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okay-j-hannah · 5 months ago

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Part 4: Ollie's Catnip

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 10.4k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, lightheadedness, an unwanted kiss, forced kiss, terror, near werewolf attack

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

Part 3: Blue Handprints

Part 4: Ollie's Catnip {You Are Here}

Part 5: Mieczyslaw

Monday had rolled around quicker than you were expecting. After a week of being sick and a weekend of hanging out with your friends, you want to get back to a regular schedule.

The deep claw marks imbedded in your shoulder were healed, but left puffy, red marks that would soon scar terribly. Seeing as you already had a surgical scar on your chest it wasn’t a big deal.

What was bothersome was that it started to ache. Like a bad knee on a rainy day, your shoulder was tweaking something awful. You were massaging it in your classroom as others began filing in for the infamous chemistry test.

A few friendly faces welcome you back and ask if you heard about the incident with the janitor and supposed serial killer.

You wave them off and wait for your friends to appear.

Allison walks in with Lydia, and they sit in front of you. “Hey, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Although I haven’t seen Scott since Wednesday so that’s another story.”

Lydia reapplies her lipstick and adjusts her necklaces, “We’ll conquer that bridge when we come to it. Remember, you don’t need him. He treated you badly and he has a lot of making up to do before you even suggest the thought of talking to him again.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, “That’s pretty harsh.”

“Just because you decide to hang with the dog toys on the side doesn’t mean you can’t support your girls in avoiding them!”

You look to Allison, “I haven’t told him anything besides that you’re hurt. And that you’re looking for an explanation. I won’t tell him anything more unless you want me to.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “No, that’s fine for now. I want him to stew in it for a while.”

“Oh trust me…” you flip your pencil between your fingers, “He’s been simmering in those thoughts all weekend. The poor boy is crushed.”

“As he should be,” Lydia flips her hair, confidence radiating off her. She would ace this test without batting an eyelash. “He’s the one that’s been miscommunicating and hiding things from you. You don’t need that kind of stress added to your life.”

You frown, eyeing the scribbles and carvings on your desktop. The boys were still hiding a number of things from you. The foggy trip to the forest on Saturday didn’t help much. But the drunken memory of Stiles kissing your hairline and making wolf jokes brought a smile to your face.

Wolf jokes… it was the full moon that night, wasn’t it?

You rub your left shoulder again as Stiles walks in to sit beside you. He waves to you and takes a passive stance in his seat – tapping his pencil in his hand and bouncing his leg like it was the pedal keeping his life support on.

He hadn’t spoken to you the rest of the weekend. Nothing about the drunkenness. Nothing about the flirty touches he kept initiating. Nothing about how those senior boys tried to take you away.

“How was your Sunday?” you finally try and say.

“Fine, I had to come up with an excuse why my dad had one less bottle in his liquor cabinet,” he watches the pencil flying around his fingers, “I had to convince him he had one too many drinks while trying to solve the current investigation.”

You nod slowly, “Has he done that before?”

“Yeah, so it wasn’t that hard for him to believe.” There was a rather sad smirk on his face as he says it. “Anyways, how’s the bump on your head? Rocks punch hard I hear.”

You laugh, “Thanks to your kiss it hasn’t bothered me at all.”

“You remember that?” he winces, trying to hide the pink blossoming across his nose. “You remember anything else?”

You wonder how much you want to embarrass him. “You certainly had some wandering hands…”

“Oh, god,” he drops his pencil and buries his head in his arms atop his desk. “I was hoping that wouldn’t come up.”

“It was just some harmless arm tickles,” you shrug, amused by his reaction. “And you helping me to the car. You know as far as being wasted goes, we weren’t blackout drunk. I remember everything pretty well.”

He takes a deep breath and rubs hard at his eyes, “I was worried sick all yesterday thinking you’d be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?” you laugh again, “We’re friends; I was leaning on Scott and holding onto his ankle most of the night. Friends are allowed to be close.”

“Yeah, but you told me how you like Andrew and I was worried that you’d be upset about me doing what I did when you were probably hoping that it was Andrew that was doing what I did because you want to go on a date with him… and I wasn’t sure how you felt about me being close when you weren’t in some kind of distress from your heart because so far the only times I’ve touched you has been when you were about to faint or your heart is racing or you just went through a traumatic ordeal, and seeing as being drunk and having a breakup bonfire with your friends is none of those things… I thought maybe you’d be mad at me for, you know… touching you.”

His eyes were boring into his desk, leg back to bouncing like his life depended on it. You were smiling a sweet smile. He was so adorably endearing.

You wait until you see the honey of his eyes before saying, “I’m not mad, Stiles.”

He looks to you as if waiting for a long-winded reply like his, but he settles back into his desk and whispers, “Okay.”

“I would tell you if I didn’t like how you were touching me.”

He whips his head to you again, expression open and pink as he lingers on your warm gaze and soft smile. His throat bobs as Scott enters the room and makes awkward eye contact with Allison.

He sits on Stiles’ other side, giving him a blank nod as a hello. You lean forward and put a hand on Allison’s shoulder as a little silent support.

Mr. Harris starts class right after. “You have 45 minutes to complete the test. 25% of your grade can be earned right now simply by writing your name on the cover of the blue book. However, as happens every year, one of you will inexplicably fail to put your name on the cover, and I’ll be left yet again questioning my decision to ever become a teacher.”

You finish writing your name, peeking to see Stiles doing the same in a much more frantic manner. You share a smile with him as he finds your laughing gaze.

“So let’s get the disappointment over with. Begin.” Mr. Harris starts his stopwatch and the class simultaneously open their testing booklets.

You’re quick to start answering the first multiple choice question. Being someone that spends a lot of time at home, your study habits are perfection. It was a breeze knowing the answers to the entire first page.

As you flip to the backside, you notice Allison sending looks toward Scott. You follow her gaze and notice your friend having a strange, tweaky reaction to different things in the room. He kept jerking his head in different directions and squeezing his eyes shut as if to stop them from seeing something.

You share concern with Allison as you wonder what is ailing him.

Less than a minute later Scott was running out of the classroom with his backpack. Stiles was quick to follow him soon after.

“Mr. McCall!” Mr. Harris yells from his desk, “Mr. Stilinski!”

You probably would’ve followed too if Mr. Harris wasn’t currently giving a lecture about teenage delinquents and how that was a record for disappointment during an end-of-term test. But Stiles was out there with him – he probably didn’t want more attention than that. Scott was already hurting enough.

You attempt to continue the test and take deep breaths to control the random spikes in your heartbeat. Nothing unusual.

~~~

Scott was dripping in the locker room showers, the only thing having calmed him down being the forgotten inhaler in his backpack. Stiles stood back, consoling him on the panic attack.

“I looked at her, and it was like someone hit me in the ribs with a hammer.”

Stiles bites his lip, “Yeah, it’s called heartbreak. About two billion songs written about it.” And unrequited love, he thinks miserably.

Scott bangs his head against the tile wall, gripping his hair and trying to control his breathing, “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Stiles mumbles, thoughts swaying towards you. “Well, you could think about this: her dad’s a werewolf hunter, and you’re a werewolf, so it was bound to become an issue.” He could feel you smacking him on the arm, “That wasn’t helpful.”

“You think any of that matters when I feel about her like I do?”

“Dude,” Stiles lolls his head around, “I mean, yeah you got dumped, and it’s supposed to suck.”

Scott hangs his head, rubbing at his ear as he recalls, “No, that’s not it. It was like I could feel everything in the room, everyone else’s emotions. Anxiety, nerves, hunger…”

“That’ll be the test.”

“There was something warm, like love and a feeling like someone was going to be sick.”

Stiles perks up, “Who was the one feeling love?”

“It’s hard to pinpoint it,” Scott winces, “Maybe the extra heartbreak I’m feeling is because I was feeling it from Allison?”

“It’s got to be the full moon,” Stiles shrugs, “So we’ll lock you up in your room later just like we planned. That way the Alpha, who is your boss, can’t get to you, either.”

“I think we need to do a lot more than lock me in my room.” Something changes in Scott’s eyes. He stands with a new kind of assertiveness.

Stiles starts to ramble as per usual, “What, you mean because if you get out, you’d be caught by hunters?”

“No. Because if I get out, I think I might kill someone.”

“Shit,” Stiles mumbles, screwing up his face and folding his arms. “Is this that whole the Alpha wants me to kill my old pack so I can be a part of his bullshit?” He backs away from the menacing gleam now in Scott’s face. “We’re not going to let that happen. The Alpha has already targeted each of us. I’m not going to let him sway you into doing it yourself.”

“I wonder who will be the first.”

Stiles does not like the condemning tone to his voice as he says that.

~~~

You were heading to the library after school, keeping your backpack on your right shoulder. Consoling your two heartbroken friends and avoiding the hostility between Lydia and Jackson had given you a different type of exhaustion.

But nothing a healthy dose of scientific research for your chemistry project couldn’t fix.

Having memorized the layout of the library, you knew where to look for microbial research. You select a textbook and go to the front desk to check out a school Chromebook – which happened to be the latest donation for student use that year.

You were even more surprised when you went for the couches and tables. Stiles was sitting there doing his own kind of research.

“I thought you were taking care of Scott?”

Stiles seems just as surprised to see you. There was a frantic second where he tries to shuffle around his doodle pads and books. “Uh… yeah, he sort of got tired of me ‘yapping’ at him all day.” He has a funny side smile as he laughs.

“Breakups are hard,” you nod, sucking in your lips. “What are you doing here?” You lean across his table, trying to read his research upside down.

He gets fidgety again, scratching his head and making a low sound in his throat. “Nothing! Just a little hobby.”

“Wolves?” you ask, finally pulling one of his books towards you. “I didn’t know you had an interest in… wildlife.” You snicker as he yanks the book back.

“Ha ha, yeah very funny. I do just so happen to have an… interest… in w-wolves.”

You struggle to take him seriously, “And why wolves specifically?”

His throat bobs and his eyes wander for a second, “… because they say Derek is a serial killer. But you told me that the video store manager was killed by a wolf, not a human. So I’m sort of seeing if it’s possible all the murders were done by a rabid wolf and not a man… or a mountain lion.” He says it so quickly that you’re not sure if it’s his ADHD or him trying to cover his tracks.

You itch to touch your left shoulder, “What have you found out?” You sit across from him and look eager – almost heartened that he was taking your eyewitness account so seriously.

He seems resistant for a second before losing the rigidness in his shoulders. He melts forward into the table as he speaks to you in a hushed voice. “I was looking at their hunting patterns. Wolves are very endurance based predators. They don’t need to sneak up on their prey or have the element of surprise. They’re willing to travel for miles until they find an opportunity to strike.”

“So once you’re a target you’re pretty much screwed,” you smirk – but you’re unnerved at the fact Stiles wasn’t sharing your amusement.

“Right,” he plays around with his papers, “And they’re very smart with their targets. They use visual cues, their hearing, and scent to identify the perfect prey.”

You watch his speckled face as he explains, “What makes the perfect prey?”

His warm sappy eyes find yours, “They go for the weakest or sickest of the herd first.” His voice is almost solemn as he says it, “They seize the advantage in a hunt by going for a more vulnerable animal. They are smart enough to weigh their options for the peak outcome.”

“I didn’t know wolves were so clever.”

“Clever hunters,” Stiles scoffs. “And brutal killers. They don’t have the skillset to kill their victims quickly. Their prey usually die from shock or blood loss as the pack starts tearing them apart like a mob.”

You shiver unexpectedly, “Lovely research, Stiles. I’m going to have those recurring nightmares from the video store again.”

He was watching your amused face with something hollow. He looks sad… and worried. “Sorry, I’m being morbid.”

“It’s been a strange couple weeks,” you say, flipping through the index of your textbook, “While you’re here, do you want to meet about our science project?”

“The one that isn’t due for another month? Yeah, sure,” he finally smiles, warming up at your particular quirks.

You find the page on Escherichia coli. “Well, we’re going to need a few weeks to let the bacteria grow in the petri dishes.”

Stiles makes a face, “Bacteria?”

“I want to test some food handlers rules. There are many ways to cook and defrost different meats – how do we know which is the best to kill any unwanted bacteria?” You smile wide, “We plant some foodborne illness in meat, freeze it and defrost it in different ways before cooking it. We’ll swab them before and after cooking to see what bacteria grows.”

“What bacteria were you thinking?” Stiles folds his arms, stomach starting to feel a little queasy.

“E. coli,” you beam, “It’s a coliform bacterium that can cause food poisoning and diarrhea.”

Stiles swallows hard, “And you thought my research was lovely…”

“Come on, I know Mr. Harris would sign off on us getting some E. coli samples and we can conduct it in the lab. And after we can have steak for dinner.”

“I am not eating any kind of meat that you had stuffed full of a diarrhea bacteria!”

You laugh and miss the look of marveling in Stiles’ gaze. “Don’t you have lacrosse practice today?”

He watches you take notes with your pretty handwriting, completely forgetting about his research. “Yeah, actually. I have to hit the lockers in about ten minutes.”

“Hopefully that’ll be good for Scott,” you sigh, still giving most of your attention to your notes. “It might help him get some pent up feelings out.”

Stiles was very against that idea, pulling on his sleeves and starting to bounce his leg. “Maybe. Hey, speaking of Scott. When we were at the forest with him… there was something you said…”

“We both said a lot of things that night,” you snicker, “Kind of happens when you’re intoxicated.”

“No, it was something that I didn’t think much about until I remembered it the next morning,” he bows his head to try and get into your eyeline as you continue to write. “Can I ask you my personal question of the day?”

You laugh at the use of that question since you’ve become closer friends, “Sure, Stilinski.”

“You said you’ve never had anything past a situationship before,” he looks at your bright eyes with a slanted brow, “Because they get scared about you dying. What does that mean?”

There was a shiver in your eyes, but you remain steady, “I don’t know, Stiles – we were drunk. I probably just meant the inevitable. Everyone dies eventually.”

“Sure,” he says quietly, registering your evasiveness immediately. “Especially in this town.”

You shake your head, going back to your E. coli notes. “I almost wish it was the mountain lion, so we’d at least know it was dead and gone.” You flip the pages of your textbook, “I’m going to sit with Lydia today.”

“You’re going to watch?” he sounds lighthearted at that.

You smile, “Yeah, I want to support my boys. And, you know, Allison isn’t going to be there like usual.”

Stiles nods, staring at you longer than he should’ve. He couldn’t help admiring the natural rosiness to your cheeks when you weren’t sick.

“You worried about your heart?” he asks, starting to pack up his own research. “It’ll be loud and wild.”

