#the bi panic would be so real | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

munsonsmixtapes · 4 months ago

Text

Maybe I Do

Buck x Eddie x fem!firefighter!reader

summary: you and Eddie are in a secret relationship and Buck wants to be apart of it, only for you to reject him. But when a new member joins the 118 and starts flirting with Buck, you and Eddie realize that you actually do like him.

word count: 4k

cw: make out session, reader has a panic attack, hurt/comfort

based on a comment on this post by @unknown-2505

"We should probably stop," you told Eddie as you went in for another kiss. "We're going to be late."

"Tell them that we were stuck in traffic." He licked into your mouth and you let out a moan at the feeling of his tongue scratching against yours. You were straddling his waist as the two of you sat in the passenger seat of your car, trying to get in a quickie before you had to go into work.

"Eddie," you laughed. "C'mon." But he just pulled you in for another kiss, trying to get to any place he could reach as you grabbed your shirt from the driver’s seat. You put it on and Eddie helped you button it, whining about needing one more kiss. He was always like that, never able to get enough of your lips. Especially since he was about to go into a long shift with a single one.

You had mutually decided to keep it a secret since you didn’t want everyone meddling into your love life. And it was kind of fun sneaking around. It was hot sneaking off to the bathroom to have a quickie, your hearts pounding as you tried to keep quiet so no one would hear you. And as far as you were concerned, no one knew.

You opened the door and Eddie helped you out before you grabbed your duffel and hurried into the station. Eddie counted to sixty then copied you, hurrying into the station a minute after you so nobody would have been suspicious about the two of you coming in together.

You both put your stuff away in your locker, Buck not far behind. He stood next to you as he put his things away, nudging your shoulder as he did so. It was something that he did every morning without fail. It was his very subtle way of telling you that he was interested in you. So subtle that you hadn’t even realized that was what he was hinting at.

He had liked Eddie for a long time, but when you came along, he knew he was fucked. You were just so pretty and nice, and seeing the two of you together was a lethal combo. You were both so hot that it was causing his bi panic to skyrocket. And he slowly started to realize that he was in love with the both of you. Head over heel, completely and totally in love. So much so that it was making him feel sick.

And it wasn’t like he could tell either of you. You would have been supportive, of course, that was just how the two of you were, but he was beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t the right idea to tell you. As far as he was concerned, he was taking that shit to the grave. It was far too embarrassing to admit it. How could he go about telling his two best friends that he was in love with them?

“Buck?” You asked, nudging his shoulder. “You still with us?” He finally came back to the real world to see your beautiful eyes looking at him. You almost seemed concerned and he didn’t like that. He appreciated that you worried about him (maybe a bit too much) but he didn’t need you to. He didn’t need you wasting that kind of energy on him. He didn’t think he deserved it.

“Huh?” He asked, completely unaware that you had even been speaking to him. He was too far into his own little world.

“We were wondering if you were still going out with us tonight,” Eddie said and Buck had to try his hardest not to stare at Eddie’s flexed arm as he put his bag into his locker.

“Yeah, of course,” Buck nodded as he forced himself to turn away. “I’m always in.”

“Good because it’s my treat because,” you paused for dramatic effect and held up your keys, showing him the newest addition.

“You got it?” He asked excitedly, reaching out for the key.

“I did,” you smiled proudly. “Got the keys yesterday. Can you believe it, Buck? A place that’s all mine.” Well, a place that was yours and Eddie’s and Christopher’s, but Buck didn’t need to know that.

You both felt horrible for hiding it from him, but you felt like it was for the best. Yes, you were pretty serious considering that him and his son had moved in with you, but you still didn’t feel like it was the right time to lay everything on the table.

You knew everyone would be supportive, especially Buck, but it just felt much better to keep it to yourself for the time being. You felt like telling everyone the truth would only make things weird with you and Eddie you had been hiding for about six months and it just would have been odd to spill everything now. Plus, you thought the whole secrecy thing was hot.

“I’ll have to see it sometime,” he said, leaning in a bit too close to you, but he couldn’t help it. You just smelled so good.

“I guess you will,” you smiled back only to see Eddie making a motion to stop you from speaking. “I-I mean, maybe,” you shrugged.

“What?” Buck was very confused by your response, turning around to see what you were looking at and Eddie turned his back to head out of the locker room.

“Nothing,” you smiled brightly.

“You’re acting weird.”

“Maybe you’re the one who’s acting weird,” you countered, crossing your arms over your chest in a defensive manner. Buck stepped closer to you, resting a hand on your arm. He was getting concerned, wondering if there was something that you were too afraid to tell him. But you could tell him, he wouldn’t judge you, in fact, he would have helped you through whatever it was.

“What’s really going on?” He asked, his blue eyes boring into yours. You felt horrible lying to him, but you were just doing what you thought was right.

“Nothing, seriously, Buck. I appreciate you worrying about me, but you don’t need to.” You removed his hand from your shoulder and took it in both of yours. “I swear.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “But you know you can come to me with anything, right?”

“I know that,” you nodded.

“Good.” With that, you both fled the locker room and all headed up the stairs where the rest of the 118 was resting, waiting around for a call. You sat on the sofa next to Eddie, making sure to keep space between your bodies so as to not look suspicious.

He was watching the TV across from the couch intently. So much so that you were convinced that he hadn’t even seen you. But not long after you sat down, he slowly inched his hand towards yours. You looked over your shoulder to see everyone in the kitchen getting coffee, so you took Eddie’s hand, intertwining your fingers, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

You ran your thumb over them as the two of you watched the TV, a silly comedy playing on the TV. But you weren’t really watching. All you could think about was what Buck had said about you acting weird. Did he know what was going on with you and Eddie? He had to if he was calling your behavior, right? And he was also suspicious of Eddie now that he thought about it.

Now that someone knew, you were concerned that you were going to have to call the whole thing off. You really loved Eddie and didn’t want to give up on him. You couldn’t. Especially since you had just moved in together. Especially since you had just gotten Christopher used to moving to a new place and he actually seemed to be happy with it.

Your life had changed for the better since they had entered it and you weren’t going to give it up. You couldn’t. This was only the beginning. And you weren’t going to let Buck’s knowledge of your relationship ruin it.

“So, what are you two up to?” Hen asked as she leaned over the back of the sofa. Both you and Eddie let go of each other’s hand when you noticed her presence and if he saw it, she didn’t say anything.

“Watching TV, obviously,” Eddie laughed nervously. Hen rounded the sofa and sat on the cushion between the two of you. Hen had been suspicious of the two of you for months and seeing you hold hands like that confirmed them. The way the two of you behaved around each other was much more than friendly even if the others couldn’t see through it like she could.

She was supportive, though. She had seen the attraction since you first showed up and she was nothing but happy for the two of you. She was just hoping that Buck was going to be okay, though. He had confided in her about his crush on the both of you and was concerned how that was all going to do go down. Buck was like a little brother to her and she wanted to protect him at all costs.

Because of her suspicion, Hen told him to hold off on telling the two of you how he felt. She could see how much he was aching because of how strong his feelings were, but there was no way she was going to tell him that the two of you were together. It wasn’t any of her business and she didn’t want to make anything weird between the three of you. You were so close and she wasn’t going to take the blame for breaking the three of you up.

“Listen,” she said, motioning for you both to lean forward. You listened and leaned closer, Hen’s voice lowering to a whisper. “I know about the two of you.” Both of you widened your eyes and turned to each other. You swore you weren’t that obvious, but supposed that if anyone could have figured it out, it would have been Hen.

“But-” you tried to speak, but Bobby’s voice cut you off.

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” he called out and you all turned into him, your eyes immediately catching onto the man and woman who were standing on either side of him. “This is Hazel,” he rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “And Benjamin,” his other hand landed on the man’s shoulder. “They’re the newest members of the 118 so treat them like one of us, alright?”

Just as the words left his mouth, the siren went off and you all were flying down the stairs to head to the engine. Everyone was able to fit except Chimney and Hen who were taking the ambulance. You were in between Eddie and Buck, both of the new members of the crew sitting across from you along with Ravi.

You could hear Buck and Eddie making conversation with them, but you weren’t paying attention, their words sounding all muffled as you got too into your head. You didn’t think you and Eddie had been obvious, but considering Hen had figured you out, you were convinced that everyone else knew as well. And now you were afraid Bobby was going to transfer you because the two of you were dating because you knew that it was against the rules for the two of you to be romantically linked.

After the call, the engine pulled back up to the fire house and once you got out, you headed to the women’s bathroom, beckoning for Eddie to follow, counting to a minute before he met you there. You locked the both of you in the handicapped stall and Eddie was quick to rest his hands on your waist, leaning in for a kiss, but you out your hand on his chest to stop him.

“We’re not here to make out, Eddie.”

“Then what are we here for?”

“We need to talk.” He didn’t like the sound of that. Oh god, you were going to break up with him. That was usually what those words meant. At least, whenever he had heard them, that was what they had meant.

You couldn’t break up with him. You had such a good thing going. You were the best thing that had ever happened to him and he couldn’t let you slip through his fingers because of something stupid that he had done. At least, he assumed it was his fault. All of his breakups were.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” you told him and he let out a deep breath.

“Thank god. Then what is this about?”

“I think we need to tell everyone about us.”

“Why?”

“Hen knows so it’s only a matter of time before everyone else does too.” Eddie supposed you were right. He didn’t think that Hen would tell anyone, but he thought it was best that you both just came clean.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to do. You know that.” His hand reached up and pushed your hair behind your ears before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Let’s tell them tomorrow morning,” you said. “It’s been a long day.”

“I agree,” he nodded. “So now that that’s settled…”

“I guess I can agree to that,” you rolled your eyes. Eddie smiled down at you, backing you up against the wall before pressing his lips to yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck while his went to your waist, picking you up from the floor and your legs wrapped around his middle as he pinned you to the wall as he licked into your mouth.

He unbuttoned the first few buttons of your shirt and pushed it down your shoulders before going straight for your neck, licking and sucking on the spot, eliciting a moan from your lips. This was by far his favorite thing to do to you whenever you were together like this. He loved the noises you made and the way he was able to make you come undone just by sucking on your skin. And when he was done, you were able to cover it up with the collar of your shirt. It was something just for the two of you. Your own little secret.

“So good, Eddie,” you moaned and that only encouraged him, intending on making you orgasm just from giving you a hickey. “We-we have to go back soon or they’ll get suspicious,” you told him through your labored breaths. There was a truth to your words, but you both were just too caught up in how good you felt to stop.

He continued to lick and suck, wanting the mark he was creating to be dark. So much so that there was no way for you to hide it with makeup. He wanted to stand behind you in the mirror in your shared bathroom while both of you admired the pretty bruise.

“Hold on, honey,” he murmured against your lips. “I’m doing my best work.” His teeth grazed your skin and you swore you were going to melt. If he hadn’t have been holding you, you were sure that your legs would have given out.

“Sh-shit, Ed. Do that again.” Your words were already slurring and he was positive that was a record of how quick he was to make you come undone. He did as you asked and grazed the spot with his teeth, harder this time. Your hands moved to his hair and you gave it a yank in response to the pleasure coursing through you.

He bit down on the mark that was forming, but not enough to break the skin, and you moaned, even louder this time. Surely someone would have heard you from outside the bathroom, but you didn’t care. You were just so focused on Eddie and his mouth.

You collapsed against him and he licked a stripe across the forming bruise to diffuse the sting before pulling away from you completely. He smiled down at the pretty mark he had made, the thing shining with his spit then set you down on the floor. He then began to button up your shirt, taking his time to make sure that all of the buttons were lined up properly. You had almost gotten caught week before because of that very thing and neither of you were going to repeat your errors.

The bar was pretty empty when you, Eddie and Buck arrived. The three of you hurried inside and ordered a round of shots to celebrate another job well done. The day had been pretty busy and now you were all ready to unwind. Well, you and Eddie were. Buck was just ready to tell you both the truth about the feelings he was harboring. He felt like he needed to get the words out no matter what Hen said. He knew that she was just looking out for him, but he had holding his feelings in for far too long.

He looked at the both of you and noticed the look you were sharing. It was almost…romantic. In that moment, he realized what was happening. The two of you were together. Now it all made sense. The sneaking off, the two of you coming back with your hair messed up and your shirts buttoned weirdly. Buck had been so preoccupied with his crush on both of you that he hadn’t been paying attention. Until now.

“Buck?” You asked, nudging him shoulder.

“Huh?” He was finally focusing in again. His mind in reality.

“Are you okay, man?” Eddie asked. “You’ve been spacey all day.”

“I guess I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” He headed towards an open table and sat down, both you and Eddie following him.

“What is it?” You asked as you sat across from him, setting your hand on top of his that was resting on the table. He immediately pulled it away and shook his head, nervously scratching at the back of his neck.

“Look,” he let out a sigh, closing his eyes. “What I’m going to say is going to sound crazy.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Eddie replied as he sipped on the beer he had ordered. He was convinced that he would be supportive of whatever Buck was going to tell him.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You can tell us.”

“Fine. But remembered that you asked for it.” He ran his hands down his face and downed the shot that he had been too stunned to drink, hoping that would help with his nerves. “I’m in love with you,” he said. “Both of you.” Both of your eyes widened and you turned to each other in shock.

Out of all all the things Buck could have said, you definitely weren’t expecting that. You kind of assumed he had feelings for Eddie, but you? You didn’t even think that you were his type. But now you guessed you were. You were surprised to say the least. You and Eddie had been together for months and nobody new, but now you were going to have to confess two things. One, that you were together, and two, that you didn’t feel the same way. At least, you didn’t. You didn’t feel like it was right to speak for Eddie.

“Buck,” Eddie replied in surprise. Unfortunately, Eddie hadn’t felt the same way either. Maybe he did once upon a time, but as soon as he met you everything changed. And now he felt bad for not reciprocating his feelings. That was his best friend and he didn’t want to hurt him. He had already been through so much and now Eddie was about to absolutely crush him.

“Can you give us a minute to discuss?” You asked. “Order yourself a drink on us,” you handed him your card so he could start a tab and he took it, unsure of what was happening.

“S-sure,” he stuttered as he stood from the table. He knew it was a mistake. He should have just kept his big mouth shut. And now both of you were going to reject him and he was going to feel like shit. Well, he always did, but this was going to make the feeling so much worse.

“Eddie, what the fuck do we do?” You whispered, leaning towards him as you watched Buck order a beer, already looking so dejected. “God, I feel so bad.”

“So you don’t feel that way about him either?” He was hoping that that at least you did so Buck wouldn’t be completely rejected, but clearly that wasn’t happening.

“No and I feel horrible. What do we do?”

“We need to tread lightly,” Eddie replied. “He’s already so fragile.”

You waved Buck back over and he sat at the table, already knowing what was going to happen. You grabbed Eddie’s hand and you both looked at him with such pity. It was almost as if you were a married couple telling their child that you were divorcing. He felt so pathetic, resisting the urge to not hear your answer and leave, but unfortunately, he had ridden with you, so he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Well, we talked it over,” you turned to Eddie then turned back to Buck.

“You don’t like me,” Buck finished, lowering his head, no longer wanting to look either of you in the eye.

“We’re so sorry, Buck,” Eddie replied.

“Don’t worry about it,” he waved it off. “I’m just gonna head out if that’s okay.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

“Nah,” he stood up from the table, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for his phone. “Have a good night, guys.”

You collapsed into your chair, feeling defeated. You knew it wasn’t your fault that Buck’s feelings weren’t reciprocated, but you couldn’t feel like it was. You had gotten in between them, ruining anything that could have happened between them and now nothing would. At least, not according to Eddie with the engagement ring he had hidden in the drawer of his bedside table.

It was all so unfair. And now Eddie felt like the best friendship he ever had was ruined because feelings got in the way. And he wasn’t going to blame Buck. Not at all. It wasn’t his fault he had feelings for the both of you, and it certainly wasn’t his fault that neither of you felt the same way. God, it was all just so fucked.

You entered the firehouse the next morning only to see Buck flirting with the newbies right in front of the engine. And they were flirting right back. Hazel was giggling at whatever Buck had said and Benjamin was fiddling with Buck’s collar. You weren’t sure why, but the whole thing made him feel sick. You avoided them as you headed to your locker, Buck watching you the whole time.

He hadn’t meant to do use them, but they were right there. And they were interested. He wasn’t trying to make you and Eddie jealous or anything like that. He was just…lonely. He wasn’t going to do anything with them, just a little harmless flirting to mend his heart and then he’d be good.

Eddie entered the locker room to see that you hadn’t even put your stuff away. You were standing there, staring at Buck and the probies. He could see the anger in your eyes and if he wasn’t mistaken, he would have said you were jealous. But why would you have been? You had discussed the whole situation at length the night before that you weren’t going to pursue Buck and now there you were, looking like you were seeing red.

“Hon,” Eddie stepped over to you, grabbing onto your arm. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” you shook your head. You didn’t know why it upset you so much, but it did. You knew that you said you didn’t like him like that, but…maybe now you did. Maybe all you needed was a little jealousy to make you realize it.

“Have you changed your mind?” He asked, titling your head up so you’d look him in his pretty, brown eyes. Truthfully, Eddie had to. He had thought it over the whole night and was beginning to think that he was making a mistake. Especially seeing Buck with other people.

“I think so. But Eddie, I think he hates us.”

“I don’t hate you,” Buck replied and you both turned to him, eyes wide. You supposed that you and Eddie had been so caught up in your conversation that you hadn’t noticed Buck had been standing there. “I’m more than happy to do this if you are. We can just pretend like last night never even happened.”

You and Eddie turned to each other before nodding enthusiastically. The thought of adding another person to your relationship seemed strange, but since you were all game, it actually seemed kind of exciting.

“We’re in,” you both replied in unison.

“Good,” Buck nodded, striding over to the both of you, his voice now hushed. “I’ll see the both of you in the bathroom in five minutes,” he winked then fled the locker room, leaving the both of you buzzing with nothing but nerves and excitement. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

#evan “buck” buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley smut #evan buckley #evan buckley x you #evan buckley x fem!reader #evan buckley fluff #edmundo eddie diaz #edmundo diaz #eddie diaz #eddie diaz x you #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz smut #buddie x reader #buddie #buddie x fem!reader #buddie fluff #buddie smut #buck x eddie

390 notes · View notes

canichangemyblogname · 3 months ago

Text

What in the cognitive-fucking-dissonance??? THEE woman who started the edgy “gay panic killing of a fictional gay man” joke movement is SHOCKED that she attracts and is attracted to homophobes?

You literally joked that if you were Tommy’s boyfriend (Buck), you’d shoot and kill the man for flirting with you. That is a hate crime. That is literally THEE definition of “gay panic.” You’re not the fantastical “wizard spells” blog; you’re the I use “it’s just a joke, bro”-as-a-shield blog.

Y’all literally have anons “keep tabs” on 911 fans who support ABC’s recent decision to add more queer representation into the show, sending y’all asks about what those fans are saying about the show and their favorite characters. And you’re SHOCKED to attract the same obsessive behavior? You’re SHOCKED that you attract toxicity? You’re SHOCKED that you attract other blogs that joke about homophobic violence?

Wizard spells, right? Oh, shit. Actually, it’s a joke about gay panic killing. But it’s still just a joke, right?

Wizard spells, right?

Actually— capital punishment. For the crime of *checks notes* going on a date with a man and cutting the date short. Didn’t know that death must be the legal consequence for not continuing a bad date.

Still just a joke, right?

Oh, look— I finally found the “Wizard spells,” among *checks notes* fantasizing about black and brown people murdering a white man, more guns, and… torture. Weird fantasies, man.

