna die anyway.”

“Actually…” You flicked your focus to Stiles as he peered down to his phone, turning the device around for everybody to see, “I just found out who it is. Check this out.”

It was coverage from a local news outlet, the reporter seen speaking before the screen flashed to video footage taken this morning at the school, “The Sheriff's department won't speculate on details of the incident but confirmed the victim, Garrison Myers, did survive the attack. Myers was taken to a local hospital where he remains in critical condition.”

“Wait, I-I-I know this guy…” Scott shuffled in his seat, gasping at the recollection of the name, “When I used to take the bus, back when I lived with my dad, he was the driver.”

Everybody faded away as you, Scott and Stiles shared a pointed look between each other. With every new article of information, the tension would grow stronger, and it meant that it was gradually getting more difficult to piece together the puzzle.

Your sombre expressions were ignored as Lydia sighed loudly, indicating her boredom in the conversation as she examined her perfectly manicured nails, “Can we talk about something slightly more fun, please?” You watched as she jumped, gasping loudly as she looked across to Scott and Allison before sitting her chin atop her now folded hands, “Like, where are we going tomorrow night?” Their lack of reply made you wonder if they were on the same page as Lydia, so she took a deep breath, and spoke slower to clarify, “You said you and Scott were hanging out tomorrow, right?”

Your throat felt tight, and you knew that it certainly belonged to someone else. Leaning forward you could see Allison’s worried eyes, and as if on cue, the fluttering started in your chest as she grew nervous. You could noticed as her hands rung under the table, and Scott wasn’t any better as his shoulders tensed alongside the clenching of his jaw.

Allison coughed gently, a clear of her throat before chuckling nervously, “Um, well, we were still thinking of what we were gonna do…”

You recognised the way Lydia’s eyes lit up – how they glinted with eagerness, rascality, good intentions with a twist of trouble. She was eying off Allison and Scott and you knew that it wouldn’t end as ideally as they’d like. Stiles seemed to be thinking the same thing as he caught your focus, a joint wide-eyed look expressed between you both, a small smirk tugging at his lips when he caught sight of Scott’s apprehension of being put in the spotlight.

“Well, I am not sitting at home again watching lacrosse videos, so… if the four of us are hanging out, we are doing something fun.” Lydia’s tone was frank, the flow of her words spoken so candidly and confident with no room for dismissal. It was the total opposite to Scott’s ambivalence as he sat there, stunned, and slack jawed. Your space silent enough to hear a pin drop.

“H-h-hanging out? Like… the four of us?” He stammered, immediately turning to Allison and watching as she covered up her disappointment with a large drink from her water bottle. Scott lowered his voice and raised an eyebrow in question, “Do you wanna hang out? Like, us, and… them?”

A small, choked sound from Stiles forced your eyes away from the trainwreck in front of you to watch him cover his mouth, clearly taken aback by the scene you were both agonising over as mere spectators. He looked at you once more with those wide caramel eyes as you both shared a silent conversation – consisting mostly of ‘what the actual hell is going on right now’.

Allison chuckled in discomfort, but shone a lovely smile nonetheless, “Yeah, I guess. Sounds fun…”

“You know what else sounds fun?” Jackson interrupted, annoyance exuding from his voice and his features contorted into an unimpressed expression. He held his fork in the air, shaking it with his words, “Stabbing myself in the face with this fork.”

You thought that Stiles was moments away from spitting out his water as he took a large gulp; hoping it would stop him from interfering in whatever was going on in front of you, his eyes rolling dramatically and hand motioning wildly. Lydia, completely unaware of the interaction between you and Stiles, reached for the fork clutched in Jackson’s hand as she sent him a scowl at his rudeness.

She huffed, a manicured finger pointing in her boyfriend’s direction, “Well, how about bowling? You love to bowl.”

Stiles shook his head violently as he tried to gain Scott’s attention, but the werewolf simply just shrugged as he felt helpless in the situation. This made you drop your head to your hand, groaning softly under your breath. You changed your mind – this alone was way more dramatic than the events this morning brought you all.

“Pft, yeah. With actual competition.” Jackson continued his tirade of needing to be the best with a loud huff, his tone purposeful to deride the others.

What you didn’t expect to come next was Allison to speak with such enthusiasm, confident to hide the offence that the jock left them with. “How do you know we’re not actual competition?” The girl sat up straighter, causing her brunette curls to dangle over the back of the seat as she turned to Scott, hope sparkling in her eyes, “You can bowl, right?”

Scott shrugs, uneasiness dripping from his words, “Sort of…”

“ – Is it a sort of, or is it a yes?”