“Maybe a little,” you say, “But everyone knows, and they can help if I feel faint.” You watch him stand from the table, “I’ll see you out on the field.”

~~~

Stiles was on a high. Scott was made captain, and he was now on the first line. Thank god for pinkeye.

“Are you not freaking out? I’m freaking out,” he has a stupid smile on his face, bouncing as he walks.

Scott was still brooding, “What’s the point? It’s just a stupid title. And I could practically smell the jealousy in there.”

“You’re still smelling everyone’s emotions?” Stiles stops them in the hallway, “Like from the test this morning?”

Scott is mumbling as he says, “Yeah, it’s like the full moon’s turned everything up to 10.”

Stiles, in his usual fidgety manner, awkwardly brings up, “Can you pick up on stuff like, I don’t know, desire?” He looks down the hall and his eyes warm into that sweet brown color.

It wasn’t registering in Scott, “What do you mean, desire?”

“Like… sexual desire.”

“Sexual desire?” Scott deadpans. He was dealing with a breakup and this guy has the audacity to ask him about sexual desires. His mind immediately pinpoints a moment when he and Allison were kissing on the bed. It made his blood boil.

Stiles was still talking around it, “Yeah, sexual desire. Lust, passion, arousal.”

After a huff of contempt, Scott peers down the hall and spots what Stiles is after. “From (Y/N)?”

Stiles looks toward the double doors at the end of the hall and gulps at your standing figure. You’re talking to Andrew and Danny, shocked at something they’re saying. You look towards the boys and wave, giving two big thumbs up. Apparently the lacrosse team had told you the big news about the recent promotions.

“What?” Stiles says quickly, waving back at you, “No, in a general, broad sense, can you determine sexual desire?”

Scott was experiencing a strange combination of anger and amusement, “From (Y/N) to you?”

“Fine, yes!” Stiles says louder than he means to, “From (Y/N) to me.” He bares his teeth a little in frustration, “Look, I need to know if I have a chance with this girl, okay.” He looks to you again to see Lydia appear to take you away. “I’ve been obsessing over her since getting back from winter break. She’s all I can think about!”

“Why don’t you just ask her? We’re all friends.”

Stiles twitches, “Well, to save myself utterly crushing humiliation. Thank you, Scott. I don’t want her pulling out the ‘I just see you as a friend’ line. I think I’d have to switch high schools.” He pulls on his uniform, “Please, can you just go up and ask if she likes me? See if her heartbeat rises…”

“Her heartbeat is always all over the place,” Scott rolls his eyes, “Hence the medical condition.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles grounds out, flailing his arms over his head, “See if pheromones come out or something!”

Scott turns on his heel and walks away, “Fine.”

Stiles is left in shock and pink tinging his cheeks, “I love you. I love you! You’re my best friend in the whole world.” He grips his lacrosse stick tight enough to hear the leather handle squeak.

At the end of the hall, talking with Lydia, you mutter something that sounds eerily like ‘Andrew.’ Scott didn’t let it bother him, “Hey, (Y/N), can we talk for a second?”

You play with your jacket, noticing the off color to his eyes before saying, “Yeah, of course.”

Lydia rolls her eyes, “I’ll save you a seat on the stands.” She flounces off smelling of heavenly perfume.

You lead Scott off to the nearest empty classroom, arms folded as you ask, “Are you okay?”

“I just needed to ask you something,” he says with his head bowed, sounding hurt as he continues, “Do you… do you know if Allison still likes me?”

You tilt your chin down, frowning slightly at the puppy-dog eyes he was giving you. “Of course she still likes you. I told you it was going to take a long time for her to get over you. That’s probably why she isn’t here cheering on her friends.”

“Friends…”

“I mean, yeah she’ll always like you as a friend,” you say sincerely, “I don’t think she could ever hate you.”

Scott wasn’t liking the answer. He was glowering again, all puppy-dog erased from his eyes. His hands were curling into fists as he says, “Just friends.”

You sound timid as you continue, “She doesn’t want any animosity between you, but yeah… maybe cooling off as just friends could ease the tension.”

He takes a step forward and the room feels three degrees colder, “You’re saying I should just forget all about my feelings for her?”

You take a sudden step back, your heart beginning to leap in your chest. Scott did not look like the friendly version of himself you had grown accustomed to. He was being dark and menacing, an edge to his voice that you did not like.

A hand going to your chest as it usually did to somehow contain your heartbeat, you say, “For the time being, maybe. Just see it as you’re taking a break. When you see her again…”

“Then I need to take my mind off of her somehow,” he says, creeping his way toward you – almost like he was stalking.

You were being backed into a wall, “Scott, are you okay? You seem a little off.” Your shoulders hit the wall, “You’re scaring me.”

He takes a long sniff and cocks his head to the side, “Scaring you a lot, actually.” He invades your personal space – to the point where you can feel the angry heat radiating off him. “Your heart is racing.”

You gulp and Scott eyes the pulse galloping in your neck. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to distract myself from the breakup. You said you would help me.” And his hands snap to your face, holding it in place as he crushes his lips to yours. He is stronger than you were expecting, pulling you to him with rigid arms.

You try to flail away, but Scott’s hands land on your upper arms, pining you between him and the wall. He kisses you hungrily – angrily – as he goes in for more and more. Your muffled cries of defiance are smothered in his mouth. It was bruising and intense, way more than you were ready for.

When he eventually pulls away you are quick to smack him across the face. Shoving at his solid form before running from the abandoned classroom. You sprint for the farthest restroom and find it empty.

You lean against a sink before looking in the mirror. Your hair was ratted in the back and the swollen red of your lips was a giveaway. You were just realizing you were crying when the alarm of your watch finally registered in your brain.

Your heart was still pounding in your chest and before long you’d be lightheaded.

It took nearly twenty minutes for you to calm down. Sitting on the dirty tiled floor, head between your knees, and tears running down your nose. You wonder what had gotten into Scott for him to take advantage of you like that.

Scott wasn’t that kind of guy, right?

You had received texts from both Lydia and Stiles before you made it outside. Lydia asking where you were and Stiles asking about your heart. He had gotten an alarm on his phone too.

Scott had told him it was because you were thinking about him… that you had confessed that you did, in fact, have a crush on Stiles too.

Lydia could see the closed, distraught look on your face as you climb the bleachers. “What happened? Have you been crying?” She touches the redness under your eyes.

You push her away, holding yourself and whispering, “I just had a moment. I’m fine.”

It wasn’t enough for Lydia, her manicured nails tilting your chin towards her, “Have you been kissing?!”

You rub at your lips, “Not by choice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks with a sudden lowered tone. The usual façade of the flirty popular spring fling queen was gone. “Did some guy…?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you whisper again, eyeing the field and rubbing up and down your arms. “Let’s just enjoy the game.”

Lydia was still staring at you, “(Y/N), we need to report this.”

“No, it was an accident,” you say defensively, “He didn’t mean to.”

“Who?”

“Noone, Lydia please,” you start to feel your eyes water again, “I promised Stiles I’d be here, and I don’t break those promises.”

A huff escapes Lydia, “That’s ridiculous. That idiot friend of yours would understand you leaving because somebody assaul…”

You hiss at her, “Stop! You’ll send my heart rate sky rocketing.”

She purses her lips, yanking her bag towards her and flushed with anger, “Fine. At least let me help hide the evidence. You don’t want anyone else questioning you.” She extracts a make-up wipe and a calming chapstick. “And then you’ll tell me what little bitch did this and we’ll set the dogs on him.”

You crack a tiny sad smile, “Thanks, Lydia.”

“We’ve got a whole lacrosse team that would be on your side.” She folds her arms and crosses her legs, tapping her floating foot in the air. “Jackson and Andrew would stand up for you.”

You watch Scott get pummeled to the ground, jumping back up like nothing happened. “I’m not sure I want the lacrosse team knowing.” Andrew stands as goalie, fending off all the incoming pitches. “I’m not even sure what happened.”

An overenthusiastic player in jersey #24 waves at you emphatically. He’s practically on his tiptoes as he grovels for your attention….

You know instantly that it’s Stiles.

You return his high energy with a small wave and in return his points to his chest, right above his heart, and gives you a thumbs up in question. He’s asking about your heartbeat.

After a second of appreciation, you give him a hesitant thumbs up before wrapping your arms around yourself again. Stiles grips his lacrosse stick nervously – Scott was going in for another try.

Only it ends with him clipping Andrew in the helmet, slamming him to the ground. You stand with Lydia, gasping at the sound of the impact. You’re fumbling down the bleacher stairs as everyone huddles around Andrew.

You hear Stiles’ voice as he confronts Scott. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?”

“What? He’s twice the size of me.”

“Yeah, but everybody likes Andrew. Now everybody’s gonna hate you.”

You speed across the grass, avoiding Stiles and Scott as he says, “I don’t care.” You catch his eyes and flinch away, skirting to the other side of the goalpost and to the fallen Andrew. He had a bloody nose but was probably safe from a concussion.

Stiles was stuck on the fact that you had flinched away from him and Scott. Why would you run away like that? He watches your crouching figure console Andrew, pushing your hair behind your ears.

There was still a redness to your eyes and a chapped swollenness to your mouth.

And Stiles was putting two and two together. He was slack jawed and turning to the retreating figure of Scott. Disbelief was the only way to describe what he was feeling.

Disbelief and full blown rage.

But he was more worried about you.

As they were carting Andrew away, along with most of the players and Lydia bickering with Jackson – you were left by the goalpost shaking and quiet.

He was gauging your response as he nears you. “(Y/N)?” He lifts a hand to your arm and you flinch out of his touch. It disappoints him – a punch to his gut. “What’s wrong?”

You gulp, avoiding his eyes, “Uh… it’s nothing. I’m just worried about Andrew.”

He frowns, tensing his jaw, “Did… Did something happen with Scott?”

You’re gripping your arms as you shake your head, “I told you it was nothing, Stiles. I j-just had a heart rate spike and I don’t feel so well.”

The evasiveness was getting to Stiles. He grinds his teeth, “(Y/N), I have a feeling your spike had something to do with Scott.” He wishes you would look at him, “Please, tell me the truth.”

Your eyes were starting to water, “Don’t make me say it, Stiles. I haven’t even processed what’s happened,” you run your fingers through your hair, blowing out a shaky breath, “I don’t want to think about it.”

God, he wants to touch you again. He wants to hold you. “I think I know,” he whispers, rage broiling in his veins. “That son of a bitch.”

You sniff, looking towards the sky to avoid letting the tears fall. It was stabbing a knife into Stiles’ heart.

“Lydia’s my ride home,” you say, your voice cracking, “I have to find her. I’m sure she’s still… fighting with Jackson.”

“No,” Stiles says instantly, “Absolutely not. I’ll drive you home. Just let me change real quick.” He starts stripping his uniform immediately, throwing his gloves with a little more force than was necessary.

You shove your hands in your pockets, still shaking regardless of how warm the spring afternoon was. “That’s kind of you Stiles, but…”

“If you say not to worry and walk away, I swear to god I’ll freak out,” he tosses his jersey and shoulder pads on the grass. “I see it as my privilege to escort you home. Please? It’ll make me feel better about leaving you knowing you’re safe.” His pleading made his eyes warm and syrupy. Your favorite shade of brown.

You reluctantly look at him with your red eyes – it seems to develop worrisome wrinkles in his forehead. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats, hopeful, “Okay. Let’s go.” He avoids touching you, much to his dismay, and leads the way to the parking lot.

“Don’t you need to put your stuff back in your locker?” you ask quietly.

“Nope,” he says frankly, “This is more important.” He walks beside you, giving you some distance.

You can’t help the smile that wants to appear, “Thank you.”

He holds open the jeep door for you and throws his stuff unceremoniously in the back. He’s racing out of the parking lot, tension evident in his shoulders as he sneaks quick looks at your cowering figure.

You’re huddled against the door, holding your arms again.

Stiles has his usual hand on the wheel and the other on the stick shift. His chest was tight and painful as he tries to think of something to say, “I’m not going to ask you if you’re okay again because I know you’re not. And I can tell you just want to sit and think but I got to admit it’s freaking impossible for me to sit still and be quiet. You’re scaring the hell out of me, and I just want to help. I just…” he moves the hand on the stick shift to the edge of your chair. “I want to make you feel better. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at much… except maybe talking when I’m nervous…”

You silently move your hand to Stiles’. He’s quick to grip your fingers and gasp a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank god,” he laughs awkwardly, “I can do this. Is this helping you feel better? If it is, you can hold my hand for as long as you need. I’ll hold your hand all night if that’s what it takes… I’ll hold your hand…”

“Stiles,” you say, quietly amused. “Please stop talking.”

“Sure,” he says, zipping his lip with his free hand. He mouths silently, “No more talking.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, except for the rumble of the engine and the incessant tapping of Stiles’ thumb against the steering wheel. He sometimes lifts your conjoined hands to change gears. Other times he subtly moves his thumb up your index finger, perhaps trying to be soothing.

You watch things fly past the window as you near your house. The shakiness of Stiles’ constantly moving hands was almost therapeutic. It distracts you to feel his fingers dance around your hand. You wipe at your eyes as the jeep stops in your driveway.

Stiles jumps out of the car and bangs his hip on the headlight as he runs for your side. He curses terribly and opens your door, “M’lady,” he pants in pain.

You slide out, tears smeared beneath your eyes as you say, “Thank you, Stiles.”

As he shuts the door you contemplate for about three seconds before going in for a hug.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders as you place your tearstained face near his neck. He returns the hug timidly, careful with how he’s touching you. He keeps his hands near your shoulder blades, at the top of your back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m going to try and figure this out.”

Your sniffles cause him physical pain. “I’ll see you later.”

He waves you off, stewing in his new plan to contain Scott’s rabid werewolf side and to get his full revenge in payback for treating you like this.

~~~

After a nap and an ice pack for your swollen face and oncoming headache, you feel more clearheaded. Oliver, the gray cat, has his front paws perched on your knee, searching for more pats to the head.

“I just don’t get it,” you say, speaking to your cat as if he were your therapist. “I understand that he’s going through a breakup, but that doesn’t give him the right to act like a jackass.” You hold the icepack to your temples, “There must be something else going on – or maybe that’s just something Scott is capable of, and I didn’t see it.”

Oliver chirps at you, butting his head into your palm.

“I know, Ollie,” you say, “I don’t need anymore stress added to my life.”

With your mom helping dispatch with a call in the forest and your dad managing the firehouse that night, you were grateful to be home alone with your problems. It was a shame they had to work so much to maintain the debt from your medical bills.

But they never complained.

The moon was full and bright like a flashlight through your window. You thought about texting Allison but thought better of it.

You were, however, texting Lydia to keep away from filing a police report. You had no idea she was so invested in your care. She always seemed slightly aloof and as if her priorities were centered around high school popularity.

But maybe she had her own set of secrets like everyone else in this town.

You continue to talk with Oliver as the moon rises in the sky. It’s dark and chilly outside and you can hear the rustling of budding branches. It gives the night a strange ominous tone. It prompts you to the open window to peer at the darkness.