But still just a joke, right?

Wizard spells, right?

Well, I found “curses” and “voodoo” on this next list. Right alongside joking about death by firearm (again), death by execution/capital punishment (again), and—would you look at that—joking about death by AIDS. Joking about a gay character… dying of AIDS. Original.

How is THIS ^^^ is a step too far for y’all when it’s literally the EXACT same joke? This blog’s violent fantasies and this blog calling Tommy a predator is a step too far, but when you did the same, it wasn’t? Where do you think “edgy” jokes lead? Why do you think so many other blogs on here kept telling you that an “edgy joke” isn’t ever actually an “edgy joke”?

This is the culture you have created. You attract these personalities because you encourage their beliefs and behavior. But rather than own up to that and look critically at how your supposed “jokes” have created a toxic and hostile and truly obsessive and frightening culture, you’d rather ONCE AGAIN all call this a “ship war.”

There is no ship war. Shut up about the ship war.

There *are* fans who are posting genuinely homophobic and frightening things because they cannot stand that 911 has added another queer couple to the show, and then there are fans who support 911 ABC’s move to expand representation. There *are* fans obsessed with fan fiction fantasies, and then there are fans who simply support canon, on-screen queer representation.

This is so VERY obviously not a ship war. This isn’t “BoBs” vs “Bummys.” This is people who are unable to come to terms with the fact they’ve sold themselves a lie: shipping doesn’t do a damn bit of difference for representation and your obsession isn’t coming true— making it genuinely unsafe to be queer in online 911 spaces.

There is no ship war. “Engaging critically with the internet” means recognizing a pattern of behavior. There is no ship war, but there is a subset of the fandom who refuses to take accountability for what they have encouraged. *You* are the only ones excusing homophobia as “rage bait” and “edgy jokes,” and that’s ultimately the issue. The character is kinda irrelevant when the issue is how you and your followers have so frequently relied on real-world homophobic stereotypes to justify your hate and OOC characterization of a queer character.

911 fans who support the addition of another queer couple and who support Buck’s bi arc have been receiving harassment for months, with other blogs calling them predators, groomers, pedophiles, the n-word, the f-slur, several slurs for women and lesbians, being told to kill themselves, among other things. And you’ve been called—what?—homophobic, racist, sexist?

I know that buddie-stans have also been called out for calling black women “sassy,” for using the mammy trope in your writing, for hypersexualizing Eddie, for harassing the actresses who played previous LIs with misogynistic hate, for writing character-bashing that relies on misogyny, and for NEVER calling this out. Now we can add “vile homophobia” and “frightening violence” to the list.

It’s everyone else’s fault but your own, and yet y’all are the only ones attracting these blogs.

#fucking discourse #Homophobia #911 ABC

240 notes · View notes

redr0sewrites · 9 months ago

Note

Bestie, heard your cry for requests, no worries. Adam and Lute brainrot is real 😭. Perhaps something with Adam and Lute having this sort of crush on the gn!Reader who’s probably a member of the exorcist army. Like they both develop feeling for the person separately but once they find out, it goes into the direction of polycule? Love your writing and hope this helps!

THIS REQUEST>>>> EVERYTHING ELSE

🥀Cw: poly!guitarspear x reader, fluff

both adam and lute having a crush on you is definitely an accomplishment, and its both the best and most infuriating thing to ever happen to you

if you're in the exorcist army then you're def interacting with them alot, but no matter where you are in heaven there's always at least one of them at your side

adam would fall first, and he'd start shamelessly flirting with you

whenever you were training he would come over and bother you, he'd use the cringiest pickup lines and call you every pet name under the sun

adam lays it on THICK, he really wants you to like him

lute just couldn't understand why it bothered her so much- i mean, adam had flirted with a lot of people before, right? why did she care if it was you?

her feelings hit her like a truck

the two of you were just relaxing together, and she couldn't help but realize how truly beautiful you were

after seeing what adam sees in you, she lowkey started to get jealous

adam caught on pretty quickly that she liked you, and it soon turned into a competition of sorts

adam and lute are close friends, but when it comes to you, they definitely have a petty "rivalry" going down

adam will purposefully send lute away so he can flirt chat with you, and in turn lute will rat on him to sera about how he's not getting his work done

meanwhile you're just sitting there having a bi-panic over the two of them

eventually you sit them down and have a convo about how you like both of them, which eventually leads to them agreeing to share you

however i genuinely think that they both have feelings for eachother too, and those would probably come to light once the three of you are in a relationship

once you three are officially together, they both dote on you SO much

adam is definitely more outgoing, and his love languages are quality time and physical touch. in contrast, lute's a bit more private, and her love language is definitely acts of service through and through

this leads to interesting dates for the three of you, some nights you're all crashing at one of your apartments and bingeing shitty movies, other nights your going out to clubs and dancing your hearts out

adam is so cuddly, and while she pretends that she isn't, so is lute

yall def have full on cuddling sessions where you all just lay together (usually on top of adam)

yall have the cutest mornings together!!!!! lute is def an early riser, and she methodically gets up at the same time every morning

meanwhile adam is pretty much a wildcard, sometimes he'll stay up ridiculously late and end up sleeping in until noon, and then other nights he'll crash super early and then wake up pretty early too. then sometimes he'll just pull all nighters and you and lute will come downstairs to find him curled up on the couch

lute works out in the mornings and will probably go on a quick morning run before coming back inside and getting ready. she often will help you get ready and will lay out things you need for the day. adam is usually the last person ready, he's always begging for one more minute of sleep!

yall r literally just so domestic

yall split chores too, lute usually does the cooking, adam does the laundry and clears dishes/plates, and then you do whatever other chores that are necessary. you all rotate when it comes to cleaning tasks such as sweeping, mopping, dusting, etc and while adam will sometimes pout, he actually does clean up after himself

adam and lute are both protective in different ways, and everyone in heaven knows not to mess with you

adam is more of the jealous type, and will get protective if he thinks someone else is flirting with you

meanwhile lute is more of the "worried about your safety" type, and will get more protective if she thinks you're in danger

overall, yall are genuinely such a power couple and you really have a sweet, adorable dynamic

I WILL MAKE A PT 2 WITH NSFW HCS. ALSO PT 2 OF THE ADAM FIC IS COMING SOON I SWEAR IM SORRY FOR KEEPING YALL WAITING😭

438 notes · View notes

areyouwell · 3 months ago

Text

Autophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of being alone. Children or adults with this condition often suffer from severe panic attacks at the thought of being completely alone.

Ch.5.5

Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Paring: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of a depressive spiral, atypical methods of self-harm, severe mental breakdown

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: just a little follow-up chapter cuz if i put this all in one it would have been almost 20k words. let's not talk about how my mini-chapters are over 6k words i'm fluent in yappanese let me monologue

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck

The last twenty-four hours had been a complete blur. Numbly going through the motions of packing a rucksack, letting your body take you to where you needed to go whilst your mind was stuck in a loop. Eighty years. Eighty years. That’s how long you were kept from the world. That’s how long you’d been fed lies and bullshit. Eighty fucking years. And everything about your life, about who you are, what you’d been through, was in that venomous folder you couldn’t bring yourself to open. Nobody looked at you the same way. Ororo could barely stand to be in your presence, having to leave every time you entered the room. Charles kept looking at you with fucking sympathy and you wanted to knock his bald head clean off his shoulders. Scott kept apologising every time he passed you in the hallway, saying he didn’t know and would have done things differently if he had. Kurt and Hank barely knew what the fuck was going on and you hadn’t seen Jean since before the raid.

And then there was Logan. Who kept almost tiptoeing around you, asking if you were alright every five fucking seconds, asking if you needed anything or if you wanted him to do something. Honestly, you wanted him to shut the fuck up. You wanted them all to shut the fuck up. You hadn’t processed anything. Hadn’t been allowed to process anything. After you woke up, you’d explained to those in the med-bay what Dr.Kremlin –or whatever his stupid fucking name was– had told you. Charles filled in the gaps, and you were given all of thirty seconds before you were taken upstairs to pack a bag and to meet Logan in the garage. You felt nothing as you swung your rucksack in the backseat of the beaten pickup truck, clambering into the passenger’s side and falling into dead silence. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. Not to Jubilee, not to little Artie. Not even to Kitty.

At least your trip away made more sense now. Charles wanted you out of the mansion so he could monitor those neurotransmitters from the supposed environmental research facility without you catching wind of anything. Not that you’d know anyway, but maybe he thought it was safer if you didn’t know. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, right?

How ironic did that feel?

You’d been driving for around four hours in complete silence, your head resting against the slightly smudged window, eyes trained on the outside world as it blurred past, a kaleidoscope of greens, browns and greys. Feet perched on your seat, your arms tucked atop your knees as you subconsciously made yourself as small as possible. You didn’t know how long left you had of the drive, and honestly, you didn’t care. He could keep driving forever and it wouldn’t matter to you.

“Y’alright?” Logan broke the long silence a little tentatively, his voice hushed as if not to disturb you. You found it vaguely amusing. He could shout at the top of his lungs and it wouldn’t disturb you. Not at the moment. You didn’t care. Didn’t even care to respond. It was a stupid fucking question anyway. You’d felt like this only once before. At least, only one time you could remember, if that was even real. And it was the days that followed after Jade’s death. A bus could have hit you and you wouldn’t have been able to find it in yourself to care.

Logan sighed through his nose. Stealing a glance at your huddled form, staring unblinking out the window, he went to rest his hand on your shoulder but thought better of it as you tensed. Seeing you like this, so utterly devoid of emotion, was almost jarring. He was used to seeing your smile and hearing your laugh. Fuck, even when you lost control and tried to kill him was better than this. At least he could smell the fear on you. But he couldn’t smell anything right now. Just the oil of the engine and dust of the seats. You’d faded. Not just your personality or your mental state, but everything about you had faded. Suppressed. This was nothing like when you lost control. He had an idea of how to bring you back then. But this?

He was way out of his depth.

“Talk to me,” he urged quietly, and he thought his pleas had fallen on deaf ears until you finally raised your head, turning to look at him blankly.

“About what?” Though your voice was completely flat, he was still glad to hear it. If he could get a response out of you, then perhaps he could bring you back after all. If he could just get you to talk to him…

“Anythin’. How you’re feelin’. What you’re thinkin’. We have a long ways to go yet.”

Your shrug wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. “So? You’ve never had a problem with silence before.” It was all he was going to get out of you before you returned to leaning against the window, your vacant eyes falling to watch the grey skies beyond. Suffocating quiet consumed the truck once again, only the hum of the wheels against the tarmac acted as a symphony for your thoughts. “Ya know what’s fucked?”

Logan almost jumped as you talked again, not expecting you to continue the conversation. Though he couldn’t say he wasn’t glad. “I don’t even know what’s real. If it was all a simulation… I don’t even know if this is real. If you’re real. Or just another sick twisted plot produced to make me believe I’m living a life that I’m not.” It was a thought that had plagued your mind since the raid. If everything in your past had been a lie, how did you know any of this wasn’t just more bullshit spun to widen the web?

Stretching out his hand, this time he didn’t hesitate to pry your own from your folded arms, clasping your knuckles in his palm. “‘M real, sweetheart. This is real. We’re real.” He held his breath, waiting for you to pull away from his touch, but you didn’t. Instead, you raised your head from the window again, offering him a small smile that didn’t even come close to reaching your eyes. He squeezed your hand and found a kernel of hope kindle in his heart as you weakly squeezed back. You’d be okay. He’d make certain of it. It didn’t matter how long it took, or what he’d have to do. He wouldn’t stop until you were okay. “Get some rest, we’ll be on the road for a while.” He pulled your hand up to his face, pressing a light kiss against the front of your wrist where the scars from your past fed into the present, before interlacing his fingers with yours.

“Logan?” your voice was barely audible, timid in a way that had him fighting the urge to pull over, gather you in his arms and hold you until all of this blew over and you could be safe again.

“Mmm?” was all he could say instead, always ready to listen.

“You–” you paused, finding the words heavy in your throat and stuck on your tongue. You hated feeling like this. Feeling the need to be reassured. Hated coming across as insecure or needy, but just this once, you needed to know. “You’re not gonna leave, right?”

Wordlessly, Logan flattened your hand over the centre of his chest, and you felt his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “Not whilst this is still beating.”

It was the first emotion you’d felt since waking up, and you couldn’t stop a silent tear slide down your cheek. His devotion to you incarnate, beating beneath your palm. You knew the weight of his words, and felt their meaning in your soul. He wasn’t going to leave you. Not now. Not ever. And it was one of your fears put to rest, knowing that he wasn’t one for lying.

“Okay.” You responded quietly, your free arm shifting to hug your knees whilst he returned your other, not letting go of your hand. And you found you didn’t want him to. You were afraid earlier that any kind of touch would send you into a spiral, but now he held your hand in yours, you never wanted him to let go.

“Sleep, firefly. I’ll wake you when we get there.” He hushed, and you nodded, curling up against the humming door, letting the soft vibrations of the truck lull you to sleep.

True to his word, a slight shake to your shoulder had you jolting awake, eyes flying open, heart racing as you tried your best to gauge your surroundings as quickly as you could.

“‘S okay,” Logan soothed, and your breathing calmed slightly, whatever dreams had been haunting your unconscious mind faded into nothing with each swipe of his thumb against your shoulder. “We’re here.”

Your eyes scanned the woods beyond the windscreen as he opened his door, the hinges squeaking with age. It was dark out, meaning you’d been on the road for at least eight hours and four of those you’d been asleep for. There was the distinct smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the upholstery of the seats, and you looked down at the source, a burnt-out cigar lay discarded in the central unit, brown paper blackened at the roach.

The door to your right opened and Logan offered you his hand. It wasn’t that you needed help, and you really fucking hoped he knew that, but you took it simply as an excuse to touch him as you stepped out of the truck, the smell of pine needles hitting you almost instantly as your feet touched soft earth. Wherever he’d taken you, this was certainly off-grid. It was so peaceful here. To the point where you’d surpassed tranquillity and landed right back into unease. It was too peaceful here.

“Where are we?” You asked as Logan retrieved both rucksacks from the back seat, mindful not to slam the door shut before locking up the truck. Swinging both backs across each of his shoulders, he took your hand again, leading you around the hood of the truck and you finally saw your new halls of residence.

A sizeable pinewood log cabin. Dark on the inside, but it looked homely enough. A small pair of antlers adorned the front door, piles of firewood stacked neatly beneath little shelters around to the left. You could imagine this as a forest getaway for some rich family who owned several yachts and a sports car. But when Logan produced a thick iron key from his pocket, you blinked. “Is this yours?”

It was the most emotion he’d heard from you since he’d started driving eight hours ago, your words delicately laced with surprise. He smiled back over his shoulder. “Belonged to an old friend, left it to me when he passed.” He wasn’t ready to launch into that whole story, not yet. You had enough to deal with without him banging on about his own past. Sliding the key into the lock, he turned it anti-clockwise until the iron gave way, giving the door a gentle shove as it swung open. It definitely needed doing up, but he was happy to do that himself. “Home sweet home,” he murmured, vaguely hoping all the electrics still worked as he flicked the light switch.

The cabin was illuminated in a soft orange glow, the faux candles on the walls giving the same ambience as torch flame. The interior was cosier than you could possibly have imagined. A comfy-looking, though slightly faded brown sofa faced a broad hearth with yet another stack of kindling piled next to it, a red and green tartan print blanket draped over the back of the sofa. Logan shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on one of the multiple cast iron coat pegs lining the wall by the door, setting the rucksacks down next to the dark wood dining table. There were no arches or doorways that you could see, an open floor plan joining the small, rural kitchen area to the lounge.

A set of stairs led up to another floor behind the hearth, various antlers and horns of different woodland animals hung on almost every available wall, as well as a TV, which you weren’t expecting. Every cupboard looked identical, even the fridge, learning which one it was due to Logan immediately grabbing out two bottles of larger for you both.

You smiled as you inhaled, and recognised the distinctive amalgamation of smells. It was him. Pure, unfiltered Logan.

Crossing to one of the windows, you ran your fingers over the corrugated radiator, noticing the various blankets and pillows set up on the windowsill looking out into the dark green woodland beyond, brown woollen tassels hanging a little too close to the heater, to the point where you tucked them in. Staring out into the forest, you held your arm tightly until Logan’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, tucking you into his side and handing you the second bottle of golden liquid.

“What’ya think?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and you moved your hand from your arm to hold his wrist against your shoulder.

“It’s very you.” You offered as much mischief as you could muster, which wasn’t much considering your circumstances, and unfortunately resulted in a confused raise of his brow.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

You huffed an exhausted chuckle, pressing your head into the space between his shoulder and chest. “Yeah. It’s a good thing.” You breathed, before raising the bottle to your lips and taking a long sip of the icy cold beverage. He held you in silence, offering to be whatever you needed him to be, and for right now, you just needed him close to you. You didn’t know what had happened in the past, and you didn’t know what was going to happen. You couldn’t hide forever, and there would come a day where you would have to face the contents of that folder. But it was enough for now just knowing you weren’t alone, and when that time came, you wouldn’t be alone.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall or you can use the ensuite upstairs if you wanna freshen up. I can get started on makin’ dinner, should have some preservatives lyin’ around somewhere.” He looked towards the cupboards and you wished you had the energy or emotional bank to tease him properly about his cooking. But you didn’t need to, he looked back at your face of slight mock disbelief, a small, almost bashful smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I’ve picked up a few things over the last couple months.”

He didn’t resist as you weakly shoved at him, his smile widening as you showed small signs of your old self before your eyes took on that faraway look again and you retreated back into your protective shell. He knew it was a defence mechanism, he’d seen it in the kids now and then. When things got overwhelming or something went wrong, they’d shut themselves away behind emotional walls, appearing almost hollow before he’d sit them down and pry their emotions out one thread at a time. It nearly always resulted in them sobbing their eyes out, but it was a tried and true method.

One he was planning on using on you when he felt the time was right. You couldn’t shut yourself away forever. He wouldn’t let you, for one. There was no future where your past wins over and you remain this way. Even if it resulted in you drowning the cabin in shadow as you lost control, he didn’t care. In this state, any emotion is a good emotion.

Setting down your bottle, you clung to his wrist for as long as you could before the increasing distance forced you to let go to retrieve your rucksack. You’d packed essentials, being under a strict time limit. A few spare pairs of clothes, toothbrush and toothpaste, cleanser, moisturiser, a Swiss army knife and as much underwear as you could stuff in the little space that remained at the top. You swing the bag over your shoulder, heading to the stairs before Logan caught your forearm.

“Shout if you need anything. I’ll be right here, ‘kay?” He looked so sincere, so serious it almost broke you. The first time he’d said those words to you, you’d laughed them off, teasing him for being overprotective. You couldn’t find the energy to do the same now, thinking back to how things had changed so much in the last day or so. Well, since you returned, really. You simply nodded in response, attempting to offer him a smile that could ease his worries but clearly failing miserably as his brows pinched in concern.

You had nothing left to give him, your emotional reservoir completely drained. So you simply turned away to head up the stairs, guilt gnawing at your chest. You didn’t want him to worry about you. Fuck, you hated it when he worried about you. Even about mundane things, you’d wave off his concerns. But you knew this was an issue that couldn’t be solved by telling him to ‘take his concerns elsewhere’ because where else would he go? You’d pried him away from his home, from his friends and teammates because he had some twisted obligation towards you. It was selfish of you to ask if he was going to leave. You’d all but trapped him into staying by asking that very question. He was too good of a man to say no, he was going to dump you off and dip.