“Yes.” Your friend was quick to reply to Jackson’s patronising tone, his frame matching Allison’s as he sat tall and courageous with a smile curling his lips, “In fact, I’m a great bowler.”

You have never facepalmed so fast in your life.

Your afternoon classes went smoother than you expected. It seemed that everything that could be deemed eventful happened before the end of lunch, and the rest of the day went past as if everything was, dare to say, normal. You managed to filter out the background chatter about Mister Myers as you moved around the school halls in between your classes; only hearing the odd pieces of gossip speculating different predatory animals and scenarios that led to his attack. It was hard to pay attention to the different opinions when you knew the truth, or the somewhat truth, as you wholeheartedly believed that Scott was innocent in this matter.

You didn’t realise you were so distracted – staring out the window of your math class with such obliviousness – until you felt a tap on your shoulder. It provoked a small jump from you as your arm dropped to the table and your eyes growing wide and alert. As you turned, a concerned-looking Scott McCall was leaning toward you with his grip slipping to your bicep, squeezing with reassurance.

“You good?” He quietly spoke to avoid detection from your teacher, and you were glad that you both decided to sit toward the back of the classroom today. You replied with a soft nod of your head, unconvincingly, but your friend let it slide as he offered a thin-lipped smile. You could see from your peripherals that he seemed to be in an internal battle as he sat back into his seat, deep thoughts scrunching his brows and slack-jawed as if he was trying to think of what to say. You’d be lying if you didn’t find it somewhat amusing until he turned around to face you, his lips pursed in question, and momentary awkwardness in his eyes.

“So, uh… I think you were in my head earlier. Ya know, this morning…”

You hummed in reply, pen inattentively tapping against your page, “I honestly didn’t know how far I could go with it, but yeah, I guess so.”

Scott nodded as his focus flickered toward the front of the room and back to you when you were clear to continue talking, “It was weird. Like, I knew you were there and I could hear you, kinda… it was quiet but I knew it was you. I knew you were trying to calm me down.” Scott sighed under his breath, his hand running through his hair, “Reminded me of the first full moon, and you – “

“ – I thought the same.” It was a night that still made you uncomfortable; the first time you saw pure anger exude from Scott, how his eyes grew dark with harmful intentions despite the immense struggle he faced to keep them at bay. You remembered how he was trying to stop the anger and hold onto his humanity, but the moment he held Stiles against that wall… when he threw that chair at you… you realised that what Scott McCall had become was something way beyond what you could properly fathom at that time. Even still during this time.

Scott understood your choice to cut that memory, his head nodding again as he offered a sympathetic smile that was intertwined with all things apologetic and sweet. It hurt him more than it did you that night, and you could never stay mad at such a kind soul, always forgiving for what Scott does unintendedly.

“Another thing…” He began once more, only this time his voice wavered as if he was testing the waters. It made you wonder just why he was holding such hesitancy. Your friend cleared his throat, “How, ah… how are you feeling after doing all that? Your eyes glowed, you’re getting more into whatever abilities you have. Kind make you wanna find out what else, is uh... what else you can do… right…?”

The fractured sentencing was an indicator, but the way his eyes suddenly couldn’t focus on you and how he was uncertain with his speech – you knew that these words weren’t those of Scott’s.

“Did Stiles put you up to this?” You asked, point blank. Theories were proven correct when Scott’s eyes grew wide and his jaw slammed shut. As if he was caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar, a deer in headlights. He wasn’t very subtle. “Scott… I’m pretty sure I’ve made it clear to Stiles that I don’t really want to get into that right now.”

“But he worries about you. We both do.” His voice strained, and you tried to not feed into his physical emotion by taking a deep breath and closing your eyes for a mere moment. You weren’t ready to know what you were, or how you could do these things, because what if you didn’t like what the truth held? You can’t go back to an image of normalcy once it is all out in the open.

Your stare held notes of solace, a comfort in knowing that you weren’t alone; and that even though you sometimes felt as if you wanted to give up, the two unlikely friends that wondered so effortlessly into your life wouldn’t dare let you slip, not even in the slightest. You smiled at Scott in perfect timing to the last bell of the day, and he continued to smile back.

“So? Are we going to talk about earlier?” Stiles started immediately as you and Scott met him at the staircase, ushered along with the other students that were preparing to leave school for the day. You both provided a questioning look, and it provoked him to throw his hands up, still appalled by the scene in the cafeteria, “You know, the fact that you’re a terrible bowler!”

Scott turned to see Stiles glaring at him with all of the incredulity he could muster, and it caused a low groan as he remembered the bright white lie he presented so confidently, “I know! I’m such an idiot.”