Oliver purrs and finds a spot at the foot of your bed to curl up.

The ache in your shoulder reappears as you gaze at the moon. “I think I need to go back to sleep.”

There was a sudden howl on the wind, loud enough that it sent a chill through your bones. You quickly slam the window shut, staring at your scared reflection in the glass. “You need to calm down, (Y/N).”

But there was something moving in the distance that caught your attention. Something fast and on all fours. Something animal… but…

You squint your eyes, pressing against the window to look past neighbor fences and thick growths of trees. There was some kind of creature running through yards and… straight towards your house.

The breath leaving your lungs was shallow as you realize – this thing was coming at you. You watch it reach your yard and stop. It stands and all you see are yellow eyes, sharp teeth, and a furry face.

You make eye contact with the creature and panic, gasping aloud as you back away. “Oh my god…”

Blood was pumping in your ears as you flounder. Where do you go? What do you do? You scramble to find something useful, a strange clawing coming from the walls below.

Where was your phone?

Your eyes dart to your bed and you pounce. Hands frantically searching beneath pillows and sheets, Ollie grumbles and jumps off the bed. Panting, you find the cellphone under your blanket, rolling off the mattress and running out of your room.

That thing knew you were in the bedroom.

There was a louder sound of clawing and splintering wood downstairs. The squeak of metal told you that the front door had swung open. The silence that follows makes you even more terrified. You thought something rabid was entering your house, but instead it was deadly quiet.

You cross the hallway and to your parents room, closing the door as quietly as possible. Speeding towards their ensuite bathroom, you lock yourself in. You think about your options – your parents? 911? Stiles? You don’t want to sound paranoid.

You decide to text your mom, “Are you coming home soon?” and then texting Stiles, “SOS.” You weren’t going to risk talking out loud if there was a tweaking madman entering the house in search of you.

There was the familiar creak of the squeaky floorboard in the hall that usually signaled that your parents were up and about. Whatever that thing was… it was moving past your room and further down the hall.

Your phone begins to buzz with a call from Stiles. You quickly decline, stopping the buzzing sound. You do the same with the next call he tries to make.

A steely cold burrows in your skin, ears trained for any sound coming from outside. You sit on the bathmat, holding your phone so it puts an eerie light across your face. Stiles resorts to texting you.

“I’m already on my way.”

“Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Why aren’t you picking up your phone?”

“I’m right down the street.”

You tap out a reply, your breath shaky against your knees as they’re pressed to your chest. “There’s something in my house.”

You hear something from your parents bedroom.

“Are you somewhere safe?” Stiles replies. “What is it?”

You move your thumbs quickly, “It’s right outside the door.”

Your phone continues to buzz with frantic replies from Stiles, but you’re preoccupied with the slow, terrifying turning of the doorknob. It squeaks metallically as it’s manipulated. And after a few tries the creature stops.

The door then rattles with a sudden roar of noise. Scraping hands bang against the wood, the panels straining under the force of whatever is on the other side. You scream as a howl penetrates your ears.

The same howl you heard outside your bedroom window.

Fear envelopes you as you scramble to the far wall, screwing up the bathmat and knocking the shampoo bottle off the side of the tub. You resort to dialing 911 as the door bends under the hands of the growling creature.

“(Y/N)!”

Another voice comes from downstairs and you’re afraid to reply, “Stiles!?”

Heavy footfalls are coming up the stairs as the creature hesitates in its assault on the door. You pull at the collar of your pajamas, choking on your breath as your heart fails to oxygenate your body.

The voice of Stiles is so near, you fear for his safety as the creature howls again. But what Stiles says puts you into more shock.

“Scott, calm down buddy. You don’t want to do this,” he sounds full of fear, “This isn’t you, man. Snap out of it!”

You gasp for breath, clawing at your own chest as your heart works in overtime. You can barely register the things you hear on the other side of the door.

A different growl was sounding and (what you hope isn’t) Scott turns toward it. Stiles was encouraging the action.

“Go after the howls, Scott. Go join your other werewolf friends! Get out of here!”

It turns into Stiles banging on the bathroom door – with much less force than whatever power Scott possessed.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N), open the door please. It’s just me – Scott left with Derek. I promise it’s safe now.” He must’ve checked his phone because now he was speaking with a new level of panic, “Hold on, (Y/N). Just try to breathe! Focus on your surroundings – ground yourself!”

He was jumping and searching for those emergency bathroom keys that were sometimes left on the molding above the door. Thankfully your parents never took chances and kept those keys there.

Stiles was cursing himself for fumbling the key in the lock, forcing it open. He fell to the floor with his momentum, slipping on the tile to get to you.

“Holy shit – oh my god. (Y/N), you need to breathe.” He kneels beside you and puts a hand over yours holding your chest, “Just take a breath, please.” Your lips were turning blue from the lack of oxygen. Your eyes were fluttering shut.

Stiles was rubbing your hand against your chest, wrapping his other arm around your shoulders and shaking you into him. “Stay with me, (Y/N). You can’t pass out while you’re not breathing.”

You gasp something shallow, but it was the first breath he hears you take, “That’s it… god.” He puts his head against yours, “You can do it, take another.”

He holds you as you start to take more shallow breaths, each getting stronger by the second. The darkness creeping into your star-spangled vision became clearer; and the tingling in your hands and feet lessen.

Stiles is whispering quiet praises to whatever power helps you breathe evenly again. He holds up your wrist and watches your heart rate lower out of danger.

You rest against his chest, your head laying against his collarbone. You sound out of breath as you say, “You have… explaining to do.”

He chuckles solemnly, your head bouncing against his chest, “Remember that thing that wasn’t exactly mine to tell?”

“Scott?”

“Yeah,” he says, “Something happened when we found Derek’s dead sister in the woods… Scott was bit.” He was grateful for not looking at your reaction, just holding you close as your heartbeat steadies. “He was bit by a werewolf.”

You weakly smack his arm, “Bullshit.”

“Not even a little bit. Our friend is a werewolf. And so is Derek,” he says, “That’s why Derek has been invading – he’s trying to help Scott take control.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say, still sounding out of breath. Your head was aching with the lack of oxygen.

Stiles takes a deep breath, making you rise and fall against him. “Derek isn’t the serial killer attacking everyone. All those kills were done by the Alpha – that’s the big bad wolf that bit Scott and is trying to make him a part of his pack.”

“An Alpha?” you want to laugh but know it would send you into a coughing fit.

“Yes, and on the full moon the Alpha has more control over Scott. The moon has been messing with him all day, which you witnessed firsthand.”

That gives you a shiver, forcing you up from the ground, gripping the bathtub for support.

“Woah,” Stiles gets up with you, hands hovering at your back, “Take it slow.”

“You’re telling me the reason Scott has been snapping at everyone and shoving his tongue down my throat is because of the full moon?”

“Shoves his what down your what?”

You stand straight and nearly blackout until you hold onto the glass shower door. “Where is he now?” You start stumbling out of the bathroom and towards your bedroom, the perfect view of the front yard.

Stiles slips on the tile to follow you, terrified you were going to fall again.

Looking out the window, bathed in moonlight, you spy two beings on the edge of the street – heading towards the forest. Glowing eyes, pointed ears, furry faces, and snarling fangs. They were disappearing into the night.

What you saw before the home invasion was real.

“Was Derek bitten by the Alpha too?”

“Uh… no,” Stiles says, looking at you like a bomb about to go off. He was waiting for the outrage. “He was born a werewolf. He just wants to kill the Alpha for killing his sister. Scott is his link.”

You flex your hands, getting the feeling back in your fingers, “You were already on your way when I texted you. How did you know I was in trouble?” You could hear the audible breath Stiles took, the sound of him scratching his shaved head.

“To make him a part of his pack, the Alpha wants Scott to get rid of his old pack. Me, Allison, Lydia and Jackson… and you.” He takes a pause, “I knew he’d go after one of us under the control of the full moon.”

“You were doing research on the hunting habits of wolves today,” you whisper as the memory appears, running your fingers through your hair.

Stiles tries to focus on how beautiful you look in the moonlight. Beautiful and alive. Thank god Derek showed up.

“You’re right. And I knew wolves take their time with their targets…”

“The weakest and sickest of the herd,” you whisper again. “He was wearing me down today. He cornered me and… it was like he could smell the fear on me.”

Stiles swallows hard, his hands balling into fists, “Yeah. He was making a plan who to pick off one at a time.”

You fold your arms, nodding thoughtfully, wishing the headache to go away. “As far as secrets go… that is one hell of one.”

Stiles wrings his hands, “Yeah, you can see why we don’t want to rope too many people into it.”

“Who knows?” you ask, still debating your options.

“Derek and myself,” he sighs, watching your closed off stance. “But who else knows about werewolves? The Argents do.”

Your brow furrows, still staring out the window, “Allison’s family?”

“Her parents and her Aunt Kate,” he nods, “They’re werewolf hunters. Have been for centuries and it’s part of the reason they moved here.��

“Allison?”

“As far as we know, she’s clueless about the whole thing. But now that she’s spending so much time at home because of the breakup… I think her aunt my have a little too much influence.”

Your fingers dig into your arms, “Interesting.”

Stiles lets the silence hit for a few seconds before inching towards you more, “Interesting?”

You feel the hurt start to creep into your chest. The kind of aching hurt that only comes from feeling betrayal and an overwhelmingness to hide. “I think you should go, Stiles.”

He stands straight, “What?”

Tilting your head over your shoulder, you mumble, “I’ve heard enough and I would like you to leave. My mom will be home soon.” You stay where you are, feeling in need of a long sleep. “I need time to process. I need time alone. Thank you for coming for me and telling me the truth, but I want to be by myself now.”

He bites his tongue, “Are you sure?”

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

“(Y/N), listen to me. It was scary at first for me too,” he sounds nervous, “I know it’s a shock, but…”

“Please leave, Stilinski. I won’t ask again.”

He huffs his frustration, “Okay, I get it. Will you at least tell me when your mom gets here? Just so I know you’re…”

“My mom is on the same dispatch call your dad is tonight. When he gets home you’ll know my mom is getting home too.”

It was quiet after that, Stiles taking a few steps back and grinding his teeth. He was almost out the door when he says, “I’m glad you’re safe, (Y/N).”

Minutes later you watch the blue jeep drive away. An hour later you’re still standing at the window, basking in the cool moonlight. Two hours later your mom enters the driveway.

And you’re finally able to step away and lower your arms – lightheaded from your locked knees.

“Oh, hello sweetie,” Angela says at the door, Ollie at her ankles. “Why are you still awake?”

You let the exhaustion show, “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to wait until you got home.”

Your mom pouts, walking to you with open arms, “I could use a hug too.” You embrace and feel the knots of tension in her shoulders.

“Long call?”

Angela holds you back by the shoulders and inspects your tiresome complexion. “There were another couple deaths in the forest. It’s being ruled an accident for now, might’ve just fallen in a bonfire because they were drunk.”

“Died in a fire?” you say with a gruesome wince.

“Yep,” your mother sighs, “It was nice seeing your dad though. Fire department was called too.” She ponders your expression, “Why can’t you sleep?”

You lick your dry lips, “My heart has been all over the place. It’s hard to relax.”

Brows knitted, Angela puts a hand to the side of your face, “You feeling stressed at all?”

“You could say that. There’s been drama in the friend group.”

She nods and kisses your hairline, “I’ll make us some tea. Let me put my things away and we can hang out on the couch.” She’s satisfied with your small smile, leaving for her bedroom.

It was just dawning on you that she might see something when she yells…

“Hey, what are these claw marks in my bathroom door!?”