You hated it. Hated how much he was giving up for you. You didn’t deserve any of this, and he certainly deserved so much more. A wall erupted in your mind, locking your guilt away with everything else you were supposed to be feeling at the moment, your heart once again emptying of the hurt it had felt, leaving you with blissful numbness.

Cresting the top of the stairs, you were faced with one of the homeliest scenes in the house. A large four-poster bed piled high with various pillows, cushions and blankets stood against the back wall, yet another window seat snuggled against the window straight ahead of you, overlooking the opposite side of the forest. Two hunting rifles, one barrel crossed over the other, hung triumphantly above the headboard, yet another set of antlers positioned between the two guns, larger than the other sets you’d seen yet. You couldn’t imagine the choice of decor was Logan’s idea, at least you vaguely hoped it wasn’t, but it made you wonder who this place originally belonged to.

Your shoulder went limp as you carelessly dropped your bag to the floor at the foot of the bed, turning to your left to see the door to the bathroom slightly ajar. Crossing over the thick rug on the floor, you pulled the door open, eyes widening in slight surprise. It was a lot bigger than you’d expected for an ensuite. A large bathtub took up most of the space, the shower standing right next to it. You were glad they weren’t one and the same, for some reason you had a vendetta against bathtubs that doubled up as a shower. Maybe the reason lay in that fucking folder, who knows?

Stripping yourself of your sweaty clothes, you cracked the window open, allowing fresh air to circulate around the room before fiddling with the taps and switches of the electric shower. You wondered how often Logan visited, considering how well kept the place was, and how well everything still worked. Steam rolled from the shower into the rest of the bathroom as you stepped beneath the stream, your skin tingling with the heat. It was a pleasant sensation, to feel something other than all-consuming guilt, sinking despondency or nothing at all. You cranked up the dial on the temperature, hissing slightly as the water increased from warm to scalding, staining your skin red raw.

The feeling was addictive, turning ever so often to get that kick of pain on whichever side of your body wasn’t beneath the volcanic stream, inhaling as the pain drowned every other sensation in your chest and head. There was no room for anything else other than the burning against your flesh. You only wished you could turn the dial further, but it seemed you’d reached the maximum.

It could have been anywhere between a few minutes and twenty years before Logan came up to check on you, you’d lost complete track of time. There was a soft knock at the door, a vague call of your name you barely heard and partially ignored in favour of getting lost in the heat. At what point you dropped to the floor, knees hugged against your chest, you couldn’t recall, eyes too focused on the pattern of the droplets against the tiled floor to look up as he entered.

“Christ it’s like a sauna in here, can’t fuckin’ see anyth–” He stopped instantly as he saw you huddled on the floor in the same position you’d spent a good portion of the journey in. But that wasn’t what scared him. It was the angry red of your skin that had alarm bells ringing loudly in his head. He rolled up the sleeve of his flannel shirt, preparing to plunge his hand through the cascading fall to switch the power off. But the moment his skin came in contact with the water, he hissed loudly. “Fuck! ‘S fuckin’ scalding sweetheart.” You didn’t move. Didn’t even look as if you’d noticed him. Panic surged in his veins, gritting his teeth tightly as he endured the searing burn of the lava stream to twist the handle for power, taking a breath as the waterfall eased from a deluge to mere droplets.

Only then did you look up, as if snapped from a daze. He crouched before you as you blinked at him, remembering where you were and what you were doing. However, what you should say in this moment never came to you, only able to stare straight ahead at him, his pinched brows and wide-eyed concern only fuelling the self-loathing in your gut. You hated the way he touched you so gently as if you deserved to be touched like that. You despised the way he draped a large, fluffy towel around your shoulders as if you’d done anything to warrant such comforts.

And you couldn’t stand the way he hooked his arms beneath your knees and carried you from the bathroom, all without a single word. And you loathed how your body reacted, leaning into his touches like you had any right to comfort. You’d all but dragged him away from the life he’d built for himself. Dragged him away from people like Marie and Bobby. Fuck, you couldn’t even think about them right now. You’d stolen one of Marie’s best friends from her, how could you ever go back there now?

Would you ever go back there now? You hadn’t even thought about it. Most likely not. Why would they let you? You’d killed a team member, been sent away for two years, lost control of your mutation, tried to kill not only another team member but the man you love, and have been lying to everyone you’d ever met because the life you thought you’d lived never fucking existed and it turns out you were over eighty fucking years old. Scott was right.

He should have killed you years ago.

“Lemme grab some aloe gel…” you’d been so lost in your head you hadn’t even noticed Logan removing the towel from your shoulders to inspect the raging raw burns on your back and arms. You barked a harsh, joyless laugh.

“Why? What does it matter?” you asked savagely, and Logan turned from where he stood near the bathroom doorway, slowly looking at you in suspicious bewilderment. “I mean, I can just heal, so who cares? I’ll just disappear into shadow and come back good as new, so don’t bother.” You shrugged, feeling burning hatred bubble in your gut. “That is, if I come back out at all, of course. Because that threat still hangs over my head every fucking day.” The shadows writhed with your growing fury, only furthering your tirade of self-deprecation. “And hey, would ya look at that, my mutation only fucking works when I’m insanely pissed off. And I lose control completely when I’m terrified, my only fucking instinct being to survive. How fucked up is that?” You continued, laughing bitterly as you stood from the bed. “Probably some result of whatever the hell is recorded in that file. Eighty years, by the way. Eighty fucking years. Here I was, the fucking asshole who thought she was thirty-two. Imagine that?” Your fingers found your scalp, scratching desperately at the roots of your hair as if to claw your way into your own mind and pry out your memories. “And you just seem to be fucking fine with everything!”

Logan didn’t so much as flinch as you directed your inferno of rage toward him. Sure, his heart shattered with your every word, but not because they hurt him.

“I’ve lied to you. For the past couple of months, I’ve straight-up been lying to your face. About everything! I’ve dragged you away from your friends, from your family, all because I manipulated you into thinking you owed me fucking anything. All those bullshit sob stories are lies. None of them even happened. And ya know what? I can’t even say if that’s true or not because I don’t fucking know.” You gestured to your surroundings wildly, laughing manically as the shadows whipped out from the walls like vines. You always knew the day would come when you completely lost your mind.

“I killed the woman I loved because I couldn’t control myself. I tried my fucking damnest to kill you too, because it seems I just fucking bleed toxicity. And I don’t even know how twisted that makes you for still being here. For still caring. It’s fucking pathetic. I tried to fucking kill you, and all I can see is your ridiculous, unwavering sense of devotion. Do you know how fucked up that makes you? How little must your self-worth be that you’re still here? That is if this isn’t just another simulation created to test my mental durability because who fucking knows at this point? I sure as shit don’t. And ya know what’s worse? No matter what happens, I still have to read that fucking folder. Because we sure as hell can’t hide out here forever, and the only way I can even begin to understand anything is the one thing I can’t bring myself to do.

“So instead, instead I’ll just make everyone suffer along with me. Strength in numbers, right? I’ll just force you to isolate yourself away instead of getting the fuck on with it and reading that fucking file. Nah, I’d rather torture the people I care about, because that’s just what happens. That’s what always fucking happens. And I can’t seem to stop,” your hands returned to your hair as you slowed down, squeezing the sides of your head as if to silence your mind. “It never seems to stop. It’s all just so fucking loud. I just want it to stop… I just want everything to stop…” You sank to the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest, your back pressed against the end of the bed. “I’m so tired, Logan. I’m so fucking tired.” Your voice faded to a whisper as you screwed your eyes shut, your mind still a roaring tornado of anguish and heartbreak. You didn’t want to hurt him. Fuck, that was the last thing you wanted to do, but you did it in a desperate bid to keep him safe. Maybe, if you sank enough knives into his chest, he’d walk away. The shadows receded into their natural places as you withdrew back behind the walls inside your head.

Logan thought he’d seen vulnerability before, both in you and in others. But the way you looked now, naked, trembling on the floor, your head tucked behind your knees, hands clawing at your own hair…

Nothing could have prepared him for that.

He said nothing, silently crossing the floor to kneel next to you. Softly, he removed your nails from your hair, setting your arms limp by your side as he cupped either side of your jaw, raising your head to look at him. Tears flowed freely from your eyes as you desperately searched his face. What for, he didn’t know, but he let you look. He let you hunt in the corners of his brows, digging around the slope of his nose, finally returning to his eyes. What you found, or rather didn’t find, pulled a sob from your chest, and he tucked your face beneath his chin. Wrapping his arms around your naked body, he just held you as stuttered sob after stuttered sob wracked your body.

Grief was a funny old thing. Always lurking around the corner, rearing its bittersweet head when you least expected it. You cried. You cried for Jade. You cried for Rowan. You cried for the other members of NLMO. You cried for Kitty, and her guilt for hating you. You cried for Ororo, having been burdened with the knowledge not even you wanted to know about yourself.

You cried for Logan. Holy shit did you cry for Logan. You didn’t want this for him. Only the previous morning was he talking about being a normal couple and doing ‘normal couple things’, and now he was stuck in a relationship with a woman who didn’t even know who she was. Who didn’t know what parts of her were real and what parts were fabricated? Your voice scratched your throat raw, every breath like rusty nails in your lungs as you sobbed harder than you ever remember in your life, both real and fake.

And he held you through all of it, gently whispering sweet nothings against your damp, tangled hair, soothing soft caresses against your bare skin with his calloused hands, fingertips grazing every scar he could reach, from the healed burn on your calf to the serrated needle in your neck. His hatred for the Kreva’s only grew with each newly discovered scar on your body, even as your full-bodied cries quietened to mere hiccups of despair.

Tentatively he drew your head away from his damp neck, using his thumb to wipe away the salty lines carved down one side of your face, and using his little finger for the other. “C’mon firefly, let’s get you changed. Gotta do somethin’ ‘bout these burns too…”

You shook your head with teary incredulity. “I don’t understand… why are you still doing this? Why do you still care? After everything I've just said. After everything I’ve done… why?”

“Because I love you.”

Your mind fell completely silent as you stared up at him in utter, petrified shock. “What…?” you managed to whisper, to his slight knowing smile.

“I love you.”

You shook your head again, though this time you looked horrified. “You’re insane.”

Logan nodded as if he already knew this. Of course, he was insane. But not simply because he loved you. He was insane because if anything happened to you, nothing and nowhere would be safe from him. He would walk through hell itself to get you back, and make as many deals with as many devils as he needed to. What was insane was the lengths he would go through to protect you.

“Who am I, Logan? You read the folder, you’ve seen everything… how can you love what’s in there? Who am I?” You almost pleaded with him, and he caught the sides of your neck in his palms.

“‘M gonna need you to listen real close, okay? That folder doesn’t define you. You are who you are in spite of what’s in that folder. I didn’t read all of it… I– I don’t know if I can. But from the reports I did see, you’re still you. You were almost killed because you stepped between your brother and four bullets to the chest, and I’ll be fuckin’ damned if I said you wouldn’t do that with who you are now. What you endured is fuckin’ harrowing, I’ll be honest. There were very few happy moments from what I saw, and fuck, if you don’t you deserve to be happy, none of the rest of us do.

“I don’t know if I’d read that entire folder if you gave the rest of my life, which I’m thinkin’ is a real long time. But if that’s how long it takes for you to read it, I’ll gladly spend the rest of my days with you. I don’t give a shit where we are. At the school, in this cabin, hell, we could be squatting under a bridge for all I care. I’m tired of being too damn scared of saying I love you. Because I fuckin’ do. And you’re crazy if you think any of this changes a goddamn thing about how I feel.”

It was your turn to be rendered completely speechless. Somehow, in one fell swoop, he’d put the fears that hovered around your head concerning him to rest. The terror that he was going to leave you, the fear that you weren’t good enough, that you didn’t deserve him melted away as you peered into his hazel eyes shining with such conviction you wanted to sob into his arms all over again.

“You love me?” you asked a little diffidently, and Logan rolled his eyes with a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

“It wasn’t obvious? I love you. And before you ask; yes. This is real.” you blew out a breath as he answered your question before you’d even had a chance. How did he know you so well? His hands moved from either side of your neck to your waist, helping you back onto your feet. You continued staring at him in awestruck adoration, still unable to quite believe what he’d said. He loved you. You don’t know why it came as such a shock, he’d shown you almost every day since you danced in the kitchen. Probably before that, in the way, he’d helped redesign your room. In the care he’d taken to learn about your mutation and adapt your new living situation accordingly before he even met you. Before he even believed you existed.

You followed almost blindly as he led you back into the bathroom, opening the cabinet behind the mirror and retrieving what he went to get before you exploded in front of him. Turning you around, he swiped your hair to one side, and you winced slightly at the cooling balm touching your shoulders, his hands gently kneading at the stiff muscles. The aloe took almost instant effect, soothing the angry burns left behind by your shower.

He worked in comfortable silence, snapping the lid back of the bottle and placing it back on the shelf when he was done. His fingertips grazed up and down your slickened arm, before placing both hands back on your shoulders and guiding you back out the bathroom to sit atop the bed.

“I love you, too.”

Logan froze. Though it seemingly came out of nowhere, you’d said it like you’d wanted to say it for a long, long time. In the moment, he didn’t think he’d cared all that much that you hadn’t said it back to him, but hearing you say those words now, those words he’d been yearning to hear since he first set eyes on you and you teased him for something or other filled him with a warm sense of belonging.

You smiled and his heart stopped as your eyes shone along with it. How did he get so damn lucky?

Bending at the waist, he tilted your head up with a finger beneath your chin, his other hand braced against your cheek as he moulded his lips against your own, finding an instant, slow rhythm. And if he hadn’t known you were utterly exhausted, he’d have you there and then, gasping and whimpering on his cock. But he could tell by the way you kissed him back, you were shattered. Not that he was in any rush. From the looks of things, it seemed like the two of you would be hiding away for some time.

Pulling away a fraction, Logan reached for the clothes he’d pulled out for you earlier from his closet before he interrupted your shower. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just a pair of incredibly loose sweatpants and a faded t-shirt of his. He slipped the shirt over your head, biting back a smile as it all but hung off your shoulders, and you shot him a flat look.

“I have my own clothes, ya know?” You pretended you were reluctant, though showed no signs of hesitation when he opened the waistband of the sweatpants for you to step into, pulling the drawstring tight around your waist.

“I know.” Was all he responded, and you snorted a small laugh as he stepped back, almost to admire his work. You were positively drowning in fabric, the short sleeves of the t-shirt reaching your elbows, sweats hanging low off your hips. But it was comfy and smelt like him, so honestly it didn’t matter to you. “C’mon, I made soup.” He outstretched his hand toward you for you to take, which you did with a suspicious raise of your brow.

“You had fresh ingredients for soup?” You asked, following behind him as he led you back down the stairs, the crackling of the lit hearth filling you with a sense of cosy tranquillity you never expected to feel again, not after everything that had happened.

“A’ight so I found a couple cans of soup and heated 'em up, same difference.” As if being parted from you robbed him of breath, Logan brought you back into his arms, feeling his chest loosen when you didn’t resist the way he walked you over to the gas stove.

“I’m going to ignore that,” you instinctively took the wooden spoon from the rack of utensils to the right of the backsplash, stirring the bubbling pot and grimacing slightly as you felt the bottom of the pan. Definitely burnt. Though you couldn’t exactly blame that on him. He’d been a little preoccupied with making sure you didn’t plunge the cabin into suffocating shadow. “A gas stove in a wooden cabin is a bold choice.” You mentioned absently, turning the dial for the gas down and watching as the blue flame lessened beneath the iron pan. Logan set his chin atop your head, arms still circling your waist.

“Not my decision. Previous guy’s choice.” he offered as a means of explanation, and you shrugged in acceptance. Much like you thought with most of the decor in the cabin, whilst there were a few things you’d noticed that you were sure were his, the rest you couldn’t see being his interior design choices. Not that Logan had much interior design, even his room at the mansion was pretty barren.

Reaching above you, Logan pulled open one of the cupboards, keeping one of his arms still wrapped around your middle, and started rifling through the contents. There was a slight clatter of boxes before he pulled one of them out, setting it down on the counter. You eyed it curiously, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you read the italic cursive on the front of the box.

Honey and Chamomile tea. You dropped your head back against his chest, heart almost exploding when he left briefly to retrieve two mugs, one of them you knew like the back of his hand.

When the fuck had he found the time to grab your favourite mug? He stood next to you, gas clicking rhythmically as he went to light a second burner, the huff of ignition breaking you from your stare of wonder and watching as he placed the black kettle atop the flame. It was rudimentary, old school but you kind of liked it. It suited him.

Logan’s heart and eyes softened as he looked down at the top of your head resting against his bicep, not bothering to fight the urge to press a kiss to your hair.

“I love you.” You whispered, and the words struck him like a bolt of lightning, still completely unused to both saying and hearing them. He let the warmth in his chest wash over him, let the encompassing adoration flood his veins and fill his heart. He couldn’t be by your side in the past, couldn’t save you from the horrors you’d endured. But he was going to make damn sure he was there for your future, whether you’d stayed in the cabin or managed to return to the mansion, he’d ensure he was by your side for all of it.

Never again would you face these things alone.

“I love you, too.”

#wolverine x reader #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #logan howlett #x men logan #x men wolverine #x men x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan smut #the wolverine x reader #the wolverine #essa's works

166 notes · View notes

iliketangerines · 6 months ago

Note

HEYYYY!!!! I'm new to your blog and might say I love your work. Anyway, I was wondering if I could make a request for the Lin Kuei Brothers. This one is kind of dark but hear me out.

Okay so what if the Liu Kuei Brothers are obsessive over the reader and so they kidnap her and all that stuff. But then, after years of abuse, she snaps and somehow kills one of them (any one, feel free to pick) and it isn't pretty either, it's completely brutal and disturbing.