Stiles continued ranting as he ignored the discomfort etched deeply on Scott’s face, “God, it was like watching a car wreck. I mean… first it turned into the whole group-date thing, and out of nowhere comes… that phrase – “

“Hang-out?” You chimed in, finger lazily pointing in his direction, and Stiles reciprocated your gesture and a complementing wide grin.

“Yes! You don’t hang-out with hot girls, okay? It’s like death.”

“Wait –“ You stopped him from proceeding, your body standing still in the middle of the hall as feet planted themselves still. Your brows were furrowed, contemplating the boy’s words, Scott looking between you both in the utmost confusion. You pushed out your lips, ready to press a query, “But we hang out all the time.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest as his head fell into an impatient shake, dumbfounded by your statement as he lacked the social cues to understand where this was going, “So?”

“SO… Does that make me not hot?” Your facial features contorted into a grumpy pout as you glared pointedly at Stiles. He immediately stammered, disconcerted with your words as Scott simply just stood to the side in immensely amused shock. It was a well-needed break from his own stresses as he instead observed Stiles making a fool of himself.

Stiles’ pitch increased as he jumped on the defence, hands held high and waving wildly, “What? No! That’s not what I meant!”

“So, you do think I’m hot?”

He was a blubbering mess – caramel eyes large and doe-like when they looked to you in nervousness, words heavy on his tongue as he tried to shake them out. Stiles was digging himself a hole, a deep hole. “Uh… just, let me finish… what I was trying to say is that once it’s hanging-out, you might as well be her gay best friend.” Lengthy fingers wrapped around each other before he shot his hold toward Scott, his attention span providing a clean getaway from the mess he was creating by shifting the conversation from you to his best friend instead, “Hey, maybe you and Danny can start hanging out.”

With squinted eyes you continued to watch Stiles and how he purposely avoided your attention. There was lack of offence on your behalf, it was just funny to watch him squirm. But a small part of you did wonder if you were viewed in this three-way relationship as simply just ‘one of the guys’ – and if you were, is that something you were completely content with.

Scott’s loud groan broke you from your thoughts as his head fell back, eyes closed and hands cupping his face, “How is this happening? I either killed a guy, or I didn’t…”

You were ready to console the young wolf but was cut off by Stiles’ own tangent, his overly-energetic mind already moving way past your previous topic as he began to mumble to himself, his own eyes unfocused as he peered into the distance, “I don’t think Danny likes me.”

“ – I ask Allison on a date, and now we’re… hanging-out…”

“Am I not attractive to gay guys?”

“ – I make first line, and the team captain wants to destroy me…”

“Surely I’m attractive to gay guys.”

You moved yourself so that you were standing before the two boys, your hands held in front of you as you raised a stern voice, “Okay, stop! You’re driving me freaking crazy.” Their heads perked up – like meerkats, cute and sweet and unknowing, bobbing around until they found the source of the noise before settling under your frustrated gaze. You released a softened groan as you rubbed at your temples, firstly looking to Scott with your hands now settling on your hips, “Scott, you need to breathe. Calm down. You’ll get yourself into a panic again.”

You could see as his shoulders slumped, tension slipping away and dropping to the floor. He glanced absentmindedly at his phone before doing a double take, the anxiety back as quick as it left, “Shit, now I’m gonna be late for work.”

A positive from gaining werewolf movement would be his ability to dodge with pure flawlessness. You usually saw it on the Lacrosse field, but now twice in one day as he bolted down the hallway to make it to work on time. You huffed, standing on your toes to see over the crowd as if it would magically help your projection as you called to him, “Don’t forget to breathe!”

“Wait, Scott! You didn’t say…” Stiles called exasperatedly after you, but his friend was already gone. “Am I, am I attractive to gay guys, I just… you didn’t answer my question.” His arms raised on either side of his frame, a deep sigh slipping in annoyance with muttered words. Stiles turned in frustration before seeing you, his face lighting up, “Y’N! Am I attractive to – “

“Nuh uh. You never answered my question from before.” Mischief glinted in your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. Stiles’ jaw slammed shut instantly. “Do you think I’m hot? Or not?”

You had never seen Stiles Stilinski so quiet before. He started at you with a now dropped jaw, unsure of which direction he should take in replying to you. You could feel the restless fluttering, however, in his chest. Or maybe that was just your own butterflies, teetering on the edge as you awaited his answer. Either way, it was affecting you both much more different than you anticipated.

Whether you were joking around or not, you didn’t expect him to take this long to answer – perhaps, he was thinking of a way to let you down easy. Yeah, that must be it. With a loud clearing of your throat, you plastered on a smile, trying to chuckle away the awkward silence.

“I was joking. Come on, weirdo, you’re my ride home.”

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