You rub harshly at your tired eyes, “Um… Ollie got into the catnip again?”

~~~

School had gotten strange the next week. It was already tense with Scott and Allison’s breakup, but now that you weren’t talking to the boys… it had felt very estranged. Both Scott and Stiles had tried to contact you, but you still need some time.

The bombshell of the things going on in Beacon Hills was a lot to take in.

It made your little secret seem minor in comparison.

You were sitting in the lunchroom, picking at your meal with your other friends. Jackson had been tense with Lydia the last few weeks and you could smell another breakup coming. His mild jackassery was starting to get on your nerves as he ignores you and the girls.

“He seriously started sending you pictures of you two together?” Lydia sneers, “What kind of move is that?”

“He’s trying to get back together with you,” you say a little melancholy.

Allison plays with her necklace, lost in thought, “It felt like he was trying to make me feel bad for breaking up with him.”

“He is completely clueless,” you sigh, “Most idiots in love are.”

Lydia squints her eyes at you suspiciously, “Speaking of idiots in love. Do you care to explain why you’re also ignoring dork #1 and dork #2?”

Your eyes momentarily shift across the cafeteria to where Scott and Stiles were eating. Stiles was shoving a chicken tender into his mouth with his usual amount of grace. The rest of his tray held macaroni and cheese… a painful memory of him telling you about the gourmet mac and cheese his mom used to make.

“Nothing just… some weird things happened.”

“Like dork #2 confessing his obvious feelings for you?” Lydia continues. “I don’t blame you for rejecting him. He’s a little weirdo.”

You snap your head to her, “You mean Stiles?”

“He’s been drooling over you since you started school,” Allison agrees, “Scott used to tell me about it.”

You shove your lunch tray away, “No! I wasn’t aware anyone was harboring any feelings for me.”

“Well, if we stick to that topic,” Lydia purses her lips, “Andrew Wickstrom is also a harborer of feelings.”

“And maybe two others on the lacrosse team,” Allison chuckles.

You shake your head, closing your eyes momentarily, “No, in fact Scott came onto me.” You rub at your temples, listening to Allison hold her breath.

“Excuse me?”

You look to her, sorrowful in how you say, “He cornered me and kissed me.”

“What!?”

“It was quick and only the one time. He said he was just trying to get his mind off you. I slapped him and everything,” you say with a little more urgency, “And obviously he’s super regretful because now he’s trying to get on your good side again.”

“What a little shit,” Lydia curses.

Allison was even more visibly upset than before, “I can’t believe that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I didn’t want to tell you, but you deserve to know. Scott wasn’t himself that day. He’s been really wrecked.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse,” Allison mutters.

“Has he apologized at all?” Lydia asks with an edge of rage.

You shrug, “I haven’t exactly given him the chance to. That’s why I haven’t been talking to them.” You look to Allison with slanted brows, “I’m really sorry, Allison. I tried to make him stop.”

She shakes her head, snapping herself out of whatever fogginess had invaded her mind. “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you.” She looks toward the boys before standing, “I need the bathroom.”

You nod, giving her space, instead watching Jackson stare down someone from across the cafeteria. Lydia was looking at him too with some semblance of impatience and frustration. In a nonchalant move, Jackson steals the green apple from your forgotten tray.

“How are you two?” you whisper to Lydia.

She scowls, “He’s been a little cozy with Allison if I’m being honest,” she picks a tomato from her salad. “We don’t talk much anymore, just the occasional make out and quickie in the car.”

You refrain from grimacing, “What is going on with everyone?”

“With spring comes all new drama,” she smiles derisively, “Springtime fever as they call it.”

Jackson suddenly stands and leaves them to gossip. Lydia follows him with her eyes, a moment of hurt flashing through them.

“I don’t think I can take much more drama,” you sigh with a fake smile, “My heart can’t take it.”

Lydia looks to you with genuine sympathy. You had grown to love the moments when she was real. “Then it’s a good thing we’re all taking a break. We’re the perfect girl squad. No boys allowed.”

You smile a little wider, “I’d like that.”

Your last period after lunch was gym, which usually consisted of you doing things for Coach since you had a doctor’s note banning you from raising your heart rate. While everyone was in the locker rooms changing, you talk with Finstock.

“I don’t care what they do today, Westbrook,” he groans, his whistle swinging around his neck, “I’m too busy drawing up plays for the game tonight. Bring out the basketballs and jump ropes and freaking hopscotch, I don’t care. Hell, let them use the pools to swim laps.” He scratches at his crazed hair, “Just make them do something for the period – and don’t come looking for me. Thanks, Westbrook.”

You blow out a whistled sigh, “No problem, Coach.” You roll out the cart of basketballs and volleyballs, a couple jump ropes dangling on the side. Your classmates start to trickle out in their gym attire.

Using your loudest voice you announce it was going to be a free workout period – they’re free to use the pools or the gym as long as they’re engaging in a sport of some kind.

Allison voices her wish to swim and Jackson is quick to agree, leading the way back to the lockers. Scott doesn’t say a word, just mindlessly follows them at a distance.

You watch many hands go for the gym equipment, a basketball falling to the floor. You catch it as it tries to bounce away.

“Hey, Westbrook!”

You look up to see Andrew holding his hands up for the ball. A smile on your lips, you pass the ball, pleased it lands right in his hands.

“How are you?” he asks, walking up to you. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

You push some hair behind your ear, “Oh, just some post sickness keeping me away. I’m all good now.” You put your hands in your pockets, his lovely curly hair in ringlets against his forehead. “How have you been?”

“Not gonna lie,” he spins the basketball on his index finger, “I’ve missed seeing you at lacrosse and keeping Finstock in line in economics.”

You fold your arms, watching the ball spin, “It is good seeing you. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you much last practice – how’s the nose?”

He puts the ball under his arm and leans down to your height, “How does it look?” he grimaces comically, “I don’t dare look – I bet it’s grotesque and crooked and completely messed up.”

You giggle, clamping your index finger and thumb around the arch of his nose, “It looks fine to me.” You wiggle his face around and shove him away, noticing the adorable dimples coming out on his cheeks. “I’m glad it wasn’t something worse.”

“Yeah, McCall was in a funk that day.”

“That’s one word for it.” You sigh, “You going to show me some moves?” You gesture to the basketball, “Any three-pointers?”

He smiles bright, dribbling the ball, “If I make a three-pointer… how about you go on that date with me?”

Your cheeks feel warm as you try to contain your smile, “It’s a deal. Shoot straight, Wickstrom.”

He winks at you and goes for the three-point line outside the black arc surrounding the basket. He dribbles the ball twice before bending his knees and taking aim. With an arm extension, the ball flies in a smooth arch right into the basket.

Andrew holds his arm in that shooting pose, turning to you with a flush growing across his nose, “Nothing but net.”

“Jokes on you,” you say in a sweet voice that was feigning confidence, “I would’ve gone out with you even if you hadn’t made the shot.”

He laughs, walking up to you once more, “Does Friday sound good? Seven o’ clock?”

You say, “Sounds perfect.”

Before he jogs off to join the shirts and skins game being created on the sidelines, he looks at you with his warm expression. “Are you coming to the game tonight?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I might have a girls night…”

“I thought you had to help Finstock being his TA?”

“Oh, no – that’s just during school hours. I’m a regular fan in the stands during games.” You rub awkwardly at your arms as you say, “Things have been tense with some of the lacrosse players.”

He nods, his face suddenly serious with understanding. “I get it. I’m not saying you have to come… but I would love to see you there. Do what’s best for you.”

You take a genuine sigh of relief, “I needed that.” You nod your head towards the team huddles, “Now go earn your gym credit.”

“Finstock isn’t here, Westbrook,” he shrugs, already backing away.

“But he’s left me in charge; I could still fail you.”

He winks again, “You wouldn’t do that to me, sweetheart.”

You laugh as he retreats, but you know what he says is true. You were just glad to be moving on to perhaps a semi-normal relationship with someone that didn’t tangle with werewolves or supernatural hunters or murder investigations.

Stiles was sitting on the bleachers with a couple other kids not wanting to play the games. Each on their phone or reading a book or talking with a friend. Stiles was sitting between the benches, his legs hanging over the side.

He had a deep scowl on his face and twitchy fingers rotating his phone in his palm. He watches your exchange with Andrew with heat in his stomach. He was furious at the entire situation.

Upset that you hadn’t explained your distance. Angry that he hadn’t told you the truth sooner. Mad at himself for letting Scott loose on the full moon. Irritated that his life was consumed by Scott’s problems to the point that he felt like a major comedic side character. One that doesn’t usually get the girl.

But most of all furious that the guy you decide to date isn’t a bad guy at all. Andrew is kind and funny and supportive. He’s such a good guy that Stiles couldn’t be mad at him. And that made him even more mad.

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs @iamaslytherin0 @n3muru @bethsvrse @taylorbrooke-0912

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #okay j hannah #okayjhannah #fandomfantasia

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licorice-tea · 11 months ago

Text

I Wish You Knew I Was Real

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x reader

Content: strawhat! reader, fluff and feelings, confessions, midnight snacks (literally), mentions of WCI but no huge spoilers, reader has no specified gender

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: first fic of the new year! i don’t usually write for sanji so i hope this isn’t ooc… anyway, enjoy! also lmk what you think bc idrk how i feel about this one 🤷‍♀️

It’s well past midnight when you sneak into the kitchen of the Thousand Sunny to fix yourself a snack. It wouldn’t really matter if you get caught, seeing as it’s your ship too, but you’d rather not wake up or bother your crewmates.

“Y/n?”

You pause your chopping to find the source of the voice, Sanji, standing in the doorway. He yawns behind his hand as he walks in, “It’s the middle of the night, what are you doing up here?”

“I just got hungry.” But as soon as he’s close enough to see your hands working on cutting up fruit, he seems appalled. “What’s wrong?”

In Sanji’s mind, you should never have to cook for yourself. At least, not when he’s there on the same ship. Not when he would always be so willing and ready to help you out; to use his skills to please you.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? You know I can do it for you, sweetheart-“

“That’s why I tried not to wake you up. You need to get your rest, but I guess I was too noisy, huh?”

Sanji shakes his head determinedly, then gently moves his left hand over yours to take the knife while also holding your waist with his right so that he can maneuver you away from the cutting board. You let him, and he explains, “I get plenty of rest; if you ever need something, y/n, you can come to me. Day or night.”

You hum in acceptance of his statement, and feel content with simply watching him cut the apple into slices from your place beside him. He finishes creating the perfect little slices quickly, then goes the extra mile by carving small triangles out of the peel of each. A smile grows on your lips as you realize they’re meant to look like little bunnies; and they do.

“Cute,” you muse quietly at his creation “Thank you, Sanji.”

The cook smiles to himself before looking over at you, “I thought you’d like them more this way.”

This makes you laugh before replying, “Like a kid who only eats dinosaur shaped nuggets?”

“No, no,” he chuckles as well, “but I know you have an appreciation for aesthetics. Besides, I was right wasn’t I? You think they’re cute, so that’s all that matters.” Sanji says while plating the bunny-apple slices.

You scoot closer, so that your sides are pressed against each other, in a futile attempt to reach across and grab the plate. But, Sanji stops you again with his gentle touch (he’s always so very soft with you, rather than overbearing and borderline obsessive. But, you’d like love him either way.)

His right hand stays on your wrist as his left reaches up into a cabinet to grab the honey jar. He makes a display of lifting a generous amount of honey using the honey dipper over your plate, and drizzling it over the apples. Enough to satisfy your sweet tooth, but not so much it will create a sticky mess.

“Perfect.” he gestures for you to go sit at the kitchen island, but you insist you can “carry the plate just fine.” To which Sanji replies, “I know, but I don’t mind. I like taking care of you like this.”

There’s a faint tinge of red on his cheeks, but you’d never mention it. Especially not when your own, not so platonic feelings for the cook seem to constantly be in the back of your mind these days.

You take a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island, and Sanji presents your midnight snack with a flourish. “Enjoy, y/n.” He’s walks away to wash his hands, and you expect him to return to sit beside you, but then he walks toward the door.

“Sanji…” He pauses and looks back at you, “Do you want to stay?” You feel sort of awful asking, really, because he’s probably tired, but something inside you just can’t let him go.

And sure enough, his lips curve up into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask!”

He pulls out the stool next to yours and slides onto it, then rests his arm on the back of your seat. The proximity is not unwelcome- you felt it never could be when it came from him- but even if he was, he’s not invading your space. More so creating a kind of link between the two of you, and a feeling of closeness beyond the physical.

You take a bite of one of your apple slices, only to frown slightly when you pull the half eaten slice away from your mouth and realize you’ve destroyed the bunny. Sanji nearly laughs, for he has a similar empathetic disposition and knows how you feel, but then he notices something.

There’s a smidge of honey left behind on the corner of your mouth, which you have not taken notice of, because if you had you surely would’ve licked it up. Even the thought of that sight could make him act a fool, but he’ll try his best not to (just for you.)

“Look here.” he says in a near whisper, and you do. With no other words, he cups your chin and wipes the honey from your lips with his thumb. Your eyes go wide at the first action (when he touches your face to begin with), but they seem to soften when you realize what he’s doing. Sanji takes notice of this too, and just offers a smile. Because what else can he do?

He’s a flirt; he knows that, and so do you, and everyone else he’s ever met. So if he ever were to make a move on you, there’s no way you’d take him seriously. Then again, that’s why he tries to tone down his flirting with you in the first place. He can’t stand the thought of you being under the impression that you’re the same as every girl in the world is to him; because you’re not. You’re… special, in a way. He feels bad saying you’re his favorite of the many objects of his affections, because he has genuine love for so many people (you are though.) But, he can say with certainty that his feelings for you are the only serious ones. No matter how many women he tries to woo on all the adventures of the Straw Hats, he’ll always come back to you. Sanji will always choose you.

“Um, Sanji?” His hand is still on your jaw with his thumb on your bottom lip, so you pull it away with gentle force. “Sanji?” Hearing your sweet voice pulls him out of his stupor (the first time, he was concentrated on simply the sound of your voice.)

“Sorry, sweetness, I uh… Your pretty lips distracted me for a second~” Sanji purposely exaggerates his tone a little, so you just accept his reasoning with a giggle.

“Sure thing, Sanji.”

You eat your apple slices in comfortable silence for a bit, thinking of the aforementioned feelings you’ve been harboring for the chef since… Who knows- but you didn’t realize these feelings until you saw him for the first time after 2 years spent training apart. There had never been such a strong excitement in your voice as when you called his name that day, and he launched himself onto you in a tight hug. You had walked to the predetermined meeting place and entered the bar together, hand in hand. It felt so natural, too; like your hands were meant to fit together. Of course, you’d never voice these feelings, because if Sanji had feelings for you surely he’d tell you. Eventually, you hope. This brings about another question in your mind;

“Why do you like women? I mean, like, every woman we meet, even if she’s an enemy?”

He shrugs slightly, “At one point, the only people who were kind to me were women. Remember I told you about my mom and my sister?” During the Whole Cake Island experience, Sanji had in fact explained more about his relationships with his family members, and you recalled how his mother and sister were the only ones that showed him any sort of empathy.

“Mhm… That makes sense.” a moment of silence passes, as you’re a little nervous to ask this next question. “And why do you like me?”