I'm sorry if this sounds crazy but I just had this random thought and was like "sure why not?".

all ours pt.2

a/n: my god the jet lag is hitting me. also, i do NOT condone this behavior in real life

pairing: bi han, kuai liang, tomas vrbada x afab!reader

warnings: dead dove do not eat, some violence at the end, yandere behavior

you stare at the child in your arms, face blank as he latches onto your nipple, and you don’t feel anything for your own baby

perhaps in a time long ago you would’ve loved to have your own child, but all you can feel is an empty void of nothing as you stare down at your baby boy

beside you stands Bi Han, looking at his son with his cold eyes, and he mutters underneath his breath how his son will be a great grandmaster

you’re sure that Kuai Liang and Tomas will come by at some point to come and congratulate on yours and Bi Han’s child, but for now, it’s only Bi Han in the room with you and your son

he names the baby by himself, giving you no say in the matter, and a small tear falls down your face as you watch your son’s peaceful face

all your choices and will had been stripped from you, even your choice to name your own baby that you had kept for nine months and then birthed

but you stay silent, afraid of what Bi Han might say if you try to protest against his choice, so you just murmur that the name is beautiful before closing your eyes

you hope that you can fall asleep again soon to escape from this cruel world

when you wake up, your baby isn’t in your arms and a shock of panic rushes through you at the missing weight on your chest

if Bi Han found out you lost the baby, you were sure you would be spared no mercy, but then you spot Kuai Liang in the corner, holding the baby with one arm while his hand traced the sleeping baby’s features

it would be a scene of beautiful domesticity if it weren’t for the fact that Kuai Liang turns back to you, eying you up and down despite the exhaustion in your body

you hadn’t even fully healed and already Kuai Liang wanted his own child, and the assassin walks over to you and hands the baby back over to you, citing that a child needs time with their parent

he pets your hair, kissing your forehead, and says that you look beautiful as a parent

and then Kuai Liang says he can’t wait to be a parent as well, with you birthing him his own child, girl or boy he doesn’t care

you give him a small stiff nod before looking back at your child who opens his eyes blearily and gives a big yawn

it’s almost cute except all you can see in their brown eyes and black hair is Bi Han’s face and how your son will be trained and taught to be like his father

a feeling of anger brews in your stomach at that thought, your son will be raised to be just like his father, cruel and cold and evil

you bring your hand up to your son, and his own small hand lifts up to grab onto your finger, wrapping around it and cooing at you

and then you see it, a tenderness to his gaze and an innocence to the evil of the world, like you were all those months ago

you couldn’t let your son be like his father, you wouldn’t let Bi Han and Kuai Liang and Tomas make him like them

you would get out, even if you were killed, not only for your son but for you, to get closure on what happened in the outside world after your disappearance

for now, you would lay in wait and continue to be their obedient pet until you can get out

the days pass as you heal in your bed and thankfully, Kuai Ling doesn’t try to pull anything, just playing with your son every so often and cooing at him

Bi Han is stuck to your side like glue and making sure you’re confined to the bed to heal faster, and you feel like you’re starting to meld with the bed

Tomas doesn’t hold the baby, rather he just stares at you in wonder as you hold and breastfeed your baby

you spend the days with your son, feeding him, bouncing him, burping him, and anything that required you to stand up, Bi Han would force you to sit back down and would take care of it

as much as you hated it, Bi Han was an attentive father and partner, and Kuai Liang and Tomas were great uncles and partners that bent to almost every single one of your needs

but you didn’t dare to try and take advantage of their obsession with you, not until you watch Kuai Liang and Bi Han squabble over something trivial

Kuai Liang’s weapon hands dangerously low by his side, and you can see frost forming on Bi Han’s hand

you weren’t completely sure as to who Kuai Liang and Bi Han were, but you did know that they weren’t the best at communication and that Bi Han kept his secrets but not his anger

and so, you started to form your plan, listening and watching to the words that Bi Han would relay to Kuai Liang as you sat in the corner of their meetings, holding the baby and rocking him

you had to follow them around the entire time anyway, always needing to be in one of their sights especially after the birth of your son

mostly, you just attended their meeting and watched them train, never cooking or cleaning, and they left you as their partner and breeding whore

you previously hated how you had nothing to do before, but you gained a sudden appreciation for it as you noticed each nook and cranny of the compound

the exits and the connections of the winding pathways suddenly were a lot more interesting to you, and you had time to think about them

you started keeping a close eye on your surroundings as you followed one of the assassins around the compound, and your plan to escape started becoming clear

and you kept a close on Kuai Liang and Bi Han, the slight aggressions between the two of them and the minor disagreements

Tomas didn’t seem to side with either of them in a preferential way, so he was a loose nail waiting to ruin your plans

but you could deal with him later, and for now you focused your efforts on widening the divide between Kuai Liang and Bi Han

it started with some innocent small comments about nothing, trying to trick them all into thinking you had accepted your place as their partner in the Lin Kuei

and then slowly you started to plant seeds in Bi Han and Kuai Liang’s head, about how each of them wanted you all to themselves

in the meantime, you spent a lot of time with your son to try and get him to bond with you the most, and you were hesitant to hand him over to any of the assassins

they chalked it up to parental instincts, and you gladly took advantage of it to make sure your son spent the least amount of time possible with them

and finally, after almost a year of planting ideas in their head, the plan was almost at fruition, Tomas away on a solo mission and tensions high between Kuai Liang and Bi Han after finding out you were pregnant with Kuai Liang’s child

Bi Han had grown obsessive over you, needed to keep you all to himself, and he saw Kuai Liang’s child as a direct threat to his hold over you

and so, you sat at the entrance and made a passing comment to Bi Han about Kuai Liang while rubbing your stomach, and you saw something in his eyes shift

he stalks over to Kuai, ice in his hand sharp as he attacks his own brother, and you grab onto your son and pick him up into your arms as you watch them start to fight

they spittle insults and threats at each other, weapons drawn as they start to try to kill each other, and you take it as your cue to leave when you see blood spill onto the ground

you wind through the small backways where no one patrols, and you pick up the bag stuffed into one of the abandoned closets

finding one of the doorways, tucked behind some shrubbery and foliage, you shove open the door and crawl in with your son, willing him to be silent

it’s a quiet dirty crawl to freedom, the sound of your and your child’s breathing fills the tunnel as you make your way through

but finally, your hands bump into something hard, and you push and prod at it until you feel something give

you push and push and see the light of the outside world as you keep on going, and finally, fresh air floods the tunnel

you dig your way out desperately and start walking as briskly as you can away from the compound right behind you

it towers over you, large and imposing, but you were out and that was all you needed

you start walking, you cannot stop until you reach some sort of civilization, and so you start your trek to freedom

inside of the compound, Bi Han stands with blood dripping down his knife and Kuai Liang howling in pain on the ground

a scar stretches across his face, his eye now gone and spilling blood onto the stone floors

the grandmaster would kill his brother, hands twitching at the thought, and he looks to your spot to show you how he kills for you

and you’re not there anymore

228 notes · View notes

luxurychristmaspudding · 5 months ago

Text

The Immortals | On Call

summary: frankie tells the boys about you.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader. platonic triple frontier boys (minus tom lol)

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. mostly frankie pov. beers and a bbq. description of a panic attack. the boys shipping the bis.

wc: 2.7k

an: one more little thing before we send these guys off into the sunset <3 p.s. - apologies if you saw this last night - i posted it real late and then decided i hated it this morning lmao. thank you for your patience <3

series masterlist | main masterlist

divider from @saradika-graphics

Arrived safely! Margarita secured!

It’s the last text he has from you, accompanied by a photo of said cocktail held up next to your face as you grin at the camera, eyes lit warmly by the sun. He’s smiling at it, tapping out a fat-thumbed, slow response with the tongs in his other hand, distracted from the grill. So focused on you, he almost doesn’t notice Santi saunter up beside him. Almost, but by then it’s too late anyway.

He looks up at Will’s I swear to god, Fish, if you burn those sausages one more time- just as his phone is snatched from his hand, Pope lurching away as he tries to grab it back.

‘Oh!’ the shorter man yells, ‘I’ve got it! I know why he’s so dis-’ before Frankie yanks the device away from him.

‘Knock it off,’ he grumbles, a little gruffer than he means it to be, but Pope only smiles wider, eyes full of mischief. Frankie stuffs the phone back in his pocket, and miles and miles away, you watch the tiny bubbles of a reply disappear before turning back to your friends.

‘Who is she?’ Santi goads, stepping closer to nudge him with his elbow. ‘Hot date?’

Frankie shakes his head, the tips of his ears warming.

‘Who’s who?’ Will asks from his chair, eyebrow raised as he takes a pull from his beer.

‘No- nothing.’ Frankie says, but his cheeks are aflame as he squints into the smoke of the barbeque. Santi notices, because of course he fucking does, pinching Frankie’s cheek as he coos -

‘Aw, come on, hermano. Who’s the lucky lady?’

Frankie lands a sharp elbow to his ribs, muttering a Fuck off, Pope, and Santi pulls away with a croak.

‘What are we talking about? Who’s Frankie seeing?’ Will pipes up again.

‘Pretty lady’s sent Frankie a selfie,’ Santi grunts, massaging his side. ‘I wanna know who it is.’

Frankie grits his teeth. They know about you - of course they do. They knew about you from the moment you’d moved in. The cool new neighbour, the teacher, the new best friend, the babysitter. And they’d wanted to meet you. Smiling over the stories Frankie would tell them, replying to the pictures he’d send them of cookies, hama beads, Lego cities.

‘We’re just friends,’ he says.

The air is still for a moment before Will snorts.

‘Bullshit.’

Frankie flips him off as Pope looses a gleeful chuckle, returning to his seat and his beer.

‘We’ll wait,’ he says, ‘Plenty of time.’

Benny catches the end of it as he emerges from the back door, hopping down the porch steps with a fresh crate of beers in his hands.

‘Time for what?’ He asks, dropping the box on the grass and cracking one open before bringing it to Frankie.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he groans, taking it from the younger man with a grumbled thank you as he turns back to the grill.

Will and Santi are laughing, watching each other with sparkling eyes over the fire pit.

‘Time for what?’ Benny asks again, looking between the men.

‘Frankie’s got a lady friend. We’re trying to find out who it is.’

Benny swings back around to look at him, eyebrows high on his forehead as a slow smile spreads across his face.

‘Oh?’ He grins, ‘Come on, Fish. We’re all friends here.’

Frankie shakes his head again, eyes fixed on the sausages.

‘She’s not - it’s not - it’s not like that.’

‘So you’re fucking?’

Frankie whirls round to Santi.

‘Pope.’ He hisses, brandishing the tongs at him. Santi holds up his hands.

‘Then what?’

Frankie sighs, lowering the flame on the grill.

‘That’s the neighbour,’ he says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of your house. ‘It’s her.’

They’re quiet. Too quiet.

‘That’s your neighbour?’ Pope says, dumbfounded.

‘Yes.’

‘But she’s -’

‘I know.’

Will shoots Santi a confused look.

‘Way too good looking for our Fish, here.’

Benny points a finger at him, settling down in his seat the same time as Frankie.

‘I’m taking that personally.’

‘Good.’ Will says. ‘Now, show us a proper picture, asshole.’

Frankie runs a hand over his face, cheeks burning. There’s a funny feeling in his gut - guilt, nerves, excitement. He looks them all over before Santi slaps his knee.

‘Come on, cabròn. We’ve heard so much about her.’

So he shows them. Pictures of you and Lucia, you and him. Ones he took without you realising, moments where he just couldn’t help himself. And his favourite - you on his porch, beaming and squinting at the sunset. Warm and tired and beautiful after the beach, a single strawberry lace dangling from your fingers.

It makes Will chuckle, Benny smile. Santi lets out a low whistle.

‘So there she is.’ Will says, and Frankie can only grin back. His eyes are sparkling, cheeks tinged with pink. The blonde man cocks his head at him. ‘You like her.’

Frankie shrugs.

‘You really like her.’

It’s quiet again for a moment, only the crackle of firewood to be heard.

‘So. Are you fucking?’

The question earns Pope a sharp smack up the back of the head from Benny, Will shooting a Santiago across the flames. But all three of their faces turn back to Frankie.

He looks up to the heavens.

‘No,’ he says. ‘She had that breakup last year. And I don’t even think she’s into me like that.’

Benny laughs into his beer, taking a pull before speaking.

‘No offence,’ he says, ‘But you wouldn’t know someone liked you if it hit you across the face.’

Will snorts, jerking his head in his brother's direction.

‘He should know.’

Frankie groans, leaning back in his chair, scrubbing at his cheeks.

‘She drew the picture on your fridge.’ Benny says. It’s a statement, not a question. Frankie nods. ‘I think she likes you.’

‘You could tell from a picture?’ Will snarks, and Benny rolls his eyes.

‘She drew ‘em all close together. So she either likes you or just - I dunno - likes you. Actually, maybe I have no idea.’

Pope chuckles.

‘Miller, you are a true wordsmith.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Fuck off, Casanova.’

Still laughing, Santi knocks his beer against Frankie’s. He meets his eye.

‘Make sure she can come next time,’ Pope says, and Frankie pulls a face. ‘I’m serious. We’ve been waiting ages to meet her. She sounds cool. She sounds really fun -’

‘And we’ll help you work out whether she likes you or not.’ Will finishes. Frankie looks down at his feet, his shoes in the grass. He fiddles with the label on his bottle, thinks of what it would be like to have you here. Have you laughing at the jokes, swapping stories with the boys. Have Santi teaching you how to dance, have you sharing a whisky with Will, fucking around on the grill with Benny. And he’s sure they’d love you. So sure, in his heart, that it makes his stomach twist. His worlds blending together, the people he loves most in one place. You’d fit, as snuggly here, as you have next door.

‘I’ll ask her,’ he says, ‘When you come over next month. School will be out by then.’

When he looks up, Benny is smiling at him.

‘I’m looking forward to meeting her.’ He says.

He smiles back, all shy and excited, before Will clears his throat and nods in the direction of the barbeque.

‘Sausages better not be burning again, lover boy.’

The sausages are well-done, but edible. Frankie takes his time bringing them to the table, making sure to finally send you that text back.

You deserve it. Have fun, stay safe.

Your little face above it, grinning at him. The sight of it makes his heart swell - his heart hopeful. He scrolls back, above his safe travels text, to the last one you sent, also with a picture. Lucia’s stuffed whale - plush, pale blue, tucked up in the guest bed upstairs.

She’s given me a little friend in case I get lonely. Think I should take the hint?

He’d laugh-reacted to it at the time, in the midst of completing his paperwork for the evening before dashing back home. But now he wonders if there was more to it, a question he should have been brave enough to answer.

He can barely remember the blur and flash of the streetlights as he’d carved his way through the streets, the quiet of easing his way inside the house. You’d left the hallway lamp on so he wouldn’t trip over the array of shoes by the door, and he’d added his boots to them, right next to your trainers.

The door had been locked, all lights off within seconds, before he’d crept up the stairs. The house silent and still around him, warmth right in the belly of his home. He’d checked on Lucia first. Cocooned in her duvet, only her face visible. Soft cheeks plump against her toy dog, her fingers curled around its scruffy neck as she breathed easily and deeply. Her book of bedtime stories on the dresser, dog-eared at the place where you’d finished reading to her. Her nightlight on, she’d smelled of lavender when he’d crouched to kiss her forehead, breathing in her curls.

He’d stopped at the guest room next. Opened the door a crack to make sure you were okay, only hoping in the smallest way that you were still awake. Instead, he’d been greeted with the slope of your shoulders, covered by the t-shirt he’d insisted you borrow, the tangle of your hair. The way your leg was crooked at an angle, your hand beside your face on the pillow. Cheek smushed against the cotton as he watched your breathing, the sweet lax of your face as you slept.

Something warmed in his stomach when he saw that you were, indeed, cuddling the whale Lucia had given you. It pulled at the strings of his memory, something you’d told him about sleeping with a stuffed animal into your late teens. He’d smiled. And then he went to bed.

He doesn’t remember what the dream was about.

Could only see bursts of fire, darkness - could only hear shots and screams. Could only feel a deep, spiralling panic; a void that waits deep inside him, that creeps and bleeds sometimes into the night.

And then he was awake.

Shivering, covered in sweat, his breathing heavy and ragged. Heart beating so fast he clawed desperately at his chest, trying to squeeze it, trying to silence it.

And you were there.

Sat in front of him in his t-shirt, face taught with worry, hands out like you were approaching an animal.

Frankie, it’s me. It’s me, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re at home, you’re safe. You were dreaming. You were dreaming.

It was like he couldn’t see you at first. Eyes blank and wild, body heaving, pulling against the sheets wrapped around his legs. You’d stood to pull them off, to free him, still speaking in that soft, gentle tone. It’s me, you’re safe.

You’d pulled his scrabbling hands from his chest and he’d let you, let you hold one tight as the other dropped away, as you’d placed your other palm to his heart. And fuck, it was going so fast. So fast you wanted to cry with worry, with the need to take this blind panic from him. You’d kept it there, firm, looking into his eyes, still speaking, waiting for him to come back. Trusting that he would.

And then there he was. Still sweaty, still gasping, but there was clarity. Recognition. His fingers slipped against yours before gripping them, clinging to them like you were pulling him out of it, out of some dark, faraway place.

I’ve got you. It’s me, you’re okay.

He’d nodded. Mouth trying to form his reply - okay, okay - Bug? - like he was pleading. You’d moved closer, hand sliding from his chest to his shoulder, and it was like his whole body surrendered. Shuddering as you held him close, as he cried with relief, with shame.

Everything he hid from Vanessa, everything he tried to hide from Benny, spilling and unspooling before you, and yet you didn’t flinch. Didn’t even bat an eye.

You’d sat up with him most of the night. Talking it through. The blood, the bullets, the guilt. The drugs. What happened in Colombia, everything he hadn’t told you, told anyone. You held him through the shakes, box breathing together until his heart rate slowed.

You’d stayed. Quiet and warm, solid against him, an arm wrapped around his waist.

He could never usually sleep after a nightmare. But he did with the soft sweep of your fingers on his forehead.

When he woke, you were gone. A sorrowful feeling in his chest, one which tugged at his lips. Fixed as soon as you knocked on his door with tea, when you sat next to him and ran your fingers through his curls.

He pulled you down next to him, holding you tight to his body, staring up at the ceiling.

‘I’m sorry.’ He’d said.

‘Don’t ever be sorry, Frankie.’ You’d breathed into his chest.

He didn’t need to know how you cried in the guest room after you’d left him. Didn’t need to know how much it hurt watching him hurt, doesn’t need to know about the guilt, the gratitude you feel every time he picks you up and pieces you together. Doesn’t need to know how you’ve worried you won’t ever be able to do the same for him.

He doesn’t know how you laid beside him in agony for hours. Scared to leave, scared to stay. How you’d longed to lay there with him, but feared it would be too much to wake up beside him. Wondered whether you were weird for thinking it would be too much, knowing you’d think nothing of it if he were someone else.

And you don’t know how he pulled the pillow you rested on closer, inhaled the scent. How he dreamed of kissing you awake.

The logs crackle in the fire pit, the only light in the garden bar the string lights looped through the trees back to the porch.

It’s been quiet for a while, though he can still hear Pope and Will in the kitchen, chattering about some baseball game. Benny clears his throat from the chair beside him.

‘I’m happy for you.’

It shouldn't do, but it surprises him. In the years that have passed since the heartbreak between them, Frankie has only ever wanted good things for the man he loved.

He should have known Benny would feel the same.

He shakes his head.

‘Ben, we don’t even know if -’

Benny holds up a hand.

‘Regardless,’ he says, ‘I’m happy for you, Fish. I’m so - glad you have her next door. And I really hope it turns into something.’

Frankie swallows, a knot pulling tight in his throat.

‘I’ve got a good feeling about it.’

He chuckles.

‘Thank you.’

Benny smiles, the firelight glinting in his eyes. Still handsome, just not the person meant for him.

‘How does she make you feel?’

Frankie shoots him a look, and he shrugs.

‘I have a theory. Humour me.’

Fish rolls his eyes, but the answer is easy. He says it into the flames.

‘Safe. Warm. Good.’

Important. Loved. Understood.

He lets the words hang there for a moment, wishing you were here. Wishing for you to come through the front door right now and never leave.

When he turns his head, Benny is looking at him with the gentlest smile he’s ever seen. It makes his throat burn, his eyes water.

‘Do I get to know the theory?’

Benny shakes his head, picking at his bottle label, that small smile still there. He takes a deep breath.

‘I don’t know how she feels about you. Not yet. But, Frankie - I’m glad you found each other.’

It lands right in his heart, the goodness that it’s delivered with. And he thinks Benny’s right.

Obviously right - you mean so much more than he could ever have imagined. But you found each other. Led, perhaps, by things he hasn’t always believed in. Fate, stars, ghosts. Everything that came before that didn’t fit quite right - Vanessa, Benny, Annie. Parts of wholes who loved parts of wholes.

But he knows, knew from that moment on his porch after the beach - that huge, swooping feeling - that he loves you, wholly.