The cook’s eyes widen like a deer in headlights, and he glances at you before concentrating on the surface of the island table. “I… I like this crew because you’re all my nakama. But…” It’s unusual to hear the typically very passionate man say something so quietly. You tilt your head as if to say, “Go on. I’m listening,” so he continues, “You’re important to me, y/n.”

“Good, you’re important to me, too.”

“Really?” Sanji seems a little shocked, “You know, I… I try not to be the way I am with women, with you, because I want you to take me seriously. I want you to know I mean it when I say nice things or do favors for you. I want you to know that it’s real.”

“I do take you seriously.”

Then, he takes a deep breath and puts both of his hands around one of yours, “And I want you to take my feelings for you seriously, when I confess them to you.”

“…Didn’t you just…?”

He grins and shakes his head, “No, y/n. When I confess the type of feelings I have for you and the extent of them, I’ll do it much more romantically than this.” Sanji looks positively giddy now, smiling and tightly (but not uncomfortably) holding your hand. “I just want you to know that what I feel for you is real.” And with that, he plants a chaste kiss on your cheek. It’s nothing like his occasionally vulgar and pg-13 methods of wooing women, but it makes your heart skip a beat. You’re sort of at a loss for words…

This time you’re the one pulled out of a daze by the other’s voice when he says, “Goodnight, y/n.”

“Oh, goodnight Sanji.” You smile at him, and he smiles back before nodding at you and leaving.

Even if that wasn’t a real confession, and maybe the timing wasn’t quite right, you were still biting back a smile as you rinsed off your plate and placed it in the dishwasher. But now you have a real confession to look forwards to, according to Sanji.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #fanfic #one piece #x reader #oneshot #sanji x reader #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x you #please forgive the poor grammar #i wrote this in the a.m.#he’s so cute

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enchantedflameandflower · 2 years ago

Note

Idea… so maybe Y/N is laying in bed with billy, and she’s lazily jerking him off while whispering dirty things in his ear. He’s kinda laying on your chest, head nuzzled into your neck and he grunts and groans, his hips bucking up as sweat beads down his hairy chest. You both are so caught up in the moment you don’t hear the door open.. Hughie. Hughie is standing in shock and Billy covers himself up, ashamed at the idea that he was seen somewhat vulnerable. Maybe some goofy stuff afterwards with Frenchie finding out and Y/N teasing Billy about it too. 🤭🤭 Ignore this if it’s too much!! ❤️

I can’t believe this took me so long!!! 😭 Life is rough, man. But thank the gods we at least have Billy. Please let me know what you think ❤️

———————

“Fuck. I’m too bloody tired for this.” Butcher half-stumbled to the bathroom, flicking the harsh light on and glowering at his reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, you’re not…I mean…you did….great.” Hughie stuttered. “Uh, thanks by the way. Thanks for that,” he gestured aimlessly. “Thanks for helping.”

Butcher turned to glare at Hughie instead through the open doorway.

“Aye, well I didn’t think it through.” Butcher splashed some water on his face then unbuttoned his bloody shirt, revealing a gash carved into his side.

“Fuck,” he growled.

“Fuck,” Hughie echoed, his voice pale with the dismay of seeing the wound.

Billy tossed his ruined shirt to the floor, reaching for the gauze in the cabinet, his eyes somehow dark and burning fire at the same time. “Next time you ask for help, we’re doin’ it my way, ya got that?”

“Got it,” Hughie muttered.

When Billy finished patching his side up, he flicked the light off, ignoring his shirt on the bathroom floor and stalking past Hughie without a second look. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You - you might have a concussion. Or something”

Billy scowled. “I’m fine. You can check on me in the mornin’ to make sure I’m still alive.”

“Fine, fine,” Hughie sighed, but he didn't dare get in Butcher’s way.

…

It was late, or actually early - very early, when you got back to the safe house. Butcher was sleeping in the bed in his room - the one you’d been sharing on and off for a couple months now - but his brow was furrowed and you could tell he wasn’t sleeping peacefully. For a moment you couldn’t help yourself, and you stood quietly, watching him. You’d missed him more than you thought you would while you’d been away. All you wanted now was to be wrapped up in his arms and let the entire world fade away.

Carefully, you perched on the very edge of the bed, reaching out to touch his arm, hoping it was soft enough not to startle him. He shifted when your fingertips brushed his skin but he must have sensed you weren’t an enemy and he let himself wake up slowly.

Hey,” you murmured in the darkness.

As he moved again, turning toward you, the blankets slid down his chest and you noticed the gauze just under his rib cage on his side.

“You’re home,” he rumbled suddenly, gingerly trying to sit up then wincing. Your eyes flicked back to the bandage on his side.

“What happened?”

“You didn’t call. Been two weeks.”

You huffed and laughed softly, edging closer on the bed next to him. “You told me not to. You said it wasn’t safe.”

“Since when do ya listen to me.”

You rolled your eyes but you really did miss him, grumpiness and all. “I always listen…” you teased him and he grunted in reply.

For a moment he gazed at you and you could tell he must still be in pain but then he reached up to tug on your hair. “C’mere,” he rumbled, tangling his hand in the strands and pulling gently.

You hummed softly and obeyed, gingerly climbing over the top of him to your side of the bed and sliding down next to him.

“Miss me?” You whispered with a little half smile after a few minutes.

His reply was just another simple grunt but it was enough for you.

You leaned forward to kiss him, letting your lips brush teasingly over his before he slid his fingers deeper into your hair and captured your mouth completely. After all you’d been through together, you two had finally been seeing each other for a while now but with the time you’d been away, combined with the fact it was still fairly new, his touch made your stomach flutter and flip flop with sparkling anticipation.

When you slid your hand over his waist though he flinched and you remembered his injury. “Oh I’m sorry,” you breathed, pulling back from his kiss. “What really happened, are you okay?”

Butcher groaned, shifting to lay back against the pillows in a more comfortable position. “Hughie took me to track down some supe. Swore up and down it’d be a piece of cake, made me pinky swear to go easy, and then it all just went pear-shaped. Had to save him again.” Billy added grumpily.

You couldn’t help the quirk of your lips. “That sounds absolutely horrible,” you said in agreement, trying to hide a grin.

“It were,” he huffed.

“Maybe I can make it up to you, make you feel better?” You asked, letting your hand slip over his flat stomach underneath the blanket.

“Well, aye, that’s probably the only thing that would help,” he agreed, a mischievous twinkle coming to his eyes.

It only took you a second to find the start to the dark trail of hair below his belly button. He rumbled as your hand kept going, until your fingers brushed his rapidly swelling length.

“Like this?” You asked, watching his face as his eyes closed and he focused on what you were doing to him.

“Aye,” he breathed.

A moan almost slipped out of your own mouth when you wrapped your fingers fully around his thick cock. His skin was hot and he felt so good and, fuck, you wanted him too but you needed to do this for him.

He groaned when you began to move your hand and as you reached the tip he bucked helplessly into your palm. The blanket slipped down his muscled thighs when he moved and he tugged on the soft material pulling it away from his body completely.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, hot and hard and wanting you, making a soft little sound of need escape your throat.

“Sweethear’…” he rumbled, in that gravelly, husky voice. Reaching up he twisted his fingers in your hair, pulling your mouth to his again.

He kissed you like he needed to suck the air from your lungs to survive and it set your entire being on fire. His cock seemed to swell even more and you moaned into his kiss. You continued to stroke him lazily, all the way from the base to the head, rubbing your thumb across the tip as precum started to bead there.

You pulled back to watch and he groaned harshly, the sound of it going straight to your center. The dark room was warm and sweat started to form on his temples. One drop rolled down his neck to his chest and you lifted your other hand to rub your palm over the curly dark hair there. He groaned again, turning toward you to bury his face in the curve of your throat, nuzzling hotly, his fingers still tangled in your hair. “Your cock feels so good, Billy,” you whispered against the shell of his ear, making him moan again.

Just as you were starting to unbutton your shirt with the other hand, the door to the bedroom swung open with a bang and suddenly Hughie was standing right there staring at the two of you with wide, shocked eyes and his mouth hanging open.

“Oh fuck! I’m so - fuck - sorry… I thought - it sounded - fuck - sorry…”

You froze, completely unsure of what to do, your fingers still wrapped around Billy’s cock, but you had to let go as he surged up from his supine position. He grabbed all the blankets in one fist to cover his lap and you were glad you weren’t already naked yourself or you’d be fully on display for Hughie now.

“Hughie, I fuckin’ told ya you could check on me in the morning! What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?!” Butcher roared.

Hughie screwed his eyes shut and you almost had to laugh at the varied shades of horror written across his expression but you held it in.

“I didn’t know! I thought - you were hurt. I heard -“

“Just get the fuck out son and leave me be! I’m tryin’ to recover here,” Billy growled, his face flushed with fury.

“Sorry, sorry, okay, sorry” Hughie started backing toward the door then finally turned and bolted out into the main room, slamming it closed behind him.

“Fuckin’ twat,” Billy growled. You held your tongue as you climbed off the bed to lock the door.

“The kid can’t even let me have a shag in peace after nearly gettin’ me killed.”

He was really in a mood now and you had to bite your lip to keep from teasing him. He must hate to have one of the boys see him in such a vulnerable moment but you couldn’t help the swell of affection it made you feel for him.

You were worried about calming him down but when you turned back from the now locked door, his gaze was hot on you despite the scowl that was still on his face. Your shirt was half unbuttoned, slipping down your shoulder and there was nothing underneath. You were sure he could see the bare curve of your breast as his gaze lingered there. Maybe that could help turn the night back around again. As you took another step toward him, you tugged at the rest of your buttons and let your shirt fall to the floor.

It seemed to work.

His gaze was hot enough to burn straight through you and you saw him swallow thickly. “Let’s quit fuckin’ about now,” he finally said. He was frowning but his voice was gruff from need, even more so than before. He tossed the blankets away with a flick of his wrist. “Take the rest o’ your kit off, love, and come sit on my cock,” he husked. “Playtime is over.”

You felt the immediate, undeniable rush of heat and wetness as your body desperately prepared itself for him. “Aye, aye Captain,” you teased, but still your voice was noticeably breathless.

His eyes were glued to your form as you shimmied out of your jeans. He laid back on the bed as you climbed over him, carefully straddling his hips.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he husked, his hands going to your hips, his gaze travelling over you, all the way up and back down. “Take me in, love.”

You bit your lower lip as your body throbbed in response and you guided his cock to your entrance. Slowly, you sunk down on him, relaxing your muscles as he stretched you open, taking him as deep as you could.

As soon as you started to move, he slid his hands up from your hips, and cupped and squeezed your breasts roughly, pinching your tight nipples and tugging.

The bite made pleasure surge through you and you clenched around his cock, almost coming from his subsequent growl, but you held back somehow, letting the heat grow more between you first.

He shifted like he was going to sit up but you held him down again, your palms against his broad shoulders to keep himself from making his injury worse and he growled in reply, his eyes flashing with passion and heated challenge.

Snaking his hand down your stomach, his fingers found your clit with practiced ease. And he knew exactly what it did to you. He knew it made you wild for him. You bounced on his cock, a little bit harder, a little faster, taking him as deep as you could, release just within reach. “Please Billy,” you whimpered, almost beyond words. “Oh…”

He thrust his hips up, and the perfect angle along with the perfect touch of his fingers made your climax come on fast and hard. You cried out as your body shuddered and squeezed around him. His hands went back to your hips, fingers digging into your soft skin as his own climax started to overtake him and he gave a low groan as he held your hips to his.

His gaze was so focused on you as he came, so full of passion and wonder and heat and genuine caring… It felt like your heart could burst.

The pleasure was nearly overwhelming and after a few moments you collapsed against his chest, his strong arms coming tight around you. Nothing had ever felt this good.

You couldn’t imagine anything in your life ever going right, but, fuck, you knew then you would fight like hell to hold on to this man.

-------------

The next morning was blissfully calm and quiet and you sighed contentedly as you checked Billy’s bandage and found the wound healing well. Everything was perfect. Until Billy offered to make you coffee and bagels just before Frenchie emerged from his own room.

“Eh, Monsieur Charcutier…need a hand?”

——————

Please comment or reblog if you like!!! Thank you for reading!!!

More Billy here! Billy Butcher Masterlist

#the boys #fanfic #billy butcher #karl urban #karl urban fanfic #smut #the boys fanfic #billy butcher fanfic #the boys tv #billy butcher smut #billy butcher x you #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher fanfiction #karl urban fanfiction #karl urban brainrot go brrr #billy butcher brainrot go brr #karl urban is the man of my fucking dreams #billy butcher fic #the boys amazon

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anna-scribbles · 2 months ago

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aroace adrien fic chapter 2!!! and we all cheered

summary:

Kagami fixes her eyes intensely on his face, and Adrien smiles. He scoops peas onto his fork nonchalantly, trying to shake the cloud of guilt that always seems to follow him these days. He always feels see-through when Kagami looks at him like that. When she speaks, it’s matter-of-fact. “Something is bothering you.”

excerpt:

Kagami is a good girlfriend. A really, really good girlfriend.

She makes sure that they go on at least 2 dates per week, and schedules them far in advance. She texts him good morning and goodnight like clockwork. She’s even proactive about cute nicknames, sending him vetted lists of options which they can debate the merits of. If dating was a sport, Kagami would be a gold medalist.

And she kisses him. A lot.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she’ll tell him with a peck on the cheek, catching him on the steps before he goes into school. He’ll grin and she’ll tilt his chin closer, planting one right on his lips.

“Come here,” she’ll coax, swiping away their homework with one hand and tugging at his shirt collar with the other. He’ll look up at her through his lashes and part his mouth just so, letting her press their lips together again and again.

“You’re perfect,” she’ll whisper, pulling him close in the locker room after practice. She’ll run her hand through his sweaty hair and lift her face to his until all his senses go dark.

Kagami is great. Kagami is really great.

And Adrien… Adrien is…

He’s curled around a pillow on his bed for the fourth time this week, caught somewhere between nausea and dread. His homework is unfinished, piano pieces unrehearsed. A lock of hair is irritating his eye but he feels too detached from his body to do anything about it. He hates when he gets like this for a multitude of reasons, but mostly because it doesn’t make sense.

He’s been depressed before. He’s been dissociated before.

But this?

He thinks of Kagami’s lips, warm and sticky with lip gloss, moving against his mouth. He feels her mouth open, tilting to meet him at an angle, and her tongue—

Adrien’s whole body shudders involuntarily and he curls up tighter around the pillow, squeezing it for dear life. Awful. Awful. What’s wrong with him? It’s kissing his girlfriend, the most natural thing in the world. Why does it feel like—why does he feel like he’s dying?

When Adrien closes his eyes, he’s right back there again. Kagami’s firm hands on the back of his neck, holding onto him. Her spit warm in his mouth, the small noises in the back of her throat, the pit carved out like a chasm in his stomach—

“You look terrible.”

Plagg’s nasal voice jars him back to the present. When Adrien looks up, bright green eyes are squinting just centimeters from his face.

Plagg frowns. “Are you still sick? Wait, did you eat some of my moldy brie? You know I said not to touch it until May!”

Plagg zips away, into the cabinet under the trophy case. Adrien takes a shaky breath.

“I didn’t touch your cheese, Plagg.” He forces his fingers to unclench from the pillow and stashes the memory of Kagami’s lips under some rug in his brain. He’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Plagg phases back into view, breathing a sigh of relief. “Phew! That could’ve been disastrous!”

“Yeah.” Adrien sits up and clenches his fists hard, enough for his fingernails to dig into the skin of his palms. The pain wakes him up, brings him back. (It’s penance too, maybe. He needs to be better than this.)