That he understands, now, just how much good two people can do for each other.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco morales #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #fic: on call

195 notes · View notes

replenaryindulgence · 3 months ago

Text

Before the Light

Azriel x Calida (ka-lee-duh)/Reader

Summary: After getting lost in the woods on a camping trip and finding herself in an unfamiliar land, 22-year-old Cal must decide what she's willing to do to get back to her life if she still wants it.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Panic, creepy guy in the woods

a/n: I know there’s a lot of backstory, I promise it’s worth getting through! I really wanted to set the stage and for you to get to know our MC.

I didn't intend for this to be so long, but d*mn my little hamster brain kept running on that wheel!!! The MC's name might seem a little strange, it's of Irish origin & I thought it was pretty and unique. Also, she's a redhead because so am I and me plus Azriel equals two (iykyk). Plz let me know what you think! Thinking about throwing in a slight love triangle moment with Morrigan eventually because how dramatic would that be & because our reader might be a little bi aren't we all? Strap in!!!

I'll try to update this as soon as I can! It might be a week or so. (P.S. my asks are always open! Thanks for bearing with me while I relearn how to use tumblr lol)

Chapter 1

“I don’t think we’re doing this right. No, definitely not, this piece is supposed to bend across that one.”

“You suck at this An,” Jack threw back.

“I suck at this? You didn’t get it right either asshole,” Annie quipped.

You shook your head, amused by the twins struggling to put together the first tent. The ground beneath the large pines was littered with dried needles, perfect for kindling. Circling around, you collected them into your jacket pocket.

“You hearing this, Cal?” Jack called out to you.

Turning to face your friends, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You guys are ridiculous,” You threw back, reaching for a small pine cone at your feet and rolling it in your palm.

You walked back and tossed your growing pile of fire-starter near the center of the clearing. It was still a few hours from dusk, but the hike had been long and you were eager to set up and be done with it. Jack and Annie were tasked with the tents while Brooke gathered rocks for the fire pit and scouted the area, something about checking for bears. A ridiculous idea, you had thought, though if you trusted anyone here with your life it was probably Brooke. Your guess was she wanted to get away from the bickering for a while.

The sweat from the hike still clung to your skin, sitting sticky and uncomfortable beneath your jacket. It’s much cooler now than it had been on the trip in. You touched the back of your hand to your nose to warm it. The sun’s rays peeked through the ever-rising pines, and you welcomed the sparse heat. Closing your eyes, you tilted your head back and let the afternoon look at you. Your feet shuffled slightly until light touched your face, and vibrant red filled your vision from behind closed lids. This moment reminded you of being a kid, observing and learning about the world around you. You tried to remember the last time you felt peace like you did now. It seemed as though no matter how hard you tried to clutch it, life slipped quickly through your fingers like sand. The years passed and suddenly, nothing was the same. But, this moment felt still; the sun was warm, and the lake welcomed you back with familiar hands.

”You’ve been a real help,” Jack whispered, startling you. His arm brushed yours, you smiled at the sky.

“It’s nice that we’re staying out here. I love the cabin, but I think we could all use the seclusion,” you responded, meeting his eyes. He nodded back, folding his arms. Brown hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat.

“Seclusion, huh?” He teased.

“Seclusion, isolation, freedom from the expectations and burdens of society,” you replied dramatically.

“Okay, Thoreau, can we get some help sorting through the bags?” He questioned.

Before you could respond, you saw movement beyond the trees. Brooke approached and Jack walked over to help her with the arm full of small rocks she carried.

“No sign of bears,” she stated shortly. “Only one tent? I’ve been gone for twenty minutes.”

Brooke wasn’t angry, she just had a way about her. A way that was quick to say what was on her mind, and without much thought to how it would be taken. You learn to let it roll off of you when you’ve known someone for years. She’d been your and Annie’s suitemate freshman year. As a sensitive person, you found her bluntness unpleasant, but Annie liked her, and eventually, you came around.

You’ve known Jack and Annie longer than you can remember. Your parents were once very close; you’d spend weeks out of the year at their cabin just east of the lake. When your parents divorced it got ugly and uncomfortable, like a festering wound, until neither of them came back to the cabin. You were grateful for that. The cabin, the lake, it remained a place untouched by the crumbling debris of your parents’ failed marriage. Jack’s mom had pulled you aside and assured you that you’d always have a place with them. You knew she meant it. Mrs. Henley, Ruth, was a soft-spoken woman, but always sincere.

The cabin was almost two hours from the water by car, if cabin was the right word for it. You never talked about how much money the Henleys had, and they didn’t seem to care what your family had in comparison. The twins’ Dad, Eric, ran a few publishing companies in Washington, one in Oregon. After graduation, Mr. Henley lined up an internship for you as an editorial assistant, and asked you to persuade Jack to stay in Washington and work for him. A fruitless task, you were sure. Jack was over living out west, he wanted to travel the states, maybe move abroad for a while. No entry level job at his Dad’s company would sway a 22 year old from the intrigue of adventure.

A month ago, Annie suggested we spend these last few weeks before the fall, fully together. Camping was never your favorite, but you couldn’t say no to Annie. Not when you knew she was right. After graduation, you’d spent the summer mostly together, in your apartments in Seattle, at the Henley’s house in the city, or at the cabin. It felt right, it felt how it always did. But now, the discomfort of change was more tangible, less abstracted by time. Jack was talking of moving east with a friend you’ve known since high school and Brooke was heading to Alaska for grad school. Lucky for you, Annie didn’t seem in a rush to solidify plans, besides staying in the city. Who could blame her, with parents like that?

You joined Annie in the one set-up tent, helping her spread a blanket over one of the thin camping mattresses. You worked silently, unpacking a small pillow, another blanket, and hooking a portable light onto where the poles crossed inside the tent.

“You don’t need my permission, you know,” Annie said, breaking the silence.

You furrowed your brows. “Permission? For what?” You continued looking through the bags, setting one aside and adjusting the blanket beneath you.

"With Jack," She said, smiling at your confused look as she grabbed a bag of peanut M&M’s from her bag. She tilted her head back, letting a few fall into her mouth.

You didn’t know what to say. “It’s not like that,” you assured.

”It’s always like that,” she smiled at you, offering the sweets in her hand.

You took them, rolling your eyes. Annie assumed everyone was in love. You were definitely a romantic, but you also knew what disinterest looked like. You and Jack had shared a few lingering touches and almost-moments on drunken nights, but it didn’t sway you to gamble your friendship on the possibility that he was interested in anything serious. You were content wondering what could have been. You were typically more fond of fiction, anyway.

“Annie, come help me finish setting this up,” Jack called. She smiled at you once more before disappearing from the tent. You laid back, thankful for the swift death of the conversation.

…

The second tent was up much quicker than the first. You had organized them; Annie and Jack’s bags in one, Brooke’s and yours in the other. A small pile of sticks and pine needles glowed atop a circle of rock in the center of the camp. Jack and Brooke had found a small log and somehow managed to carry it over. You sat on it with Jack, rubbing your neck, the ghostly weight of your bag on your shoulders. You tried to pack light, but you brought a few books along; a mystery about a kidnapping that took place at a summer camp, some fairy book Brooke had suggested, and, possibly, one too many sweaters, which added some weight.

The sun was setting now, teasing the horizon with a gentle touch, and although it meant the temperature would plummet, you were eager for sleep. The heels of your feet ached, your calves felt stiff, and you were sure you needed to drink more water.

Brooke poked at the fire while Annie was engrossed in her phone, probably looking at pictures she'd taken on the hike in. You and Jack shared dried mango slices while you searched the shared playlist Brooke made for the trip. All Things End by Hozier began playing, and you smiled absentmindedly at the memory of hearing it live.

"Everyone is so quiet," Annie said, interrupting the hiss of the crackling embers. She and Brooke sat on a blanket across from you.

“I’m exhausted,” You responded with a yawn, staring vacantly beyond the campground. You thought you could spot the glitter of sunset on the distant water.

“Let’s get in the lake,” she laughed. “The cold is supposed to be good for your nervous system, or something.”

The prospect of dipping into the lake woke your body slightly, sending a buzz down your spine. You liked the rush of adrenaline, the euphoria following it.

“I’m in,” you responded with a smile. Brooke looked behind her, towards the direction of the water, and back with a scrunched nose, but eventually agreed. You turned to Jack, he only groaned. Still, he stood, mumbling something about how men weren’t built for cold water. Tell that to the Vikings, you thought.

You grabbed the thin towels from your tent, and headed towards the water.

…

Pebbles crunched beneath your boots. It was a short walk to the mouth of the lake, Brooke had chosen a good spot to camp. You quickly stripped them along with most of your clothes, leaving you in a thin bra and hiking shorts. You dipped one foot in the water, wincing at the temperature. Your friends stripped behind you, while you tried not to lose your nerve. Jack was taking pictures of the sunset from a few feet away, and you quickly slipped out of your shorts while he was preoccupied. Brooke and Annie took to your sides, and the three of you stood apprehensively at the edge of the lake, glancing over the water that expanded before you.

“It’ll be worse if we think too much about it,” Annie said, folding her arms to hold her body.

Brooke took a few brave strides and sank below the surface, cursing as she came up, before tilting her head back and letting the water caress her. Annie squealed before following suit. You blew out a huff of air, trying and failing to compartmentalize the chill in the water. When it got to your stomach your body shivered. No, this definitely wasn’t helping your aching muscles. You pressed on.

The water kissed your chest, then your shoulders. Finally, you gave in, dipping your head under. It wasn’t unbearable, but you weren’t sure you’d last long. You felt your pulse slightly in the back of your head as you swam under the surface. It had been almost 80 degrees today, but the water refused to acknowledge that. You broke the surface with a gasp, turning to face your friends who hovered near the edge of the lake. Why had you been so enthusiastic about this idea? You watched as Jack strolled over and dropped his clothes in a pile near the rest, quickly avoiding his gaze. Annie called out to him that it wasn’t so bad, and he shook his head in disagreement as he stood with the water just above his knees. He folded his arms, holding himself how Annie had. You stilled, lowering your head so your nose and eyes peaked just above the surface, and watched him sink further. You took a breath and sank below once more.

You had always loved the water. Brooke said it was biological, that it calmed something in the animal of us to be near it. When you were younger you pretended you were the half-blood offspring of Poseidon, counting how long you could hold your breath in it before your lungs felt like fire and you got light-headed.

You felt something touch your hand, and you lifted yourself from the water and your daydreaming. Jack had swum out, treading water as he watched the sun set over the mountains behind you. Water trickled down his face, gathering in his lashes, and his golden skin was cast in a reddish-golden light. He looked ethereal.

Turning, you faced the sunset. The sun lit the sky beyond the mountains in the most vibrant hues of red and orange. Where the darkening sky above you met the sun, pale shades of pink gathered. There was a good ten minutes of light left, and you thought that you’d never forget this moment. The beauty of it burned into your eyes. You saw it even as you blinked.

You broke the peaceful silence, "It feels like everything’s changing. I hate it." Change felt like putting on a new leather jacket. It chafed in all the wrong places.

He sighed, “Everything is changing. I for one am excited to leave this oppressive ass place.”

You thought of the vastness of the city, the lake that expanded before you, the mountains that climbed ahead, and wondered how anyone could call this oppressive. You knew he meant the people, but the city was big and it seemed like an excuse for wanting to leave. You stayed silent, sifting through your thoughts.

“Dad sure is glad you’re staying. At least one of us won’t disappoint him.” He added, wiping his short hair back from his face.

You laughed at the idea of his Dad ever being disappointed in either him or Annie. Their parents were unusually understanding people. Of course he wanted his kids close to home but he never was the type to force anyone’s hand. Sometimes, you thought Jack wanted a reason to brood.

“He wants you to stay, but I know he’ll live vicariously through you wherever you go, he’s an adventurer at heart. Maybe we can write about it when you get back,” you replied, smiling as you thought of the times you sat around their Dad’s faded armchair as he read you and the twins stories. He filled your minds with images of half-human creatures and monsters that swallowed ships whole. Of wars waged over beautiful women. Greedy dragons and cursed rings.

He replied with a smile and a ‘maybe’, and you pictured his portrait in the back of a travel book. ‘Everyone has a story to tell,’ His Dad had said to him years ago.

You heard laughter and splashing behind you as your friends jumped out of the lake.

“You’re just like him,” he added, nudging your arm underwater. You raised your brows in question.

He continued, “You should come with me. No author came up with anything interesting to say by staying put. New York, maybe Italy, or Ireland. You’d get plenty of inspiration there.”

“I want to be where the publishing action is,” you joke, “And I’m no storyteller, at least not yet.”

“Yeah right, you’re a natural,” He adds, “You’ve got an eye for it.”

You admired how sure Jack was. You liked how it felt to be near him, it put you at ease. He smiled and you could just picture late nights in the sticky bars of Dublin and Vespa rides along the coast.

Of course, you’d agree you had an eye for storytelling, otherwise you'd have wasted the last four years of your life. But, you didn’t have the option of relying on your rich parents for support as you found yourself at the Cliffs of Moher. The Pacific North-West was beautiful, you couldn't believe anyone would want to leave. You’d travel one day, maybe after you’d settled into your career. Until then, this would have to do. You looked out as the sun took its last breath, bowing to the mountains, passing its watch over to the moon.

“Let’s go, I’m freezing!” Annie called out from the shore.

"I’ll start dinner," Brooke added, attempting to shake the last of the water from her short hair.

You didn’t wait for Jack as you made your way to them. You hurried out, thankful for the thin veil of darkness as you dried off. Jack dressed beside you, his hair falling in short ringlets over his brows. He caught your eye and you pulled your towel over your head, hiding your face, and squeezing the lake from your hair.

…

The fire started quickly, and you ate slightly gummy re-hydrated pasta that Ruth made for the trip with her food dehydrator. You were sure this was the first time they’d used it. Shortly after dinner you fell prey to the lull of darkness and excused yourself with a ‘good night’ leaving your friends by the fire. The blankets in the tent felt damp. Great. Your sweats, thankfully, weren’t as bad. You fell asleep to hushed conversation, burrowing deep into your hooded sweatshirt.

You awoke to a sharp, shining light. Brooke was reading something next to you. How long had you been asleep? You hummed a greeting, burying your face further into your blanket, and sank deeply into the comfort of sleep.

The next day consisted of meals around the fire and a short hike to get a better view of the mountains. You trailed behind your friends, deep in thought as you failed to push away Jack’s suggestion that what you needed was travel. You thought of Bilbo refusing to leave the Shire.

Annie crept scarcely close to the edge of a boulder and you tried to hide your worried face while Brooke took her photo. They pulled you in for a group one, and you held tightly to Brooke as she captured your smiling faces.

The day seemed shorter than the one before, the sunset was more of a dulled pink, dimmed by low-hanging clouds. You made s’mores and failed at telling ghost stories around the fire before turning in early. You grabbed the fairy book from your bag, deciding the mystery should be read in the safety of daylight. You were on page 32 when Brooke joined you, crawling into the tent and kicking pine needles onto your blanket.

“I swear fantasy writers all had a meeting and committed to only writing weak, sex-depraved female leads,” You tell Brooke as she slips into her sleepwear.

“That or they become the best fighters and magicians all of a sudden. Can’t a girl just be a girl?” She adds.

You laughed in agreement and attempted to discuss the female archetype in fairy lands while she settled in. You pressed your legs to hers for warmth, and she opened a book about the history of the local tribes in Washington. Your thoughts drifted from the page, unable to comprehend the last paragraph of world-building you attempted to read twice, and you let your head fall back to your pillow. The serenade of cicadas filled your ears, and you tried to commit the sound to memory. A vision tugged at you, of laying on a porch swing in your mother's arms, listening to the cicadas call as she read to you from your book about flower fairies. You laugh at how little you’ve changed, and how much you’ve changed.

“My mom used to read me this fairy book when I was a kid. I’ve probably heard it a thousand times, and I swore I saw fairies in my backyard. My grandma told me if there was a ring of mushrooms, a fairy had been there and I looked all over the yard for them,” you admitted, the memory vivid and colorful in your mind.

“My brother and I used to build little homes for them out of sticks and leaves,” she added. You enthusiastically agreed, remembering sitting outside of your grandparents’ house arranging pieces of earth with your cousins. Hours content in the world of your imagination. You missed that part of yourself, the child in you. You thought of her as you drifted asleep.

…

The next day the sky was filled with thick puffs of soft gray clouds, the air cooler than it'd been a few days ago. You started the morning off slowly, accompanied by Annie as you laid on a blanket near the water and read. Lunch had been brought to the lake, the four of you determined to spend the whole day in this spot.

Hours later you sat, Jack at your side, and watched as Annie and Brooke swam further and further out. So far this week you’d gone hiking, swimming, read your books, and walked around looking at fauna. You weren’t sure what camping for a week looked like. The longest you’d camped out was two nights, and it was technically in the backyard of the twins’ house.

“What time are your friends getting here?” You asked Jack as you chewed the inside of your lip. He sat with his arms resting on his knees beside you.

"Mmm, around five I think," he responded, glancing at his watch.

A few of Jack’s friends were coming to camp for the rest of the week. They were nice guys, and you weren’t exactly feeling antisocial, but you wished it would have stayed just the four of you.

“Dylan’s bringing is his girlfriend I think,” he added.

You hummed in response. You liked her, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Mirroring Jack, you looked at your watch; 4:14. Wanting to spare yourself from awkward small talk and having to help set up tents, you decided you’d go for a run along the shore soon. The energy bites Brooke had made and the coffee you drank with lunch were making you restless, anyway. You sat with Jack a little longer, and at half past four you stood, slipping back into your shoes.

Jack laughed amusingly when you told him of your plan, seeing through your avoidant ploy, but he just reminded you to be careful and to be back before dark or they’d have to form a search party. You called out to Brooke and Annie and they both echoed a warning too. A ‘be careful’, and a ‘bring your charger just in case.’

Back at camp, you threw your small solar charger into your jacket pocket, along with a granola bar, and drank from your water bottle. Anxious thoughts filled your mind, though you weren’t sure why. You’d woken up slightly on edge this morning and chalked it up to the company arriving soon. The path you’d run would be easy and mindless, no reason to worry. You’d stick to the shoreline, and come back the same way long before it got dark; the shore near the camp would be unmistakable. You took a breath and willed your stomach to settle.

You tied your hair up, swinging it to your back, then wrapped your jacket around your waist and began jogging towards the water. You’d gotten a little addicted to running this past year. It trained your breathing and focused your mind, something you’ve been trying and failing to do all your life. In Seattle, you always ran the same four-mile route from your apartment to around the park and back. It took you a few weeks to map down the perfect path. Past the gift shop at the end of the block, steering clear of the traffic near the middle school a half-mile down, and along the widest sidewalk that led to the park closest to your apartment. You focused on your breath and willed your anxious mind to focus on your surroundings. The pines loomed above you, it almost made you dizzy to look at them. The water reflected the mood of the sky. You could see a small group of people kayaking in the water towards the East side of the lake.

One mile down.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. The trees thinned out near the edge of the lake and the view was stunning. You sometimes felt like you couldn’t fully experience how beautiful it was here, not in the moment. It would hit you on the way home or when you’d get your film back from being developed. You almost brought your camera but decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

Two miles down.

Stopping, you caught your breath as you snapped a photo with your phone, then slid it back into the band of your leggings and picked up your pace. Your mind drifted to the book you were reading.

Three miles down.

Your headphone cord swung annoyingly across your chest, and sweat started to prickle your forehead. A large boulder sat in your path and you swerved around it.

Shit. You threw your hands up on instinct, hitting something hard. Blinking for a moment, you steadied yourself. How had you not seen this tree? You brought your fingers to your face and winced as your eyebrow stung. Your eyes fell to the blood prickling the back of your hand. You felt it suddenly, the annoying ache of scraped skin and you cursed yourself for being unobservant. You looked at your watch with a sigh; 5:09. You tried not to let your injury annoy you as you turned to start the journey back towards camp.

Your heart sank. Head darting back and forth, then behind you. Eyebrows knit in confusion.

The lake was gone.

Ripping your headphones out, you scanned the forest before you. What the hell?

Okay, you thought, don’t freak out, don’t panic. Just think. Did you accidentally run further from the shore? You knew the lake was North and camp was West. You looked above you for the sun to verify, but the clouds had gotten even thicker. You scanned the forest confused, trying to find the boulder you had swerved just moments ago. How hard had you hit your head?

Shit. You grabbed your phone and opened the compass app to verify your direction, chewing on your lip nervously as it loaded. You sighed in relief, yes you were facing North. If you walked forward there’s no way you wouldn’t see the lake soon.

Goosebumps prickled your arms and neck. When did it get so cold?

Throwing on your jacket, you tucked your headphones into your pocket and gripped your phone anxiously. You took deep breaths and tried to settle the sick feeling in your stomach. You’d be fine.

You walked further and further North, anxiety creeping up into your body with each step. You settled into a light jog and searched for anything familiar. The minutes dragged on. The panic set in. You checked your watch again; 5:15. Keep going.

Darkness flashed suddenly in the corner of your eye and stopped you in your tracks. You swung your head toward where it’d appeared. Your ragged breathing broke the suffocating silence of the forest. Your anxiety screamed into your mind, animal, and all you could think of was Brooke’s comment about bears, but there was nothing. Just you and the never-ending expanse of trees. Did you have a concussion?

The wind howled behind you, and your body reacted before your mind. Shivers ran up your spine into your neck and you ran. Hopping over fallen branches and swerving between trees. The forest grew thicker, swallowing you whole. You felt your vision tunneling; you were panicking but you couldn’t stop moving. You spotted a clearing ahead and prayed to whoever was listening that it was the shoreline. A low-hanging branch scraped your shoulder as you reached the field. The field. Not the shore. Your eyes searched wildly.

The darkness appeared again, but stood still.

Not darkness, but pure blackness against the muted brown trunks of the forest. You turned to face it, and there, at the edge of the clearing stood a man in a black suit.

All thoughts left your mind. Something in your DNA clawed at you to run, but you stood, perhaps in shock, staring at this man before you. He was much taller than you, you could tell even through the distance, with golden skin and hair black as night.

Seemingly out of thin air, another man appeared by his side. Something covered him, or hung behind him, extending above his head. They looked like… What the hell? Was there a group of guys out here role-playing? Your head ached, this wasn’t happening, this had to be a hallucination, maybe from the injury and the anxiety.

The man in the suit took a step further into the clearing and slipped his hands into his pockets. You stood frozen at the edge of the clearing. He cocked his head to the side and squinted, seemingly assessing you. You thought of the group you saw kayaking and a small amount of hope hit you. Of course you weren’t the only people out here, you were bound to run into someone. You could ask for directions back to the lake. If they were playing make-believe in the forest that was their business. A woman with a long brown braid and a dark leather suit walked into view next and you took a calming breath. A woman.

You swallowed your panic but it stuck in your throat as you took a step forward and lifted your hand to wave. You hoped they didn’t see you shaking. There was a woman, yes, but the two men kept you at edge. Everything seemed out of place.

“Hey, sorry you startled me,” you began with a nervous laugh. “I was running along the shore but I went a little too far, do you know how much further North the lake is from here?” you inquired, heart beating in your throat.

No answer. The suited man looked to the woman next to him, and the man with the giant fake wings kept his arms held tightly at his thighs. Seconds passed.

“Your costumes are great,” you added, trying to sound at ease, and gesturing to the man’s wings. He took a step forward, but the suited man stopped him.

Time to go whispered into your mind and you managed a tight smile, as you took a few small steps away.

“Well, I better head back to my group,” you called out. You needed to put more distance between you. You needed to get the hell out of here.

You started to jog away, but something shot out into your path. You slammed to a stop. Another man, with shoulder-length brown hair half-tied up, clad in black leather gear and the same towering wings rising above his head stood before you. What the hell? He looked at you with creased brows, and glanced at the group of people to your right. He pressed his lips in a line, eyes darting back to you. Your heart raced; you felt like prey. Every hair on your body stood and every instinct told you to run, but the man in front of you was huge. At least six foot five.

You had to go. Whatever this was, you needed to remove yourself from it. They couldn’t run very fast with those things hanging on their back, anyway, right? You took a step back and glanced beside you. You could break for the trees and start heading West.

You began to move, but something stopped you like you'd run into an invisible wall. Whipping around, the suited man now stood before you, just feet away. Your eyes met his. They almost glowed an unnatural purple. He was handsome, they all were, which freaked you out even more. The man next to him looked at you sternly, like he was assessing a threat. What the hell is this?

"I need to get back to my friends, they’re waiting for me," you lied, straining to keep your voice even.

The man spoke back in a language you couldn’t understand. You tried to pick out familiar words but the dialect was too strange. It wasn’t Native, or any of the Latin languages from what you could tell. You looked to the woman who stood slightly further back, with pure plea written on your face. Her eyes softened and she spoke back in the unfamiliar language. She would help, you convinced yourself.

They conversed once more. You took a step back, but hands wrapped around your arms tightly, fingers digging into the sleeves of your jacket. You tried jerking them away, but the long-haired man held firm.

Panic now coursed through you in a dam-less stream. “Please, just let me go, what do you want?” you begged them all, looking to the woman once more. She and the suited man exchanged glances before turning to face you. So this is how you’d die, crossed your mind. What kind of sick game had you stumbled into?

The man spoke once more and took a step closer. You looked to the man at his side, the one with towering wings. His hazel eyes met yours. You searched his face, what you were looking for you didn’t know. Sympathy maybe? His jaw loosened slightly and he held your stare.

You turned to the purple-eyed man before you and pleaded again. He responded, nodding, but you didn’t understand. Tears filled your eyes. A scream pierced your ears. Your scream. It tore its way up your throat as a hot, white pain pierced your brain like a jagged knife. Your knees gave out, but the hands gripping you kept you upright. A golden-brown light filled your blurring vision. Your head fell back, heavy, and your mouth hung open in agony as your body finally gave in.

Darkness washed over you.

...

Ahhh! I'm so nervous to post this but so excited! Already getting started on Chapter 2. Sorry this was so long LMAO I just really wanted to set the scene for some hard-core angst.

#azriel fanfic #acotar x reader #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel angst #rhysand acotar #rhysand is a baddie #feyre archeron #cassian

115 notes · View notes

gamerwoman3d · 10 months ago

Text

Please Be Bi-Han 🙏

🔞 An MK1 x Reader 🔞

You aren't supposed to be in this timeline.

And to you, this timeline shouldn't exist. But it does. And this timeline is particularly exploitable, given the things you know which no one else in this timeline does. You slip into the timeline and abuse your knowledge to unethically gain just enough wealth to live very, very comfortably. And you laugh because this timeline is literally just a game to you. Admittedly, you came here to try to seduce the hotties. But when you figured out just how easy it would be to game the financial system here, you did that.

Imagine not being shocked at all to see Liu Kang at your doorstep with his Lin Kuei goons. You could laugh. You know him. You know all three, no, all four of them; your attraction to them is what initially drew you to this timeline. The fourth you knew by smell alone; the campfire scent in the air proved that Smoke was with them, somewhere ready for action yet invisible to your eyes.

Imagine closing the door to your beautiful private mansion in their face before any of them even speak. Imagine bolting it, locking it, chaining it, only to tell them through the speaker, "Whoever breaks this door down and finds me first gets laid."

🔞 Spicy/Explicit after the cut 🔞

Now you, you have installed several small panic rooms throughout your mansion with which to play hide and seek. So you go do that, smirking to yourself as you watch the group through the security cam app on your phone. But back up a moment to just before these guys arrived.

Liu Kang smirked as he collected his warriors at the edge of a portal that would lead conveniently into a hidden driveway outside the privacy walls near your garden.

"I have a fun little mission for us today. Geras discovered someone manipulating the financial trajectory of our timeline that isn't supposed to be here. We need to go get them, and convince them to stop, without violence."

"Respectfully, Lord Liu Kang - If you don't need violence, why did you call us? If we can't stab it, it's most likely someone else's problem," Smoke said out of turn.

"There are other methods of coercion, Smoke. And if Geras' revelations for this mission are proven true, then methods of seduction are on the table," Liu Kang responded flatly.

Liu Kang wanted to laugh. The synchronized single-eyebrow raise of the three masked ninjas before him was too cartoonish to seem real.

Fast forward.

You get a good run, scrambling to your hiding place.

"I thought this might be the case," you hear Liu Kang say in your earbud, from audio played through the phone collected from the front door security recorder.

"Seduction really is the game this evening," Scorpion said, "even with you saying as much, I am still surprised."

"Are we making a competition of it? Or am I the only one that will be chasing after that cutie?" said Smoke from seemingly nowhere.

"Don't blow your cover, brother. We're not sure if we're being recorded. It could give us an advantage if you'd keep quiet," Sub-Zero said.

"It's a competition," Scorpion interjected before slamming his boot into the door, rattling it in it's frame.

A few kicks, body slams did nothing. Sub-Zero guided the others out of the way, froze the door handle in it's place, then pulled the mechanism - deadbolts and all - through the crystallized steel. He tossed it to the side and booted open the door, which swung freely and hit the interior wall with such force that one might have expected the crash to come from a vehicle accident.

You bounce in your place, trying not to giggle as you watch the men through your tablet. You had hoped Bi-Han would breech the door first, but now the men crept inside and began to hunt for you. You saw all except Smoke, just before the power went down, taking your security feed with it.

You were in the dark, now, lit only by the glow of a tablet that showed the wifi disconnected. You swiftly realized that Smoke must have gone to cut the power - and had the foresight to cut the backup power first.

Smart of him, you thought. But now, in the dark, there was nothing left to do but wait for one of them to discover your hiding spot. Every little noise you heard made your heart jump in anticipation of being caught.

"Please be Bi-Han, please be Bi-Han," you chanted in a whisper under your breath.

FOR PART TWO - LINKS BELOW POLL

...

And now I'll be a bit evil.

ADVENTURE TIME. C'MON GRAB -

Part 2a(i): Sub-Zero discovers F! Reader

Part 3a(i): Sub-Zero toys with F! Reader (to be read after part 2a(i)

Part 2b(i): Smoke discovers F! Reader

Part 2b(ii): Smoke discovers M! Reader

Part 3b(i): Smoke fucks F! Reader (to be read after part 2b(i)

292 notes · View notes

anothermansjeans · 6 months ago

Note

Can i rant about yt reader?

Yk how jenna marbles had another boyfriend before julien??

Yea the reader had a bf before spencer but nobody cares about that man.

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

And when she is making a video cooking for some reason and she calls him like : "what would you say its a reasonable ratio of seasoning on a rack of ribs?" "What are you doing its 3 in the afternoon?" "Spencer its for a video, btw do you want to come over i have an entire rack of ribs i need to get rid of ☺️".

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

*in a livestream*

Im gonna buy something for spencer😀

___________________________

Before she revealed his name or face, she has nicknames for him in her videos:

"you know the drill people, the prettiest boy in the world is coming over"

"i can take you to that side of the room because the man i kidnapped is there"

"the boy with the juciest lips and brains is taking me on a date tonight"

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

Reading comments:

"i need him in me" *cue readers intense stare*

*What did you just said about my husband?* 😶

Love them

YESSSSS I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

1. he who shall not be named is IRRELEVANT! but every once in a while, someone will watch her videos after not seeing them in some time and ask about him and all anyone will say is "we only know spencer 🤨"

2. I LOVE THIS! she's so silly and just loves listening to spencer's voice so she would ask literally any question! also, spencer needs her silliness in his life!

3. AHAHA YES!! and at just the MENTION OF HIS NAME....... the comments go wild (me too tbh)

4. I WOULD LIKE TO OFFER: "the holder of all brain cells is here!", "my boy bander boyfriend is coming over!" (boy band hair reid!! spencer told her about the comment hotch made and she was LIVING FOR IT), and "britannica is attempting to make dinner tonight" (the comments were very confused about that one, she she just smiled brightly and ranted on about how smart he is and how he's her personal encyclopedia 😭🫶)

5. the comments would be in bi-panic (i would know)!! two of the hottest people together??? they'd be in shambles. the comments are also the funniest thing in the world to reader-- they were funny before she started dating spencer but after word got around and when she finally showed his face, the thirst was real

#PLEASE SEND ME MORE I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE HEART #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid x reader #youtuber!reader

122 notes · View notes

vanderbilt-draws · 3 months ago

Note

pleaseee...draw devwinn interacting... plssss

ok sorry it took forever for me to answer i may have gone slightly overboard with the doodles but I REALLY LIKE DEVWINN AND MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE A WHOLE UNWRITTEN FIC ABOUT THEM IN HIGH SCHOOL AND LIKE 7 MILLION HCS ABOUT HOW THEY MET AND THEIR FUTURES AND UHH UHH hcs/all the stuff leading up to my unwritten fic are all below the cut if youre interested ✨✨

winn moved to dimmadelphia in the fourth grade

pretty much instantly dev "befriended" them and started being really clingy with them. he had a MASSIVE crush on them right from the start

winn wasnt actually all that big a fan of dev at first because yk he was mean to most of the other kids, but they didnt want to hurt his feelings so kind of went along with him

(side note i hc that dev has literally been wearing pretty much the same outfit since forever. hes so autism)

dev and winn only got to being real friends once hazel and dev became friends (bc yk shes got the balls to actually tell dev when hes doing something mean, so thats rlly when dev started improving as a person)

winn and dev had the same homeroom in sixth grade and ended up sitting right next to each other, which was when they really started becoming a Duo

winn broke their arm in a skating accident during the winter break of their sixth grade year, dev was the first one they got to sign the cast :] winn never stopped skating but they did do it a lot less + more carefully after that (by order of their parents)

dev started growing his hair into a mullet in the seventh grade because he "thought it looked cool" (<< started noticing his gender dysphoria and wanted longer hair in an attempt to quell it)

winn thought they were bi for all of seventh grade and most of eighth grade bc they had a crush on dev

SPOILER ALERT dev is a trans girl, she comes out in the eighth grade and her chosen name is devine. she still goes by dev but all her friends know what its short for

dev doesnt want to come out to her dad bc she doesnt know how hell react. (tbh if she did come out, her dad would be super supportive and good with prns and names and terms in public, but slip up a ton in private bc he doesnt care as much when people arent watching)

obv winn told jasmine and hazel about their crush right when it started developing, so it became kind of an inside joke between the three that winn has "transbian senses" after dev came out

just before ninth grade, winn decided to get a buzzcut, and theyve been growing it out ever since (this is mostly bc as much as i love dyed hair undercut enby/trans characters THERES TOO MANY PLEASE CHOOSE A DIFFERENT HAIRSTYLE FOR YOUR FICTIONAL TRANSES AND ENBIES SOBBING)

they bleached it blonde when it was about two inches long, and never bothered to cut off the blonde so now they just have blonde tips

winn ended up being 6'5" and joined varsity basketball in the tenth grade because they didnt wanna waste that height

dev stole their original varsity jacket because it was comfy (and because it was winns and it brings her comfort) and then paid for their replacement jacket

jasmine started learning how to sew and embroider clothes over the summer between ninth and tenth grade and so helped devine sew on her own name tag (dev just told her dad jasmine was a bad speller and tbh dale didnt care and was like ok son whatever)

dev ended up stuck at the spectacular height of a middle schooler (5'2") and winn thinks its adorable. theyre strong enough to pick her up whenever they hug her. sometimes when they get excited they spin her around

dev also started wearing her hair curly occasionally in the tenth grade bc winn told her she looked pretty with it like that. her dad doesnt like it when she doesnt slick it back and gets passive aggressive about it whenever he sees her like that

winn started getting panic attacks from all the pressure of high school after joining the basketball team, and dev usually ends up talking them through it, although jasmine and hazel are also good at helping them

they dont think their anxiety is bad enough to be a disorder so they never get a diagnosis/help (until Things Happen in my fic :]]] )

hazel and jasmine are both aroace (in this timeline at least, ive got a few other fic ideas where hazel is bi) and in a qpr. they are also fandom girlies and fic writers, so when dev finally tells them in the middle of tenth grade that she has a crush on winn (and has for a while) theyre both like OOOOOOOHHHHHH I SHIP IT and they, along with cosmo and wanda, start trying really hard to get them together

unfortunately hazmine and coswan have literally no idea how human teenage romance works irl SO. shenanigans ensue :]]]]]]]

anyways yeah thats my buildup to my fic/my personal hcs, no peri mention because hes ✨elsewhere✨ when all this is happening

#my art #fop anw #fairly oddparents a new wish #fop a new wish #fop dev #dev fop #dev dimmadome #development devin dimmadome #winn harper #winn fop #fop winn #devwinn #fop devwinn #ask

78 notes · View notes

bamboozledbird · 2 months ago

Text

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 5 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, ofc, omc Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 10.2k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), depictions of a panic attack, animal death Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter.

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: You start to unravel some of the secrets hidden in Beacon Hill's other world, and Stiles manages to worm his way into discovering some of your own.

A/N: this took a minute, so i hope the length makes up for it! comments and reblogs are love, and i am tinkerbell. also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

Tag list: @eaterof-concrete

Your anger fizzled with every mile you drove. By the time you finished your third loop around the Preserve, it was just a light simmer of irritation. The void was quickly filled with a different emotion: curiosity. There was a little dread in there too, perhaps also a touch of nausea, but the concoction was still potent enough to distract you from your...whatever that was with Lydia. Now that you were alone, trees blurring together in a ribbon of yellowing-green through your dash, all you could think about was the fire Derek’s family died in. Well, that, and another fire that was always lurking somewhere in your mind, hiding in the shadows, just waiting for the chance to jump out and strangle your heart.

Beacon Hills was a small town. A town where, until very recently, bad things hardly ever happened. What were the chances of two houses going up in flames four years apart? Of two houses burning down to the foundation in the blink of an eye? Of two homes becoming charred rubble and chilling memorials to the lives lost inside? As far as you knew, they were the only unnatural fires that’d occurred in Beacon Hills in the last century.

It could all be a coincidence, of course. Nothing. Just a delusional, grief-driven conspiracy. It would be best if you accepted that now before you fell too far down this rabbit hole. It’d taken you two years to finally realize that the police were never going to figure out what really happened to your mom, and those two years had been filled with a series of devastating misdirections, hundreds of dashed hopes and unanswered prayers to a god you no longer believed in. You knew better than this. You did. You knew better than to hope.

But…maybe. Maybe there was something there. If there was an elaborate plot afoot, you knew just the right conspiracy nut to turn to.

The last time you believed in magic, you were six. You had run the entire mile-and-a-half to Maggie’s dad’s store, hands bloody and cupped into a small nest. You’d almost choked on your quiet, congested whimpers, but after a few minutes of blubbering, you’d finally managed to spit out a few words, “You know how to fix him, right? You know everything.” There had to be a spell, you’d thought, with all the wisdom of a first-grade education. There had to be some magic flower or special potion that could make everything better.