“Maybe you really are sick, then.” Plagg flits around him, poking his nose into Adrien’s belly and armpit and hair and even trying to look in his ears. He pulls back and frowns, cocking his little head. “Geez, it’s been on and off like this for, like, a month. Shouldn’t you go to a doctor or something?”

Adrien adverts his eyes. “I don’t think a doctor would help.”

Not with… whatever this is.

“All I’m saying is, you look really bad. Like, really bad—”

“Thank you. Thanks.”

Adrien painstakingly swings his legs over the bed and puts his feet on the ground, manually shifting weight to each leg. Muscle by muscle, reminding his body how to stand. It’s easier once he’s up. Fog filters through his mind, and then he doesn’t think as much.

The sickness burns off in the shower, seared from his skin. Adrien emerges clean and good and normal and he puts on new clothes and blow-dries his hair. Ready for anything. Ready for—

Nathalie knocks twice on his bedroom door before opening it.

“Kagami is here,” she tells him. “Your dinner will be served shortly.”

read on ao3

#ml #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #adrien agreste #kagami tsurugi #ml fic rec #aroace #ive had this half finished for ages but last night just got the urge to write the rest #aroace adrien...so close to my heart<3

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melanieph321 · 10 months ago

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Ruben Dias x Reader - Risk It All Part 3/6

Read it. Even if you aren't a Ruben fan. Read this damn story!!!! Cuz it's gooood 🤭🤭

Reader gets pregnant by Ruben. Although the two are not together Ruben promises to support her through the pregnancy, eventually letting reader stay with him until the child is born. (This fic includes alot of angst and serious topics)

Enjoy!

Things happened so fast once the test results panned out positive, saying that Ruben was indeed the father of your unborn child. He had you move out of Lina's apartment and in with him, after the two spent quite some time arguing about it. Nevertheless it was your words that got her to finally surrender. You told her that it was for the best, that you couldn't stay on your bosses couch forever.

"Call me." She said. "Anytime."

You nodded. "I will."

You felt homesick the first nights spent in Ruben's apartment. You had the urgent need to call your mother but there was a ten procent chance that she would even pick up. Drug abuse did that to a person.

You were up late one night, on the verge of tears, when footsteps emerged and the lights in the kitchen came on.

"You're up?"

Ruben appeared, an empty water bottle in his hand. He wore slippers and oversized basketball shorts, however nothing more than that. His bare chest was outlined in the dimmed light, his muscles lean and very very visible.

"I..." You said, wiping your runny nose. "I couldn't sleep."

"Oh."

He walked over to the sink, turning on the water to refill his bottle. Once the cap was on he turned back to you. "Is the room too hot? I mean, you asked me to turn the temperature up yesterday."

"The room is fine Ruben." You said, a faint smile on your lips. But it faded quickly and Ruben noticed.

"Hey." He approached you, lifting your head before it dropped. He held it between his hands, staring blankly into your watering eyes. "You're crying, what's wrong?"

You sniffled, shaking your head.

"No, tell me." His eyebrows furrowed.

"Ruben...."

"Yes?"

"Ruben...."

"Y/N, please, tell me what's wrong?"

You pushed the words through your clogged throat. "Why aren't there any snacks in your apartment?"

"Huh?"

You lifted your head, a dead serious look in your eyes. "I've looked everywhere, but nothing."

His hands left your face, scratching the back of his head. "Y/N, if it's snacks that you want..."

He went over to the nearest cabinet, however you didn't allow yourself to get too excited since you had already gone through the same cabinet twice.

"Here you go, snacks."

Your heart sank as Ruben slid a bag of unseasoned rice cakes your way.

"Ruben." You sighed. "Snacks aren't supposed to have fiber in them, or say 'organic' on the side of packaging."

"No?"

"No. The label is suppose to spell out the words 'extra salty' or 'extra sweet'. And anything that resembles edible snacks in your home turns out to be sugar free."

Ruben batted his eyes, quite baffled by your sudden ranting. "Alright." He nodded. "Tomorrow. I'll get you some snacks tomorrow."

"Real snacks." You demanded.

"Yeeees. Real snacks, extra saltysweet or whatever."

"That's all I ask."

You wiped your cheeks, ready to go to bed now. Astonished, Ruben watched you retreat to the guestroom. Although the two of you had started out romantically, you both agreed that a more platonic relationship was best for everyone.

"Goodnight Ruben."

He stood in the doorway of his bedroom, water bottle in hand. "Goodnight Y/N, I'll see you tomorrow."

Tomorrow came, however Ruben was nowhere to be found. Instead you were startled on your way to grabbing breakfast that morning.

"Hello Y/N."

You held a hand to your chest, calming down from the sudden fright. "Whatta....who are you ?"

It was a young woman, perhaps in her early thirties. She was well dressed in a pantsuit that did wonders to her slim figure, carving an illusion that she had curves.

"I'm sorry to scare you. I'm Elena, Ruben's personal assistant and publicist."

"Ruben's what?" You frowned.

"Publicist." She smiled, like a well trained flight attendant. "Ruben said it would be a good time for us to meet now that you've settled in."

"He did?"

"Yes. He also told me that we should go over a few things about your arrangement."

"Um, okay...."

Elena smiled politly and gestured for you take a seat across from her. The table was already set with a light breakfast containing fruits, freshly squeezed orange juice and other healthy ingredients that screamed 'A fitness psychopath lives here!'.

"I take it that Ruben hasn't told you much about me." She said.

You nodded. "Not at all."

"Well, I'm happy to introduce myself. Ruben and I have worked together for a few years now, mainly focusing on improving his image as a professional athlete to increase his value in the market of brand deals and so on." Elena's eyes looked to examine you up and down. A bit unpleasant since, compared to her, you looked a mess. "When Ruben told me about your current situation, I interpreted it as a cry for help."

"A what now?" Who was crying for what? You thought. Because if someone deserved to do any crying, it was you.

"As you may understand, this sort of news could be quite damaging if not handled properly." She said, spelling it out for you as if you were a three year old. "Ruben has a very important image to up hold and having a casual situation turn into a public battle for custody is not what Ruben needs at this stage of his professional career."

"Excuse me?" You almost choked on a grape.

"Don't get me wrong Y/N. It is very clear that you and Ruben have no problem getting along. I mean everything has gone according to plan this far."

"Plan, what plan?" You frowned. Elena's bright eyes and plastered smile was beginning to feel sinister to you. She sighed and clasped her hands as they rested upon the table. "The plan is for you and Ruben to marry."

"WHAT?"

"Preferably before the child is born. Before you even start to show."

"Marry Ruben. Why would I do that?" You could think of a few reasons, mainly for the money, security and the tiniest voice in the back of your head that often urged you to confess your true emotions for him.

"It's the best way to minimize the damage" Elena said, unhinged for describing your pregnancy as something damaging.

"Alright, I think I got everything..."

A key turned in the lock, followed by Ruben stumbling through the front door and into the apartment. He was carrying bags upon bags of....you could see through them, outlining packages of Oreo cookies, Jaffa Cakes, Walker Crisps, Cheese Doodles and extra sour Sour Patch Kids.

"Ruben." Elena exclaimed, more than happy to see him. Ruben on the other hand....

"Elena? I didn't know you were coming over today."

"The sooner the better, don't you think?"

Ruben looked to you, perhaps knowing by the look on your face that Elena had told you about the arrangement.

"Y/N, let me explain..."

You stood, already making your way back to the guestroom room.

"Y/N, please. Let me expl...."

"Explain it to my ass Ruben."

It was all he could see as you strut back into your room, slamming the door behind yourself.

Marry Ruben?

There was no way.

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #ruben dias imagine #football angst

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sunonyoreface · 2 years ago

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He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 11

An: Change of pace, enjoy some fluff!

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 1700

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

Ghost’s deep breaths and the crackling fire are the only audible sounds in the entire cabin. Over the last while, I became accustomed to all the different sounds of the task members at night. Snoring mostly, but there was always at least some noise. At home, I lived in a place across from a bar and was used to the sounds of sirens and cars and drunk people wandering the streets at night as they shouted at each other. Here it’s the complete opposite. There’s nothing to drown out my thoughts and I don’t know how to feel about it.

Ghost was in contact with Price who said they survived the raid, but lost several men. He wouldn’t tell me how many. Soap’s team and one other returning from a mission caught the tail end of the Ultranationalists as they were retreating with their recaptured members. 141 cut off the last Ultranationalists, but almost every prisoner escaped. Overall it was a loss, but they’re lucky nearly all of them survived. My mind drifts off to the man who was shot in the hanger. I wonder if he made it.

Part of me wanted to sleep on the floor instead of sharing a bed, but the floor’s cold and I already struggle with that enough as is. Ghost didn’t bring up the topic of who sleeps where, so neither did I. After our fight, he’s barely spoken.

Unfolded, the futon is the size of a double bed. It’s hard despite an old mattress topper being placed under the sheets and far from big enough for Ghost. He sleeps on his side and has to bend his knees just to stop his legs from hanging off the end. Several pillows and musty blankets were stashed away in one of the cabinets and currently wrap around me. Ghost said he didn’t want any, so I took his because you can never have too many blankets.

A soft orange glow escapes a small window in the wood stove. It’s just bright enough to see the outlines of everything in the cabin. I’ve always liked warm light like this. Maybe it’s an innate thing passed down from my ancestors all those years ago who slept beside fires every night. Maybe its because the light confirms that the most dangerous thing in the room lies next to me in bed and not creeping in the shadows.

I’ve had to pee for at least an hour but don’t want to go outside to the outhouse. There’s no indoor plumbing, but there is a double-seater with a moon carved into the door. I glance at the sleeping man beside me. The feeling’s only going to get worse. I’ll be quiet. He won’t notice.

I slip my legs out of the blankets and onto the hardwood floor. My back hurts from the mattress already. Just as I’m about to stand up, something latches on to my wrist with an unnatural strength.

“Where’re you going?” Ghost’s voice is deeper than normal. He props himself up with his other arm. And I thought I was a light sleeper. But maybe he was awake this whole time.

“Washroom,” I whisper trying to stay quiet even though there’s no one to wake up.

“You have to tell me,” he grumbles. I roll my eyes at his remark. I don’t know if he thinks I’m stupid enough to run away or that maybe I have other intentions.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he catches the irritation in my tone.

“You don’t know what’s out there,”

“I doubt anyone’s followed us here,” I say, but I don’t really know. Neither does he.

“Don’t be a fool,” his hand remains on my arm. “Besides there’s wildlife out there. Wolves. Coyotes.”

“How about you watch from the window,” I say. “I don’t think you need to hear me use the toilet,” I tack on at the end to discourage him.

“Fine,” He mumbles. I bite my lip to hide my smile. It worked. “Take my jacket,” he releases his grasp to reach the jacket hanging on the arm of the futon. When I shrug it over my shoulders, it swallows me whole. The inside is lined with a soft, welcoming fleece. A scent of gunpowder and something decidedly more earthy engulfs me as I pull the zipper up to my nose.

“Thanks,”

I never imagined myself peeing outside before, but here we are. The toilet seat is so cold against my legs the need almost completely disappears. Not to mention how dark it is in here with no electricity. I want to leave the door open to get some moonlight in here, but then I risk Ghost seeing in. I can suck it up for two minutes.

Outside, the night sky is otherworldly. There’s no light pollution or clouds blocking the stars and I can’t stop staring. There’s just a thin layer of compact snow on the ground, so I take the opportunity to lie down and look up at the sky. It’s cold, but nothing worse than the winters at home. There’s no harsh wind blowing against my skin, so it’s finally tolerable.

“What’re you doing?” heavy footsteps crunch against the snow. I smile to myself because this is the one place he can’t be quiet.

“Stargazing,” I whisper, “Shh, you’ll wake the wolves,” From the corner of my eye, I see Ghost look up at the stars and pause for a moment. I wonder if he cares about mundane things like this? Is he capable of seeing beauty after all the horrors he’s witnessed? In another breath, he disappears back into the cabin. Guess not.

After our fight, it felt like a storm passed over us. The tension eased just a bit as the wind died down. The waters returned to normal and then almost into glass. There’s no fighting against whitecaps as we try to make it to land. I wouldn’t go as far as saying it’s smooth sailing. But things aren’t nearly as rocky as they were before. For now, we have an understanding.

The crunching sound of footsteps approaches again and then Ghost does something out of character. He hands me his helmet with the night vision googles attached. I hesitate before grabbing it, what’s the catch? I look into his eyes for an answer, there’s a glint, but they hold no malice. The helmet is heavy in my hands. I can’t believe he wears this all day. His neck must constantly ache.

“Flip the lenses down and look at the stars with them,” he says. I sit up to put the helmet on. It’s an unnatural feeling: like there’s a brick of cement sitting on my head. Ghost crouches down and reaches for the strap to tighten it. “Stay still,” his hands brush against the sensitive skin on the underside of my chin as he fixes the strap so the helmet won’t slide off my head. He switched out the bloody skull mask for a plain, black balaclava before bed. It humanizes him, seeing him wear something else. He’s less hidden with this one. Although his face is still covered with black paint, it’s easier to read his expressions. The balaclava highlights the outline of his strong cheek bones and jaw. His eyes almost look kind under the moonlight.

My heart skips a beat when Ghost flips down the night vision lens. It’s like looking at a whole new world. I look around at the trees first and notice how far I can see. Everything looks like it has a green filter.

“Look up,” his voice is eager. So, I do. And what I see is almost indescribable. I feel like I can see every star in the universe. It’s breathtaking. Hypnotizing. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s…” I can’t find the words I’m looking for and for a moment I don’t know if they exist. The men who created our language weren’t alive to witness a sight such as this. And so, the dictionaries remain empty. “Incredible,” will have to do.

“The goggles are the best part about night missions,” he says as he lays down beside me on the cold ground. Ghost crosses his arms across his chest to keep his hands warm. His shoulder brushes against my arm and I notice he isn’t watching the stars.

In the silence of the woods, I feel the safest I’ve felt in weeks. The world feels like it’s asleep. We’re the only people around for miles. There are no other task members are walking around with oversized guns, or angry prisoners, or the looming threat of an Ultranationalist raid. There’s just Ghost. And right now, he doesn’t feel like much of a threat.

“Can you see the stars at home?” I ask.

“No.”

“Me either.”

I let the silence hang in the air for a while longer. The frosty night air caresses my face. Our breath is visible in tiny puffs of clouds.

“Do you want them back?” I turn my head to look at him. His black balaclava takes on a whitish glow under the lens.

“Keep ‘em for now,” his voice is quiet but awake. Any drowsiness from before has disappeared. I have a feeling most of his nights are spent awake.

I don’t know how long we’re out there, maybe an hour or so. Ghost points out the different constellations in the sky. I thought it might be a personal interest, but then he says they’re used for navigation when they don’t have access to GPS or maps. If you know important reference points or certain constellations, you’ll never be lost. He speaks quietly to preserve the stillness around us and guides my vision with his hands as he points out each constellation. The man beside me is a completely different one than a few hours ago. This one, I like. I could listen to his soothing voice talk about the stars all night. In the back of my mind, I think about how often our arms brush each time he points out a new star, how I shifted closer to feel his shoulder press harder against mine.

It’s only when the cold starts to seep into my bones that I suggest we head back in. This whole time Ghost was out here in just his Henley and jeans. Yet he didn’t complain once. I wonder if he ever complains. Or if he just pushes every emotion to the back of his mind until it’s ready to burst.

“They’re beautiful,” I say once again as I hand Ghost back his helmet.