You hadn’t noticed the look on Maggie’s face when you finally opened your fingers, but Maggie had to have been panicking once she saw exactly what needed to be fixed—cradled in your palms, was a tiny, twitching field mouse you’d found on your way home from school. His little chest had heaved so slowly as he laid limply in your hands, as if he’d already accepted his fate. You’d been so young then, too young to realize that Maggie was only nineteen and faked her confidence more often than she felt it. Nineteen had seemed so old at six, and now it was only three years away.

Maggie had known, of course, that the poor little guy probably wouldn’t live long enough to see nightfall, but she’d made the fatal mistake of looking into your big wet eyes: still so full of hope and belief in the impossible. Instead of telling you the truth, she’d just said, “I got this," and took the mouse to the backroom—where all the magic happened. You never ended up seeing the mouse again. You realized now that probably meant he died, but you appreciated Maggie letting you live in the land of make-believe for just a little while longer.

But that was ten years ago. Today, you knew that Mags was only mortal and Willowbark couldn’t actually heal fatal rodent wounds—but you were still hoping, against all hopes, that Maggie actually had the answers this time.

“Mags?” your brow crinkled as you searched for Maggie and her wild curls. Mags often got lost in the midst of all the chaos, just a small blip in a crowded collection of odd, Victorian-esque relics. You could usually spot at least a glimpse of whatever loud color Maggie was sporting that day. The yellows and pinks were always stark against the dingy backdrop, but today the only colors you could see from the front door were varying shades of sage, oxblood, and charcoal. “Maggie?”

A muffled cry sounded from the storeroom, “Back here.”

The door to the backroom was slightly ajar, and the purple lighting from the mini-greenhouse inside spilled through the crack. It cast a mesmerizing strip of dayglow lavender over the dangly earrings and mood rings for sale next to the register. “Bring me the shears, will you? The pink ones by Giz.”

You dropped your backpack behind the glass counter and drifted towards the sounds of Gizmo’s trumpeting snores. The stretch for the pruning scissors was a bit precarious; the little prince was batting his paws at something in the depths of dreamland and had no presence of mind for your fragile skin. You snagged the shears with minimal carnage and ran your finger along the cool edge, staring at the gleaming surface, “You’re into all local history, right? Not just the made-up stuff?”

Maggie took the shears from your lax hands and squatted next to the potted yew tree on the floor. It was just starting to blossom, red berries dotted sparsely around the spiky leaves—ripe for whatever ridiculous offering Maggie had planned. Maggie blew a ringlet out of her face and fixed you with a stern frown, “My ancestors were witches, and Dragons absolutely did exist. Just look at ‘dinosaur’ fossils from the—”

“Do you know anything about the fire the Hale family died in?” you looked down at your hands so that you didn’t have to see Maggie’s reaction.

You traced circles around a rosy stain on Maggie’s workbench, likely from ground flower petals or dripping pomegranate seeds, shoulders hunching towards your ears as you continued, “I mean, you’re around the same age as the older sister, right?” Laura. You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name, and the hypocrisy was stifling. You hated when people tiptoed around death, when they used pretty euphemisms like that could make what actually happened any less brutal. Less evil. Less unfair. But there was no softening grief. Death. Murder. There was no candy coat sweet enough to cloak the taste of rotting—and yet, you still couldn’t say her name.

Maggie went still briefly and then continued clipping branches, ignoring or not noticing the couple of leaves stuck to her fuzzy sweater. “Why?”

You gritted your teeth and stared a burl in the wood underneath your fingers, “Why do you think?”

Sighing, Maggie spread her clippings across the maple worktop and picked at a few yellowing leaves, “Where is this coming from, babe? I mean, that was a long time ago. I’m almost thirty, you know—ancient by most standards.”

You didn’t smile. Couldn’t. “Do you know anything or not?”

“No,” Maggie sounded genuine, but she kept her eyes on the red stains underneath her fingernails, “nothing more than what was on the news.”

The fact that Maggie didn’t make a quip or a stupid pun was even more telling than her refusal to look in your direction. You folded your arms over your chest and leaned your hip against the doorframe, “Sure.”

“Are you okay, babe?” Maggie wiped the berry residue off on her skirt, and the long hem swished around her ankles as she crept towards you. Her hand was cautious when she placed it on your rigid shoulder, “You aren’t skipping your meds again, are—”

Your eyes flashed as you shook off Maggie’s light touch with a jerk of your shoulder, “Is it possible for me to have a single feeling without everyone jumping down my throat about my meds.”

“I just worry,” Maggie said softly, and she reached for you again, waiting for you to pull away. She tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear when you didn’t. Your limbs were still stiff, and your face was still stony, but you let Maggie grab your hand. It was slightly sweaty, probably from all the indoor-gardening, but there was some comfort in the circles she smoothed over your knuckles. “You know I’m a worrier. Comes with the conspiracy theorist in me.”

You looked down at your feet and dug your toes into the concrete floor, “And my mom’s dying wish—I know.”

A bit of hurt quivered in the corners of Maggie’s reassuring smile, even though she tried her best to hide it, “That’s not the reason I do it.”

Your entire frame slumped with guilt, “I know.” And you did; you did know. You made Maggie drive you to the library every weekend before you got your license, and in return Maggie stole about a dozen of your sweaters once she realized you were finally the same size—Mags wasn’t just your mom’s weird friend from the neighborhood; she was family. She taught you how to make pie crust and scones, and she always read ‘happily ever after’ in the lines of your palms when you needed something to smile about. Maggie did a million little things for you without any appreciation, and you tried to remember every single one as you sat on the floor in front of the ‘Local Culture’ shelf.

Your nose scrunched as you looked over the titles on the spines, searching for anything that sounded even remotely real. Maggie knelt next to you, patch-work skirt billowing around her knees, and watched your fingers drum against the floor.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Maggie bumped your shoulder with her own, and you grunted a little response.

“Nothing you can help me with.” Evidently, you thought with only a bit of bitterness.

Maggie didn’t say anything for a long time. You almost forgot she was there, and then her bracelets clacked together as she shifted. “Here,” Maggie pulled a thick journal out of the depths of her baggy cardigan and held it out with a complicated expression on her face—something halfway between a frown and a smile, “I think you’ll find this one particularly interesting.”

You looked down at the title and rubbed your thumb over the engraved font, “‘A History and Detailed Account of Beacon Hills Bloodlines’?”

Maggie nodded and shoved her hands into her skirt pockets, “Goes back all the way to the beginning—not literally, obviously. I don’t think they wanted to get into the whole ‘God vs. Big Bang’ debate, but it dates back to when the town was founded.”

“That’s…interesting, I guess,” you flipped through the pages and bit down on your tongue to squash the sneer curling across your lips. It was a nice gesture. You knew that—but what else were you supposed to do when the ‘History’ and ‘Detailed Account’ fell open to an artistic diagram of 'local werewolf packs’ genealogy lines. You were a little interested to see if the names were entirely fictional, or if the journal was an accurate record of Beacon Hill’s very own Werewolf Trials. Probably the first, you’d remember learning about extra hairy men and women being burned at the stake in social studies.

Maggie huffed out a little laugh and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I know you won’t believe everything in there, but who knows,” she shrugged and held out a hand for you to grab onto, “maybe you’ll finally be enlightened.”

You took her hand and hummed, “While you’re feeling so generous and bad for me ‘cause I’m functionally an orphan, could I get some more of that wolfsbane gunk?” You batted your lashes over the edge of the leather cover and grinned your most adorable smile—the one that dusted off a rare view of your dimples, “It can be my birthday present.”

It was an obvious ploy, but Maggie just laughed and poked one of your dimples, “Your birthday is months away.”

You picked up the speed of your blinking, approaching butterfly-wing territory, and rocked onto your tiptoes, “An early birthday present is still a birthday present.”

Mags watched you through narrowed eyes for a moment, “You don’t even believe in werewolves.”

You shrugged and smirked, “It works on humans too.”

“Please, please don’t make me an accessory to murder.” Maggie gripped your shoulders and shook you a little, fighting a smile, “I would not fare well in prison. They limit your internet privileges there—no Wi-Fi, babe. No Wi-Fi. I would be completely alone with my thoughts.”

“The horror,” your eyes glittered with your grin, and for a sweet moment you forgot about the journal in your hands and all the questions it wouldn’t answer. “It’s not for me,” you admitted, grimacing as Maggie’s lips puckered. The pursing of her lips, the hollowing of her cheeks—that always came before a very long and arduous inquisition. Maggie could be relentless when she wanted to be.

“And whom would you be giving such a precious gift to?” The thickness of her brows only magnified the suspicion in Maggie’s tapered expression, “A gift you called—what was it? ‘Useless’ and ‘stupid’ less than 24-hours ago?”

“Just because I think it’s stupid, doesn’t mean it’s a bad gift for someone else. I thought the Sonic Chia Pet I gave you was stupid, and you loved it.” You knew you won when Maggie started walking away from you towards the storeroom. You still had no idea how Curio Killed the Cat stayed in business when Maggie handed out inventory like candy, but presently its troubling business model was a blessing in disguise.

“Don’t disparage him,” Maggie crooned over her shoulder, “it’s bad luck.”

“If everything is sacred, nothing is,” you sniped, doing your best Vulcan impression.

Maggie smiled brightly as she hopped over the counter, sticking out her tongue, “I don’t think everything is sacred—just all the things I like.”

Speaking of things Maggie liked—you tucked your first gift under your armpit and held out your hands, palms cupped together. Your mouth curved into a cheesy grin as you said, “Trick-or-Treat.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but her puckish spark dwindled when she looked at the vile of wolfsbane. It was balanced between her thumb and forefinger, glass reflecting the light, and you felt a bit like you were accepting the One Ring and a quest you weren't prepared for. “Be careful, okay?” Maggie hesitated before dropping the vile into your waiting hands, “I know you love Buffy, but resurrection isn’t so easy off-screen.”

You were a little startled by the concern wrinkling the corners of Maggie’s eyes. She looked almost more worried now than she did when you asked her about the Hale fire. “Like I said,” you carefully eased the wolfsbane into your corduroy skirt, “it’s not for me.”

Maggie's eyes combed over your face, searching for something, and then she sighed, “Just…don’t let anyone drag you into something stupid. I don’t care how cute he is; no boy is worth the risk of ruining your gorgeous face. It’s your money-maker, babe.”

There was a lot to unpack in those three sentences; you didn’t even know where to begin. There was, of course, the implication that you were going to join some kind of Scooby-Doo gang that dealt wolfsbane on the side. While the thought of going ghost hunting with a pair of boys who couldn’t make it to class without tripping over their feet was, in fact, asinine…that wasn’t the part twisting stubborn knots around your ear canal.

Your face was dragged down by a broody pout, “For your information, I’m not giving it to Stiles; it’s actually for a guy who isn’t the leading cause of pulmonary embolisms in Beacon County—and I don’t think either of them are cute.”

That wasn’t strictly true. You did think that Scott was cute, just like you thought Gizmo was cute when he pleaded for treats. You could see the appeal of Scott McCall, why Allison liked him, but you hadn’t thought someone was cute like that in a very long time. A person generally had to actually look at people to think they were cute, and you hadn’t looked beyond forcing one foot in front of the other and your nubby nails in years.

And as far as Stiles went…honestly, you hadn’t really considered the concept of Stiles as an actual person until Maggie had to go and imply it. You supposed, now that you were thinking about it, he had an objectively nice face: big eyes, button nose, nice jaw—but when you saw him in person, it was almost always covered with an infuriating smirk or making obnoxious sounds. You usually just wanted to shove it away from you. Sometimes, when Stiles was being particularly difficult, you even thought about flicking him right in his long-lashed, honeycomb eyes. You wondered if the Sheriff would arrest you if you—

That’s right, your eyes rounded with the thought, Stiles is the Sheriff's son.

The recollection rang through every single one of your thoughts and echoed along the caverns of your skull, sparing you from ruminating on something far, far scarier. You were much more comfortable with deduction.

Your brow furrowed as you pushed yourself over the counter to grab your backpack—sure that Maggie would misinterpret your impromptu exit, but too lost in through to really care—Stiles is the Sheriff's son. You forgot that sometimes. They were so different, after all, and you were certain that Stiles had broken the law at least a few times in his life, but he was. Stiles was the Sheriff's son, and he probably knew things that he shouldn’t. Things that were only kept in confidential files. Fortunately, you didn’t need to think that someone was cute to use them for information.

“Methinks the Lady doth protest too much,” Maggie chirped. She was fiddling with her branches in the back again, picking the berries and dropping them into a little stone bowl.

You scowled at the berries like it was their fault you were in this predicament, “Gertrude sucks.

“And yet she was correct,” Maggie tossed a berry at your forehead, and it landed dead-center on the tip of your nose, dripping a small trail of crimson juice onto your cupid’s bow. Maggie laughed until a burst of snorts consumed her giggles, and you scowled deeper as you wiped your nose clean with your sleeve.

“And yet, she’s the prime example of doing something stupid for a boy.” You made a point of flipping Maggie off before trudging towards the door.

You pushed the exit open with your shoulder—rushing to get home to your notebook and pens. Ideas had a way of slipping away from you; you liked to make them real. Tangible. Inked lines and loops that couldn’t be erased.

Maggie cupped your cheeks before you could slither away to your car, startling you out of your head. “Don’t be Gertrude. Don’t be stupid,” Maggie said, incredibly solemn, but the twinkle of mischief in her eye ruined the 'Yoda effect'.

You pursed your lips as your eyes flitted towards the side, “I’ll do my best to not marry my dead husband’s brother-killer.” The door swung shut behind you, cutting off the trill of Maggie’s laughter.

You spent the rest of the night on your bed, sitting cross-legged with your notebook spread open across your lap. You tapped your pen against your knee and watched the blades on your ceiling fan spin into a fuzzy Saturn ring until your eyes watered. You were trying, and failing, to think of a way to ask Stiles for help without him making a big deal about it—contemplating if it was truly worth all the aggravation.

Sighing, you sketched random swirling lines in purple ink. They interconnected in a pretty pattern that eventually took the shape of the maze on your pendant. There was no way out of the labyrinth without breaking down a wall; it was hopeless, a path that never ended. People who entered the maze would be doomed to walk in circles until they littered the ground with their decomposing skeletons—and oh how you envied them.

Stiles would never let it go; you were pretty damn sure of that. He would poke, and prod, and stick his upturned nose into your business until he'd thoroughly invaded your privacy and got all the answers to his meddlesome questions. He could never ju—

The sound of paper tearing dragged you out of your pitiful brooding, and you sighed. Your pen had ripped through the center of the maze. You held the page up to the light, and it shone through the hole, blinding you momentarily.

There was no escaping the labyrinth—there was only pushing straight though.

You spent a lot of your time observing people lately. It wasn’t as creepy as it sounded, at least you hoped it wasn’t as creepy as it sounded. It was just…ever since Stiles dragged you back into the present—kicking, screaming, and bitching the entire way—you had been…overwhelmed by how alive everything was. It felt like so much had happened in the last four years. Everyone had gone on living while you’d hidden away in your mind and rotted in your room.

You couldn’t put a name to the strange feeling twisting in your chest. You were angry, of course, so angry that people had the audacity to just… live, like there wasn’t a gigantic, bleeding void in the world that had yet to scar over—that might never truly close—but there was something else mixed in with the bitterness, something sweeter.

There was a certain kind of beauty, you mused, in the way they enjoyed such silly things. There was just something about the way they found joy in sparkly nail polish, and their favorite song, and a boy looking in their general direction that had you choking on a foreign warmth. Everyone had something, and it was beautiful to see people grow their worlds around the ugliness while you weren't so consumed with shrinking yours.

Leaning back against your locker, you watched two freshmen girls walk side-by-side until a flock of tropical-scented, lip-gloss-coated sophomore girls passed them. The taller of the two trailed after them, linking arms with a blonde in the back of the pack. The shorter one watched their hair swish over their shoulders until they walked around the corner, absently tugging at a beaded bracelet on her wrist the entire time.

In three weeks, she’d start eating lunch alone in the library, hiding in the dark book closet with outdated textbooks as her only companions. In five, they wouldn’t speak unless they had to. You gave the girl a weak smile when she accidentally made eye-contact. Sorry, babe, I read your future. You didn’t even need to see the girl’s palm.

You pushed yourself off of your locker and shook your head a little, regrouping your thoughts as you slid into your seat next to Stiles. He looked tired. He was slumped over his desk, chin propped on his folded arms, and his eyelids hung heavily over the exhaustion coating his directionless gaze. He barely acknowledged your presence, grunting a little and nudging your foot with his.

You hid your smile behind your English binder and turned in your seat to face him. “Hey,” you paused, bundling the meager bits and pieces of courage in your chest, and then said, “your perpetual nosiness—that extends to your dad too, right?”

Stiles’s head lulled to the side, cheek pressed against his folded arms, evidently too drained to sit-up. He trailed his squinted gaze over your face, eyes hooded and unblinking, “Why?”

“No reason.” You drummed your pencil against your desk and watched the long red arrow tick forward on the clock above the whiteboard. Stiles watched you fidget with a little sleepy smirk eased into the corners of his mouth, patient and still for the first time since you’d met. It was a shame you couldn’t revel in it.

You lost the stalemate after your desperation became too thick to swallow, “I need to see a case file. There’s like…nothing on the internet or in Maggie’s local history sagas.”

That got his attention. Stiles leaned forward, glimmering with intrigue and ill-intent, and said, “Which case?”

“None of your business,” you retorted reflexively. Stiles gave you an amused look and cupped his cheek in his palm, waiting for the inevitable apology. You withered against your chair and muttered, “Does it matter?”

He snorted and lifted a shoulder, “I have a right to know what I’m potentially putting my life on the line for; breaking and entering is a very serious crime, y’know.”

You huffed and glared a little at your clasped hands, “Somehow I know you’ve done worse.”

Stiles didn’t deny it. He just grinned proudly and scooted closer to you, “Seriously, what’s so important you’re willing to steal something from the police?”

“Not steal,” you corrected, a bit too petulantly for your liking, “just…borrow indefinitely.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles pursed his lips and almost went cross-eyed scrutinizing your face, “so what’s so important you’re willing to ‘borrow’ classified information from the police ‘indefinitely’?”

You paused, not entirely sure how to answer his question without spilling over the edges and ruining everything. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, bowing your head a little. You picked at a hangnail until it was tender and inflamed, “Just a hunch, really. It’s probably nothing.”

Stiles tapped his fingers against his desk, fast and furious, and let out a dramatic puff of air, “I could help you if you’d, y’know, tell me literally one single thing about it.”

“I don’t need your help,” you scoffed, feet sliding out in front of you as you sunk into your chair.

He cocked his head and hummed, looking far too smug for 7:45 in the morning, “Besides the whole ‘stealing my dad’s keycard and making it actually possible for you to read it’ thing, right?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you mumbled, stalling the inevitable. It felt a little too much like losing to admit that you needed him—even though…you definitely needed him. It was a rather unfortunate fact you were fruitlessly still trying to deny.

Stiles rolled his eyes, neck too, and grabbed his backpack from the floor, “Forgive me for having a hobby.”

He opened his backpack, and you imagined, just for a moment, the zipper latching onto his mouth like a singularly-tentacled alien. It would solve all your problems; you could zip and unzip him whenever you wanted. If only. Sighing, you dropped your head against your knuckles, “Which is…irritating me?”

“Putting the pieces together,” Stiles dropped his coffee-warped, dogeared copy of Metamorphosis onto his desk and flipped to the assigned chapter. His eyes flicked from right to left, pace ridiculously fast, as he scanned through the pages. If it were anyone else, you would’ve assumed it was all for show. “I was a jigsaw kid,” he murmured, nose still stuck in his book.