He searches my eyes for quite some time before agreeing.

“They are.”

PT 12:

#COD MW2 #cod ghost #cod ghost imagine #cod imagine #MW2 #MWII #mw2 imagine #mw2 fanfic #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley cod #simon riley fluff #GHOST FLUFF #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mwii

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 1 year ago

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Imagine…Dean Making You A Pie

Pairing: Dean x reader

A/N: Happy belated Thanksgiving!

_______

“Y/N!” called Dean. You popped your head up from your book on the back porch on the fall day, Dean stepping out the back door with a big smile. “Come on sweetheart.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Nothing. I have a surprise,” he said. He grabbed your hand and pulled you inside the house, your jaw dropping.

“Dean! What happened to the kitchen!” It looked like most of the counter top was covered in flour and some kind of batter, a white dust stuck to the cabinets, something red splattered on the floor. There were dirty dishes, utensils and baking supplies everywhere but Dean left you be and went to the wire rack by the oven.

“I made a pie,” he said. He pointed at the counter, a big smile on his face. “By myself. I mean I followed your recipe but I did it on my own for once. What do you think? Want to try some?”

“I would love to and I love that you decided to try baking on your own,” you said. You looked up and saw something on the ceiling, cocking your head.

“Are you freaking out about the mess?”

“Um.” You looked around, eyes landing on the pie. The room was an absolute disaster but he looked so proud of himself. You’d made him pies more times than you could count and more recently he started helping out when you did. “Actually no. I um, it’s just a little messy but we can deal with it later. Cut me a piece of pie.”

“Definitely. I want to see how it compares,” he said. You made a clear spot at the island and Dean brought over the pie, carving out a slice for the two of you. He hummed and set it down on a plate you got out, quickly getting a fork.

“Oh is this cherry?” you asked, breaking off a piece.

“Yup,” he said, smiling as you took a bite. You chewed once before you paused, bitter and salt and thick chewiness hitting you.

“Good right?” he asked. You chewed again, forcing your face to stay neutral. He took the fork from you and dug in, his face freezing the second he chewed. “Y/N.”

You hummed, covering your mouth with your hand.

“You don’t have to eat this.”

“Thank you,” you said, going over to the trash can and spitting it out. He quickly joined you, shaking out his body. “Dean sweetie. How much salt did you put in?”

“It said 1 cup? Or one teaspoon?”

“Yeah definitely not a cup. But your filling was decent.”

“I forgot the sugar in it, didn’t I.”

“Yeah just a little,” you said. “Presentation is great though. I love the lattice work. You did really good.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s fine. It’s actually quite impressive,” you said as Sam walked in from the garage. “Sam it was your turn to clean the kitchen this week wasn’t it?”

“I’m going to Eileen’s,” he said, turning around.

“Sammy-“

“Nope. Not my problem. Screw the chore chart. I’ll see you guys at Eileen’s for dinner,” he said.

“Wait! Try my pie. I made it myself,” said Dean. He smiled and Sam sighed, taking the fork from Dean and grabbing a piece. He plopped it in his mouth and frowned, looking around before spitting it into the garbage.

“I hate you,” said Sam, Dean chuckling as he left.

“So should we clean up?”

“Yes but then we can try making pie dough again and another filling and this time I guarantee it’ll be amazing.”

“Can we do it tomorrow? I’m kinda exhausted,” he said.

“Sure. You can sit with me on the porch and cuddle then after we clean up.”

“That sounds like a perfect afternoon to me sweetheart.”

________

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn

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justlookfrightened · 10 days ago

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Whipped Cream and Other Delights

Sorry this has taken so long. I haven't been in much of a mood for fluff. But now I think I need some ...

CW: Lots of innuendo and bad jokes

Prompt from @hufflepunkwannabe: Ooo, can we see Jack and bitty just being silly together?

The pies were done and the turkey was roasting. The dressing and sweet potatoes were in the second oven now that the pies were out; once they and the turkey came out, he could slide in the green bean casserole — Shitty insisted — and the roasted Brussels sprouts. Last of all would come the dinner rolls, still in their first rise. They could bake while Bitty made the gravy.

Bitty frowned and tapped his pen against his teeth while he studied his notebook. It should work. Everything should be ready to serve close enough to the same time — good thing the turkey had to rest for a while before being carved. He’d even have time to sneak in a shower. Probably.

“Bits?”

Jack came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Bitty’s waist.

“You alright?” Jack asked. “You need help?”

“No, I’ve got it in here,” Bitty said. “How’s the tidying going?”

“Fine,” Jack said.

And of course it was, because Jack always kept the place pretty neat. He’d heard Jack run the vacuum a few minutes before, probably unnecessarily because the cleaner did that two days ago.

“And the table?” Bitty asked. “Is that set yet?”

“No,” Jack said. “But it’s just Shitty and Lardo, and a few of the guys who couldn’t get home.”

Bitty almost let a high-pitched giggle escape him. “A few of the guys” were four professional hockey players. Players on Jack’s team. Players who probably never even thought of playing with someone who wasn’t straight until Jack had come out. Bitty needed these guys to like him.

“You know Tater loves you,” Jack said.

Which was true. Tater, who might be the biggest human being Bitty had ever laid his own eyes on, had been delighted with Bitty from the first time they met. His approval went a long way with the other Russian players, one of whom – a rookie named Ivanov – was coming today. The others, Fitz and Poots, were from western Canada, which Bitty had come to learn had some things in common with being from the south in the U.S., or maybe the Midwest. Still, they’d always been perfectly friendly, and when Jack said Bitty would make Thanksgiving dinner for those who had no other place to go, they accepted.

It would be fine. Probably.

“I just feel like I’m forgetting something,” Bitty said. “Something important.”

“Kissing your boyfriend?” Jack asked, leaning down to kiss the side of Bitty’s neck.

Bitty squirmed and swatted at Jack’s arms.

“Stop it,” he giggled, a real giggle this time. “I need to be on the ball here.”

Jack honest-to-pete snorted, and Bitty giggled and blushed. “Not that kind of balls!”

Then he remembered.

“Whipped cream!” he yelped. “I have to make the whipped cream.”

Jack laughed and said, “I give up.”

Bitty put the heavy cream, sugar and vanilla in the bowl of the stand mixer and attached the whisk.

“Then I can take a shower,” he said before turning it on. “You’re in charge of the bar, and you’ll do a cheese and cracker platter and a relish tray so there’re nibbles, right?”

“Right,” Jack said, taking a stack of plates from the cabinet. “I’ll start on the table.”

It was only a few minutes later that Bitty pulled the whisk out and watched the peaks form and then droop. He was using a spatula to transfer the whipped cream into a ceramic bowl when Jack came back into the kitchen.

“Done already?” Jack said.

“It doesn’t take long,” Bitty said, drawing a finger along the edge of the spatula to cover it in whipped cream and holding it out to Jack. “Here, taste.”

Jack took Bitty’s hand and pulled Bitty’s finger into his mouth, cleaning it — Bitty had to clear his throat as Jack did it — very thoroughly.

When Jack released his finger, he grinned and said, “It doesn’t take long? So … you could make it another time?”

Bitty pulled himself together enough to bat his eyes and smile flirtatiously.

“Any time you want, sweet pea,” he said. “I’m gonna take that shower now.”

He had no reason to tell Jack that he finished bathing so quickly because the shower was ice cold.

#omg check please #omgcp #zimbits #my fic #prompt fill

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yearningaces · 11 months ago

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Good question!

It takes weeks.

Buying the old mansion was worth the sheer amount of time you were spending fixing and cleaning and repairing and arranging- all by yourself!

Sage -your partner- kept to their own, occasionally moving from the room you were working in so they could keep writing in peace. Their book -a romance no less- was important to them, and that was fine.

You could take care of your new home anyways.

In a way it was a sort of prideful thing. After a life of never having anything that was yours, for you, not leftovers to be thrown away, scraps, hand-me-downs, or whatever had been forced into your hands? You were ecstatic with this home.

It showed as you worked as well. Cleaning baseboards, and beautiful dark varnish wooden designs, from the archways to the stairs to the banister.

The realtor said this place was hand made hundreds of years ago, and what a piece of art it was. And you often said so.

When cleaning the cabinets, you found small yet intricate carvings in the wood, resembling vines and flowers in the corners of the cabinet doors, you'd gushed about it for the rest of the day.

When you'd cleaned out the soot covered fireplace, cleaning the old equipment, and placing it all back- you noticed how the metal shines beautifully and how the stonework was so delicately placed to form the spherical shapes, even the wooden mantle was crafted with care.

This house was a labor of love, and it was yours to love now.

So you did- And the house noticed.

The first few days were tentatively silent other than the music you'd turn on while cleaning, or the typing of Sage's keyboard.

After the first week, you realized something, you never had to open a door. If you needed to leave a room it would just be open. If you wanted to be in a room the door was closed before you could turn around. No creaking joints, no slam, no gust of wind. It simply was.

It was unnerving at first, but the best way to not be afraid was to act like you weren't and keep going. So you'd pass through the opened doors with a pat to the solid wooden doorframe. Sometimes saying a quiet 'thanks' whenever going into a room, knowing the door would be closed when you turned.

It never happened around Sage. And if you brought it up you might freak them out, so you kept quiet. No need to disturb the peace you've found and they've tentatively agreed on.

Then it was your chair.

Well- that is to say the chair that was left in the house that you claimed as your own.

In that office you'd found, halfway hidden through the library, there was a velvety chair, plush, dark red, old, and so sturdy it was a chair built to last. After cleaning it, it was a wonderful sitting spot when you were tired.

The issue was, the chair might be haunted?

You didn't know exactly, it wasn't being rude, it was just... There.

In the office, in front of the fireplace when you were tired. You'd set a drink on the side table, maybe open one of the many old books you'd found in the house and read. Maybe even nap.

Except now, it followed you.

Not visibly, of course. But if you showed signs of exaustion, especially when cleaning the lovely house of yours, you'd take a step back, your legs bumping into something behind that throws you off balance and you land in the chair. The large, heavy one that would need two people to move.

The first time, it understandably freaked you out, you jumped out of it, turned, and it was gone again. In the office.

Next time you never took your hand off it as you got up, to turn and see it still there. Until you looked away with your hand off of it, and the chair was gone again.

So you accepted you had a chair that would just appear when you were tired.

Then... More began happening.

Lights would turn on and off for you, in any room, even if you don't say it, as soon as you reach for the switch, it would do it itself.

Dishes would arrange themselves at your table, setting the entire dining room table when it was just you and Sage living there.

The old record player you found would start playing a new record if you were in the room, especially if you were working on anything.

If you were making a meal for yourself, the chair at the head of the table would be pulled out by the time you made it to the table.

It only happened when you were alone.

As if the very house tried to avoid interaction with anyone except for you.

You wonder how long it would stay this way... and what more would happen once the house grew more comfortable.

#letters of yearning #x reader #Your House #haunted house x reader #ghost x reader #thats a new tag

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rain-lavender-rain · 1 year ago

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Stay

Warnings: None. Use of Y/N, described as female character. No proofed/beta-read.

Word Count: 740

For background: As far as what was in my brain with the timeline of all this, the story happens after Civil War, but after Bucky comes out of cryo, but its before Infinity War... in my brain, there's a period where he is hiding outside of Wakanda for a bit.

She sat, drinking a warm cup of coffee while waiting for Bucky to return from the market. Y/N offered to go this morning, but the man insisted she stay in the comfort of the bed. This living space was one of the nicer ones, equipped with a sizable bed that was warm, and a blanket that wasn't thin. The two had stayed in it since the being on the run from the government, after she helped Steve get Bucky to Wakanda.

After hiding for a while, Bucky and Y/N had decided to split with Steve and Natasha for a more quiet, lowkey, (but still in hiding) lifestyle for a time. The two had enjoyed every moment of peace. Their hearts inevitably, became closer too; pulled together like a boat on the waves, washed upon the shore.

Looking out the window at the quiet street, Y/N reminisced on a conversation had a few months ago.

"We could go anywhere. Maybe a small village, but close enough to a station where we could go if needed," he suggested.

"Yeah, but it has to be large enough where people won't question why we are there, or get overly suspicious ..." she schemed.

"And it needs to have a market, but I'd rather not go back to Romania. Europe is fine though, preferable actually." He replied.

She smiled at that one, looking at a map displayed splayed out on the wooden table as her eyes studied the landscape.

"How about Germany? Staufen, Germany?" Y/N said, with an excited grin. Bucky matched her grin with a glint of adoration in his eyes...

(End of flashback)

Watching the quiet street, and warming her hands around the mug she was holding, Y/N's heart dropped. Bucky was walking quickly towards their apartment, but his demeanor was carved with panic, maybe a sort of desperation, an acceptance almost. As she set down her mug, the man came barreling through through the door, headed straight for the cabinet under the sink.

"Bucky? What's going on?" She asked frantically.

"I'm being followed. I should have enough time. Threw them off my trail so they won't follow you here. You'll be safe. I already called Steve and asked him to pick you up." This was all said as he grabbed a backpack under the sink, as well as a gun hidden above the cabinets.

"Hold on, hold on. Who's following you- where are you going'"

"I think its Hydra okay? Steve will come get you. You'll be fine-" He tried to reason.

"No! NO! You don't get to just walk out the door- after everything we've been through together, you can't just leave-"

Bucky looked at her, his heart clenching, impulse traveling through his blood. One look at her was all it took for him to break just a little.

"Please don't make this harder than it already is. Please-" Desperation and brokenness from his mouth shifted the tide.

"I love you." She cut in, right after Bucky had grabbed the door handle.

That stopped him dead on his feet, his face to the ground. Every possible emotion capsized his original plan. Anguish, pain, guilt... disbelief at her confession.

She walked towards him, setting a hand on his shoulder. "James-"

Y/N was cut off by his lips against her own, where flowers bloomed upon the ground as the two met in loves embrace. It was over all too soon.

"That's why I have to leave- I can't let you get hurt." Bucky said, his eyes closed. He didn't want to see the tears he knew would be in Y/N's eyes.

"You're hurting me more than anyone ever could by leaving." That statement made him stop again, instead of walking out the door like his plan was half a second before.

"Ask me to come. Ask me to stay with you. If we can't stay here, I'll follow you. I'll stay with you anywhere."

His breaths came out in short waves, fighting a battle to keep her safe, but following his own selfish ambitions for love, and to give into her requests. Bucky would fold a thousand times over for the person who knew how he liked his coffee, and would try to make a plum pie on his birthday, who held him on his darkest nights, and ultimately, held his heart too.

Pulling the other backpack off the coat hanger by the door, Bucky took a moment, eyes shutting before the blue's sparkled with spoken love.

"Stay. Stay with me."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n

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inkypearlz · 3 days ago

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An Embrace

Snow was rather worried about her stepmother’s state. She saw how she shattered, her breath caught in her throat. Yet she did not collapse. The mirror, the one she looked so obsessively upon, is now, no more. With shards scattered all over the floor, there was a peculiar beauty to it though - They resembled star dust. And she doesn’t know whether this is a bad thing or not. Hastily dusting off the dwarves’ footprints, she rushed to check on The Queen, whose mood is certainly not at its best.

“Breathe, your majesty. Breathe.” I sat next to Queen Grimhilde, who reclined on her luxurious chaise. My fingers interlocked with hers, which felt rather limp at this point. Her hands always had some sort of icy coolness, but this time, I also detect a hint of clamminess to it, followed by faint trembling. She was greatly frightened.

“Fetch me one of my calming draughts, Aurelia.” She blinked open her eyes, her voice strained as she drew in a ragged breath. Yet her gaze was a bit unfocused. I quickly nodded, moving to that cabinet near her vanity, where she kept a stash of potions. I knew where to look, as they are always arranged in such a meticulous manner. The calming draught shown with a promise, as I poured the aquamarine liquid into one of those special goblets she used when she needed to drink her potions. After all, The Queen is a renowned potion maker and alchemist, not to mention her passion for astronomy. I’ve seen those western zodiac carvings around her mirror. Anyways, I wasted no time as I handed the goblet to her. Her hands trembled in a way I have never seen before. She’s in shock, it seems. I subtly helped her raise the brim to her soft lips.

She drained its contents, leaving the goblet with not even a stain from those crimson lips. Then, I hear footsteps, along with a polite knock. It was definitely Snow.

“Tell her, I wish to see no one.” Queen Grimhilde ordered. And I rarely defied her orders. Rarely. As soon as I slowly opened the door (Therefore giving her some extra time to compose herself), Snow White rushed to her stepmother’s side, unexpectedly pulling her into a warm embrace. And The Queen sat as stiff as a fine candlestick, the potion already working its magic. Her heart must be beating like mad from this sudden display of affection.

The princess’ initial instinct told her to check whether her stepmother was unwell due to the shock, as her hand went up to The Queen’s forehead. Thankfully, she let out a sigh of relief afterwards as she drew it back. “Duchess, how can I express my thanks? I’m so happy you are here with her…” Snow’s eyes shown with this innocence I rarely see among the palace. “Do you wish to…” I trailed off, slightly uncertain of how to word it. Instead, I turned to Queen Grimhilde.

“Your majesty, Snow wishes to talk to you, it seems.” I can sense Snow White’s eagerness, and of course I would not pass of this nice opportunity to mend such a bond. “Must it be now?” The Queen gave an exasperated sigh, trying her best to find a dignified position to place her hands, which hovered rather awkwardly over Snow’s arms. The princess showed no signs of relenting, and I am quite grateful for that.

“Very well, child. Out with it.” Queen Grimhilde’s hands finally found their place on Snow’s shoulders. The princess trembled slightly at the icy touch, but it was obviously not enough to quench that spark of determination within her. “Stepmother, you were…not feeling quite yourself when your mirror shattered, were you?”

The Queen was silent, yet Snow White’s question was answered. “I’ve seen you how looked at it,” she continued, “but you…you seem lonely. And I simply want you to be content.” The embrace tightened. “It’s not easy to let go of such a beloved thing, isn’t it?” The question hung in the air, yet The Queen’s gaze betrayed her stepdaughter’s raw honesty.

My lips curled into a smile. The Queen’s eyes flickered with a flash of tenderness. “It is also not easy for you to let go of this…embrace, it seems.” She unwrapped herself from Snow’s arms with slight difficulty, judging how firm that grip was, and smoothed out her gown. “Now go, you have already creased this fine fabric.”

“Stepmother, do you need anything? Tea, perhaps?” Snow White turned back, her eyes full of consideration, the silvery kettle in her hands, Yet she blissfully unaware of the emptied teacup right next to The Queen. “I had more than enough, child. Now, leave us.” The Queen gave a dismissive wave of her hand, and reclined on the chaise once more.

She trembled slightly, yet her hands betrayed none of that earlier clamminess. Her potions had always worked wonders. “Do you require a shawl, your majesty?” I inquired. I did not point out my observations, as it would further irk her. The Queen nodded with her usual sensibility, and I fetched the one she embroidered herself. Such fine work. The gorgeous monarch, wrapped in the embrace of something beautiful, crafted by herself.

“Your embroidery skills have always been refined, your grace. And I sensed that you could use a bit of distraction.” I did not want to press onto her pain, so this is why I offered this. “Shall I accompany you to the drawing room?”

“That, would be a welcome reprieve.” The Queen replied with an eagerness I had not seen for quite a while, and gingerly massaged her temples.

#evil queen #queen grimhilde #disney villains #disney #alternate universe #fanfiction #disney fanfiction #snow white and the seven dwarfs #oc and canon #snow white #ways to heal an evil queen

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enchantedflameandflower · 25 days ago

Text

Gavin (Karl Urban) x reader!

Some hot making out in a magical tree house that is for sure going to lead to more…

co-written with CheshireCatSmile

@kus-babygirl @shirley-girly @jynx15 @everchar-of-the-shire @vavafaure1994

@deathlesun @butchers-girl @hippo2211

@bohemianblasphemy @karlurbanism @imherefordeanandbones @torntaltos @babyfri3dric3

karl urban masterlist

direct link to part 1

part 7

Gavin chuckles, his dark eyes crinkling pleasantly at the corners then pulls you toward the make shift doorway and starts down the carved steps toward the space with the counter. When he's at the bottom he grabs you around the waist to lift you down the rest of the way. He's so strong he makes it seem effortless.

“I don’t know how you do that,” you say. “You might hurt yourself tossing me around like that.” You can’t help yourself, running your palm over his arm, feeling the muscles.

He eyes you up and down with a glint in his eyes. “I can handle you just fine…I'd say you’re about perfect in my book.” He caresses your cheek then turns to start opening some of the other cabinets until he pulls down a cook top that looks to work much as a camp stove would. He checks the fuel canisters then rummages through his pack for the food packets. "Savory beef stew and savory chicken stew...which would you like tonight? Or...there's...chow mein or white cheddar mac 'n cheese."

“Mmmmm mac ‘n cheese,” you grin. Something feels so good about sharing this with just him, comfortable and right. “It’s so nice to be away from everything. Thank you for bringing me.”

"It's my pleasure sweetheart. I'm kinda glad it worked out this way. Not that I want Jack to worry any more about his family or the baby...but it's nice sharing this with you. I would have been hesitant to go look for this treehouse if he was with me. I mean, he would have been totally focused on the business and wouldn't have wanted to take the time." He clears his throat. "I mean...he's just more on the serious side."

“He is. But I think it’s important to keep some magic and adventure in your life. At least it is to me. Honestly, I could stay out here for ages and never worry… It’s so beautiful.”

Gavin finishes heating the food and brings it over to the table, sitting next to you. He smiles softly as he hands you the mac 'n cheese. "I had you pegged as a mac 'n cheese type of girl right from the start. Jack said you'd lived in Seattle and were used to fancier big city stuff. But I just had a feeling." He plucks off a piece of the leftover corn bread to dip in his stew. His thigh is warm against yours.

You laugh and take a big bite then hum gratefully. It’s actually very good. “I’m not used to fancy anything, believe me. But even if I was I’d much rather have a homey mac and cheese.” His thigh shifts against yours under the table and a little flutter of warmth goes through you so you press even closer.

"I like you just the way you are."

When you finish eating, you make sure to clean up while Gavin goes through his pack. It’s starting to get dark and the rain is picking up again.

"Thanks for cleaning up. I'll take the sleeping bags upstairs. I'd hate to have anything happen to that beautiful old quilt." Then he chuckles. "Upstairs higher up in the tree that is." He gathers both the bags up and traverses the carved stairs. Then he looks over his shoulder. "Ready for dessert?"

You laugh a little but a wild flutter goes off in your chest and warmth suffuses you. How could you have gotten this lucky out of nowhere? You try to tamp your excitement in case it doesn’t work but you can’t help it. You’ve never had anyone be this kind, not even at the beginning. “Oh, yes I am,” you smile. You dig a flashlight out of your pack and follow him up.

He unrolls one sleeping bag on the double bed and smooths it out over the mattress then spreads out the second one face down and zips one side and the bottom together making it easy to slide in from the other side. The rain starts coming down a little harder and you're both grateful at how much of the room is actually securely covered. Someone must have done a lot of work getting things in shape before they left. "I'll just grab our packs and bring them up in case we need anything." He's back in a moment and you notice his hair got a little damp.

You had shimmied out of your jeans while he grabbed the packs like he had done the night before then slipped into the sleeping bags and scooted all the way over so he can slide in too. It was dark now so you left the flashlight on and grinned when he came back in the room. “You’re wet again,” you teased but you loved the way his hair looked a little disheveled.

"Yeah, I grabbed the quilt and folded it back up to put away then I took a look over the edge and out toward the ridge. But I got out too far from the roof," he chuckles. "Didn't get too wet luckily." He reaches in his pack and pulls out a chocolate bar to share. Then he undresses down to his boxers and a tank. You watch his muscles ripple and bunch and can't help admire his strong body.

He has a couple funny tan lines from working so much in the sun but they don’t deter at all from the way he looks. He smiles when he sees you watching him and you’re sure he can see all the less than innocent thoughts in your head. You sit up and pull off your sweater but leave your t-shirt on as he climbs in. “It’s strange how it doesn’t seem to be too cold in here isn’t it? It’s lovely.”

"It is," he agrees. Then he smiles. "Just cool enough for comfortable cuddling...but first..." He splits the chocolate bar in two and hands you half as he slips into the sleeping bag.

“You definitely know the way to get me in a good mood,” you grin. “Mac ‘n cheese and chocolate in bed?” You curl up close to him and take a bite of the candy, humming with pleasure at the sweet, rich taste.

"You are so different from what Jack has in his head," he says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. "You're beautiful and kind and down to earth. Pretty perfect in my book."

“I think people in town think I’m a snob because I’m quiet. I’m just…I don’t know,” you shrug and take anther bite of chocolate. “Do you talk about me a lot?” you grin, wriggling closer.

"Well...I have to be honest...I noticed you that first day you came in to interview. Just something about you caught my attention. Thank God your references were so great. Jack had to agree with me you were the best person we could hire. He was impressed too and that's not always easy. But I think he has this idea since you were at that big firm in Seattle that you're a city girl at heart. He told me to be caref....well he told me you'd probably get tired of life down here and move back to the city." He clears his throat. "Anyway, I'm glad you answered our ad."

“I’m glad I did too. I couldn’t stay in the city anymore. Not with…” you trail off and stop yourself, not wanting to talk about your ex at all. “I noticed you the first day too. But you’re always so busy and I so desperately wanted to do a good job.” You finish the chocolate and snuggle a little closer to him, licking your fingers clean.

You notice a little spot of chocolate on his lower lip as he shifts closer to you and settles. "What?" he inquires as he watches your eyes flick to his lips more than once.

“Um,” you bite your lip, letting your gaze flick to his eyes and lips again. “You missed some,” you smile, then lean forward and slowly swipe your tongue over his full lower lip.

His hazel eyes darken a shade. "Mmmm," he hums and captures you in a slow sensuous kiss, his tongue gliding in to swirl around yours in a possessive dance sending warmth all the way to your toes.

You moan softly into his kiss as he takes over completely and fills you with so much heat you wish you were wearing nothing at all. Your arms slide around his broad shoulders unconsciously as you try to pull him closer.

One strong arm tightens around you as his other hand slides into your hair. A low rumble rolls through his chest sounding like the purr of a large jungle cat. His fingers drag through your hair and it’s so good, you feel like you’re going to melt away. His tongue swirls around yours again, making your heart race. You shift against him, rubbing your foot along his calf.

That masculine rumble rolls through his chest again, vibrating against you. He pulls back so slowly from the kiss and presses a row of kisses along your jawline.

His mouth is hot and insistent and you have to gasp for air when he breaks the kiss as if you had forgotten you need to breathe. “Gavin,” you moan his name. “Something feels different here…almost as if there’s magic in the air…doesn’t it?”

He lets out a shaky breath and you know he’s affected by you too. His dark eyes glitter in the dim light as he looks at you. "Mmm...yes...it does sweetheart.” The rain makes a tinkling sound high overhead...almost like hitting soft chimes and it's sound is like music drifting down from the highest branches.

You think it must’ve been years since you’ve felt as relaxed as this. That voice in your head is still telling you to hide away but you can barely hear it. You let your fingers trace the muscles of his shoulders, perfectly built and lithe and so strong, you can’t get enough.

He nuzzles at your neck softly then whispers, "I think it must be magic that brought you here and brought us to this place and time. It's almost like I remember you from a dream."

“You feel like magic…” you breathe. He’s warm and solid, almost on top of you and his stubble lightly tickles your sensitive skin as he’s careful not to rub. It makes you feel like your entire body is coming alive for the first time.

"You feel so right in my arms," he says, husk in his voice. "Like you were always meant to be there. That probably sounds like a line...but I promise you it's not." He kisses his way down your throat to your pulse point and stops to lightly touch there, his lips warm and soft.

You tilt your head back in pure bliss and shivers of pleasure go through you making you cling to him tighter. “It doesn’t sound like a line. I feel it too.”

He nips gently at your pulse and smiles against your skin as he feels your heartbeat increase. "Either this place is magic or you are," he murmurs in a slightly gruff timbre.

It’s hard to believe it could be you but you can hardly even think with the way he feels. You thread your fingers through his tousled hair and guide his mouth back to yours, wanting to taste him again.

He immediately responds to your coaxing and his lips are on yours, tongue sliding in to possess yours. He presses you closer and deepens the kiss like a man parched, finding an oasis in the desert and leaving you whimpering helplessly beneath him.

His body somehow grows even hotter and feels even better than before. The sleeping bag has fallen away and he’s holding you against him. You tangle your legs with his as he tangles his tongue around yours and it makes you moan softly.

He takes his fill then finally lets you breathe as he kisses his way along your jaw again to that sensitive hollow just behind your ear. He flicks his tongue out to taste just there sending more warm shivers through you and making your center throb. You shift your hips pressing to his firm thigh and you can feel his cock swelling against your stomach. He gives a low rumble and flicks his tongue over that little spot once more.

“Gavin…” you whimper. Pleasure and heat flare inside of you. “If you do that again I’m going to go crazy,” you tease, laughing softly.

He pulls back to smile at you and rubs his hand comfortingly along your side. “Why don’t you catch your breath, sweetheart,” his voice is husky but his words are sure and you know he must have seen that tiny last fleck of lingering anxiousness in your eyes. “I don't mind taking my time with you. Let me just hold you close for awhile and we can listen to the rain. Feel the magic of this place." He adjusts his position and lays back, wrapping his arms around you and snuggling you close to his body.

You curl your arm around him, letting your fingers drift over his chest and tilt your head just a little to look into his dark eyes. “You really don’t mind?”

You can see the emotions swirling there, but mostly you see the warmth and growing affection with that carefully banked simmering heat. You also see the promise of more and the conviction of his words.

“No, I don’t mind. We can wait until you’re 100% sure. I’ll be here no matter what.”

You settle in against his chest again, resting your head on his warm shoulder. You’re almost there, you know, and you have a feeling you’re not going to make it out of this bed without giving in to your desires. But for now, this just feels perfect. “I love the sound of the rain. I couldn’t be happier.”

"Your happiness makes my heart feel warm and full," he murmurs. He settles you closer against him and his warm breath gently ruffles your hair.

All of him feels so so good.

"I could fall asleep with you pressed against me every single night and die a happy man. Rest for a bit, sweetheart. I’ll be here."

~*~*~

Next up: SMUT! (I promise to get the next part out quicker!)

really hope you like, reblogs, comments and like mean everything <3

#karl urban #gavin magary #gavin magary x you #gavin magary x reader #karl urban gavin #pete’s dragon #karl urban x you #karl urban is the man of my fucking dreams #karl urban brainrot go brrr #karl urban fanfiction #karl urban fanfic

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