Your lip stung as you gnawed on the cracking center, “If I tell you what I’m looking for, you’ll help me?”

“That,” Stiles punctuated his statement with a dramatic page flip, “and I might need a tiny favor from you.” He held his pointer finger and thumb together, almost touching, and flashed a toothy smile over the bent cover of his book, “Just an itty-bitty, very small, totally not a big deal favor.”

Your face turned thoroughly sour, “Oh god.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, like he didn’t just intentionally plant the seeds of dead bodies and false alibis in your mind two seconds ago, and huffed, “I just want to check on Lydia, okay? I think I’ll have a better chance of getting in through the front door with you.”

Your smirk flattened, “Why?”

His mouth hung open for a second, and then he shook his head firmly, peering at you through pinched lids, “You first.”

You fixed your gaze on your shoes, shifting your foot from left to the right, watching the fluorescent lights bounce off of the burgundy leather. The extra shine only made the scuffs on the toes more pronounced. “I want to look into the Hale fire, okay?” Your voice got trapped in your throat, so your tone wasn’t as biting as you wanted it to be, “Happy?”

You would’ve been content to keep staring at your boots until class ended, but your attention snapped back to Stiles when he inhaled sharply. He looked baffled, and maybe even a little green in the face, and you were starting to feel a little queasy yourself—nerves tended to turn your stomach upside-down and inside-out all in the same excruciatingly slow flip. His mouth was already ajar, but it took him several red-hand ticks to finally speak, “Why?”

“Nuh uh,” you crossed your arms and sat upright, rolling your shoulders back, “you go now.”

Stiles was still looking at you with an odd expression on his face, a little too distracted to be difficult. He answered you without any inflection in his voice, “She didn’t show up for homeroom.”

Your intestines unspun with your faint inhale and then immediately dropped to the floor along with your heart as you let out a weak, trembling exhale, “...and?”

Stiles recovered from his momentary lapse in vexation and leaned onto his forearms, "And it’s your turn again.”

You wished you had a simple answer for him, and, even more so, you wished you were a better liar. “There’s kinda no way to answer that without trauma dumping all over you,” you mumbled, intensively examining the fine ridges in your nails.

“I can handle a little trauma.” Stiles rapped his knuckles against the top of his head and smiled a little, “I’ve got nothin’ but space up here.”

People always said that—that they’d be there for you no matter what, that they could handle anything—and then they got a real good look at the ugly of it all, at the dirty hair and rotting kitchen, at the prolonged silences and self-absorbed isolation. People usually took off running pretty quickly after that. At least, Lydia had.

“There haven’t been that many residential fire fatalities here. Just two cases, actually.” You chewed on your thumbnail and shrugged, “I know they said the Hale fire was an accident, but…maybe there’s a connection.” You swallowed, and your boot squeaked against the floor when you kicked at the ground, “Or maybe I’m just a dumbass with too much spare time.”

Stiles stared at you, and you could see the exact moment he connected the pieces. You were expecting the usual nauseating sympathy, the well-intentioned kindness that always flirted with the edge of pity, oftentimes landing smack-dab in the middle of it—but there wasn’t a drip of pity in his eyes. They were filled with grief; for you or for someone else, you didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. More importantly, perhaps, his eyes were shining with…relief, pure and simple relief that nothing else needed to be said.

“I’ll get you into the file room,” Stiles said, low and soft in his throat, and he didn’t look away from you until Scott slid in-between your desks. They did a complicated series of high-fives and hand-shakes with a few ‘knucks’ thrown in here and there for good measure.

Before Scott sat down behind Stiles, he smiled in your direction. You looked past him, assuming Allison was behind you, and watched a red-breasted robin flit around a tree through the window. You saw Scott’s hand move in your peripheral vision, and when you tore your eyes away from the streak of scarlet feathers and blue sky, your lips tipped into a timid smile. Scott was waving at you; he was smiling at you. You didn’t know when your world went from no friends to two, but it felt oddly…normal. Smiling back at Scott, dodging Stiles’s kicks at your feet, trying not to laugh at their goofy faces. It felt like it was part of your routine, exactly the same as organizing your pens and pencils on top of your desk at the start of class, and just like that: normal twisted into terrifying.

You chewed on the end of your pen when you felt Stiles’s gaze on the side of your face, “So…why do you want to see Lydia—besides your typical stalker behavior, obviously.”

“You’re gonna feel like such an asshole,” Stiles grinned a little and nudged your toes, but there was something strange tucked in the corners of his mouth, something a bit grim, a bit afraid. Whatever it was, his cheeks didn’t dimple with his smile, and you gnawed on your lip once you realized that you not only noticed their absence but you missed them.

You peeked at him from under your lashes and frowned when you saw that the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were gone too. Stiles’s grin eroded away to little more than a flat line once he started speaking again, “Jackson was attacked by…something last night—they’re saying mountain lion, but you and I both know that’s bullshit—anyway, she was pretty freaked out when my dad got there.”

You stiffened, spinal column drawing into a taut line from the crown of your skull to your tailbone, and your blood went cold. You already knew Lydia hadn't shown up for school today. You always knew—you felt Lydia’s absence just as fiercely as her presence. The air was just different somehow. You didn’t even have to look for her anymore; an innate rabbit-sense always reared its head when Lydia was too far away…when she was too close. Your instincts couldn’t agree on anything. They couldn’t decide if Lydia was a rabbit or a fox, and it was exhausting—but at the moment all you wanted, all you needed, was to make sure that Lydia hadn’t been torn apart by a monster with sharp claws and serrated teeth.

“And she isn’t here,” you finally said, barely above a whisper.

“And she isn’t here,” Stiles echoed, just as quiet.

“Okay,” your head bobbed with a decisive nod, knees moving before your mind had the chance to scold them, “let’s go.”

Stiles’s jaw unhinged alarmingly fast and comically wide, “Wha—now?”

You pushed everything on your desk into your backpack with a broad sweep of your arm and jerked your head towards the door, “Come on, before class starts.”

Stiles blinked at you for a few moments and then floundered for his things when you started walking out of the room without him. He stumbled into a desk in his rapid, ever-so clumsy efforts to catch up with you and twisted around to salute Scott’s empty chair. Apparently, neither of you had noticed his exit. It seemed it was a perfect morning for ditching class, but you didn’t dwell on the consequences for long. Your focus was single-minded and unwavering, and Stiles had to jog to keep up with your stalwart stride.

“Since when are you so helpful,” he muttered, slightly out of breath.

“I told you,” you gave him a wry smile and shoved the exit door open with your back, holding it for Stiles until he was halfway through the frame—and then you promptly stepped out of the way and watched the door swing shut on his backpack. Your lips twitched with a grin, “I’m a nice girl.”

Stiles yelped a little and looked over his shoulder, ensuring all his limbs were intact before yanking on his straps. His backpack smacked into his shoulders, and the heavy textbooks inside slammed together with a satisfying thump. You snickered and dodged his attempts to kick the back of your knees.

Glowering, Stiles switched tactics and tried to step on your nimble feet. Tragically for him, all the fire in his indignation was lost to his plush pout, “Since when?”

You rolled your eyes and waited next to his jeep, anxiously tracing little swirls in the dirt caked onto the passenger door, “Since I met you.”

You missed the look on Stiles’s face, but that was for the best. His honeyed smile would’ve changed your mind, and you had an ex-best friend to attend to.

****************************

The jeep was quiet for the first few minutes of the drive—at least, it was as quiet as a decrepit clunker could be. There were various clangs and squeals in-between the engine’s low rumble, and a soft indie song filled the silences in-between, but the air felt still. Stiles was intently focused on the road ahead, thumbs drumming against the steering wheel to a beat of his own making, while you picked at your cuticles, cycling between anxiety and denial. It was a subliminal game of chicken that Stiles eventually lost.

After a few false starts, Stiles blurted out, “You ever gonna tell me what happened?”

You stared straight ahead, through the bug-splattered windshield and down the winding street, “Nope.”

“Fine. That’s fine.” Stiles flexed his fingers against the steering wheel, straightening them to their impressive full-length, and then wrapped them around the wheel again. His grip was as tight as the grit of his teeth, “I don’t even want to know anyway.” You lulled your head to the side to smirk at him, but you kept your mouth thoroughly closed. Stiles’s gaze flicked in your direction briefly, and then he directed his eye roll towards the road, “I don’t. Keep your boring secret.”

You settled further into the passenger seat and propped your feet on the dash, grin warm with satisfaction, “I will.”

The beat of Stiles’s thumbs sped up, thundering against ‘9’ and ‘3’ while you hummed along to the trickle of piano and acoustic guitar strumming through the cracked speakers. The time on the dash display flickered from 8:15 to 8:16, and Stiles let out a long, drawn-out groan, “Will you just tell me! It’s killing me. Seriously, I’m going to credit you in my epitaph. ‘Here lies Stiles Stilinski: Another Victim of Gaslighting, Gatekeeping, and Girlbossing.’”

“They say you always remember your first,” you sighed dreamily, battering your butterfly lashes. The mole on the hinge of his jaw jumped with a harsh swallow, and you grinned.

Stiles snorted and then immediately grimaced like he was irritated with his mouth for having the audacity to laugh in the midst of his despair. “Good to know I’m just part of a pattern.”

“I don’t know about that,” you hummed, resting your temple against the window. The morning sun warmed your skin and washed your face with a glimmer of gold that glittered with the devilry in your eyes. You smirked at Stiles and poked the mole just below his earlobe, “I have yet to meet anyone as homicidally inspiring as you.”

He pulled a face to hide his smile as the jeep puttered to a stop against the curb, and you looked over his shoulder, blinking slowly. You hadn’t realized you were so close to Lydia’s house until you were parked in front of it.

The colonial estate loomed largely through the window. The long white pillars stood oppressively alongside the double entrance, and the meticulously manicured lawn screamed ‘keep off’ louder than any sign or barbed-wire fence. Lydia’s house had always been more like a monument than a home: an art installation, an antique, something to be admired not loved.

Tilting your head, you squinted at the familiar windows and counted along the second floor until you found Lydia’s room. The heavy purple curtains were drawn closed, and you were a little surprised that Lydia hadn’t redecorated in the last couple years. It was probably different on the inside; sixteen was a little old for dollhouses and princess crowns.

Growing up, Lydia’s room was stocked with every Barbie accessory on the market, and yet you always played Barbies at your house. Every single time. When her dad was home, Lydia’s house had teetered between too quiet and too loud. A constant vague unease hung heavily in the air, even with the volume on her CD player turned all the way up. No boy band could drown out all the screaming and icy silences, but you'd tried. Oh how you'd tried. It happened so often, you’d eventually gotten used to the noise, but you could tell it’d bothered Lydia, no matter how unbothered she’d tried to seem.

In comparison, your house was the Dreamhouse. It was so warm before it became empty. Your mom always had something baking in the oven, and Lydia had never looked more at home than when she was tucked on your window seat, plate of brownies by her side, with your mom’s gentle hands braiding her hair out of her face. You hadn’t ever minded sharing; Lydia needed the attention more than you did. She was so much softer than people gave her credit for, far more fragile than they’d ever know.

In spite of her current taste in boys, Lydia used to be a steadfast romantic. She'd always wanted to reenact the romance novels stacked on her nightstand, a little heartbreak before the inevitable happily ever after. She used to read so voraciously there was a new plot to perform every day. You were also a bookworm, but your tastes had inspired morbid hits such as Black Widow Barbie and Dreamhouse Zombie Outbreak. You'd usually take turns, or Barbie ended up falling in love with zombie Ken until he chomped on her arm.

“Not her brains,” Lydia had always insisted, “Barbie is the brains of the relationship.”

Lydia, you'd argue, Lydia was the brain. The only one that mattered.

Warm skin on your knuckles gently drew you back into the present. Stiles’s brow was pinched with concern, and his hand lingered on yours until you brushed him off with a shake of your head—but, as you’d come to learn the last couple weeks, Stiles Stilinski was nothing if not relentless. He leaned into your side as you walked along the lengthy driveway, sending you stumbling a few paces to the right. You glared at him, but it was watered down with stubborn affection. His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, and you forgot about the nerves wriggling up your esophagus until Stiles rang the doorbell. They came back full force when you heard a pair of high heels clicking towards them.

Lydia’s mom peered out the door. She looked confused as she took in Stiles’s smile, stretched far too wide to look even remotely casual. Then, her gaze landed on you and her face broke out into a bright grin, “Y/N?”

You’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was; beauty ran just as deeply as old money in the Martin family. Lydia was born with her mom’s golden-red hair and hazel eyes, and they had the same dimpled smile. It was always difficult to see anything beyond the brilliance of their perfect teeth and incandescent skin.

“Come here,” Mrs. Martin pulled you into a tight hug and cupped the back of your head with a steady hand. Your arms remained stiff by your sides, voice sticky in your throat. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been hugged like this; the realization hurt more than you thought it would.

After a moment, your shoulders slumped, and you turned your face into Mrs. Martin’s shoulder. She still smelled the same, like patchouli and luxury, “Hi.”

She held you out at arm's-length, hands on your shoulders, and shook her head, “There’s no way that this beautiful young woman is the same little girl who tried to keep a frog colony in my guest bathroom. I can’t be that old.”

“You literally look exactly the same,” you smiled a little and rubbed your bicep.

“It has been far, far too long.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in your sleeves and then stepped back into the doorframe, “What can I do for you?”

“I…” your mouth went dry, and you looked everywhere except Mrs. Martin’s face. Your eyes flashed between the silver door knockers, the winding ivy, the sculpted shrubs. Everything was exactly the same. Nothing, not even the house, had noticed your absence.

“We came to check on Lydia,” Stiles nudged your shoulder, and you blinked a few times. Mrs. Martin was watching you with big emphatic eyes—and you hated it.

You swallowed and nodded, “Yeah…we brought her homework.”

“Come in.” She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose with freshly manicured nails, “She took a little something to relax herself, so please excuse…well, just be prepared.” Mrs. Martin sighed, and for the first time it looked like the last four years had actually aged her. She attempted a smile, but it was shriveled at the corners, “You remember the way, don’t you?”

A nod rolled up your neck to your head. You couldn’t find the words to tell Mrs. Martin that you weren’t the same girl anymore. You almost felt like her in this house: small, wild, still full of dreams. You crept up the curved staircase slowly, delaying the inevitable, and ran your fingers along the iron railing. You broke your arm falling off of it nine years ago. It was a nasty fracture that put you in a cast all summer, but it’d seemed worth it at the time. At least, you’d thought so. Your mom and Mrs. Martin hadn’t agreed with your assessment at the hospital.

You felt a twinging urge to run to the top of the stairs and slide down the railing until you became dizzy—and just like that, you were seven years old again, and you weren't scared of death or ending up alone.

“You coming?” Stiles called from the top of the stairs.

You nodded stiffly and pushed past him to the last door on the left. You held your hand on the doorknob and pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, scowling at the anxiety crawling under your skin. You were being ridiculous. It wasn’t like you were the one who ended up in an ambulance last night.

You rapped your knuckles against the door a few times, even though it was already cracked open wide enough to catch a glimpse of the raspberry walls and flower chandelier. “Lyds–ia. Lydia,” you cleared your throat and peeked into Lydia’s room, “it’s me. I mean, it’s Y/N.” Stiles nudged you in the ribs, and you sighed, “And Stiles.”

Lydia was face-down on her four-poster bed, slowly combing her fingers through her unbrushed hair. She smacked her lips together a few times, and then her head popped up from her mountain of throw pillows, “You still haven’t explained what the hell a Stiles is.”

You snorted and shot Stiles a pointed look. He pursed his lips and glanced around the room until he spotted a little bottle of pills on top of her vanity. He read the lengthy label and let out a low whistle, “Bet you can’t say, ‘I saw Sally sell seashells by the seashore.’”

Lydia swung her legs over the foot of her bed and leaned forward, eyes sparking with bullheaded determination. “I saw….I saw…” The light in her eyes faded as she drifted off to a place no one else could see.

You sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. You didn’t have to tell your body to move; it knew before you did. Finding Lydia when she was lost, it was like…swimming to the surface, shivering in a storm, bracing for a fall. It was an instinct so deeply rooted in your soul you couldn’t rip it out without rupturing an artery. You watched Lydia’s eyes focus on your face, felt her fingers lace with yours, and all you knew was the slow thump of Lydia’s pulse against your thumb.

Lydia squeezed your hand and swiveled to face you. Her eyes were still cloudy, but something warm dawned behind the fog. You felt the pit in your stomach roll. Lydia sighed happily, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

“Well,” you almost choked on the lump in your throat and struggled to support Lydia’s weight as she went boneless against your side, “here I am.” You searched for some assistance with Lydia’s rapidly sinking frame, but Stiles was busy poking around every nook and cranny in the room. “Stiles,” you snapped.

He wrenched his hand away from Lydia’s bottle of Dior perfume, purple just like the rest of the room, and clasped it behind his back. “What?”

You gestured violently towards Lydia's wilting spine and rolled your eyes when he tripped over a discarded boot in his, frankly pathetic, haste to get to Lydia’s other side. You gently maneuvered her until she was propped up against her pillows.

“Don’t go away again, okay?” Lydia licked her lips and looked like she was about to cry—so much like a scared little girl, your heart clenched. “I keep losing you.”

“I,” you stared at her with wide eyes, and the bottle of pills enveloped your peripheral vision, “I just wanted to see if you were alright…after last night.”

“Last night,” Lydia slurred, nuzzling back against her pillows.

“Yeah, last night,” Stiles folded his arms over his chest and arched his brow, “remember anything about it?”

“I remember…” Lydia looked like she was going to cry again, eyes glassy and round, but the chemical high quickly swept over the tide, “I remember a mountain lion.”

Stiles’s head tipped back between his shoulder blades, and his cheeks slowly puffed into pink little domes as he held his breath. Apparently, there was one thing more powerful than Stiles Stilinski’s obsession with Lydia Martin: his impatience. Stiles’s lips puckered as a loud sigh whooshed through his teeth. He crouched down to Lydia’s eye-level, “You remember seeing a mountain lion, or you remember them telling you it was a mountain lion?”

Lydia hummed and nodded until her hair fell in front of her face, “Mountain lion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles reached for a stuffed giraffe next to her shoulder and shook it in her face, “what’s this?”

“Mountain lion,” Lydia’s head bobbed sharply.

You snatched the stuffed animal out of Stiles’s hand, scowling as you bludgeoned his arm with the giraffe’s head. “Leave her alone. She’s doped out of her mind.”

“Clearly,” Stiles snorted, watching Lydia curl a strand of her hair around her finger, completely entranced by the frizzy strands.

“What did you want her to say?” You smoothed a few stray hairs sticking up from the crown of Lydia’s head back into place and met Stiles’s gaze, face impassive, “Werewolf?”

He opened his mouth and gaped like a particularly brainless fish. Before he could come up with a coherent answer—or any kind of answer, actually—Lydia’s text-tone chimed. Stiles dove across the bed for her phone, but you smacked his hand with the giraffe before he could touch it. “You are so not reading her texts, lonely boy.”

“I was just trying to help.” Stiles flopped onto her vanity chair and crossed his arms, squirming sullenly, “She can barely string two words together, let alone an actual thought.”

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait until she’s good and hungover tomorrow.” You glanced down at Lydia’s phone and paused. It was a video file. From an unknown number.

“Hey,” Lydia poked her head up and pointed at Stiles until the weight of her arm became too much to bear. It fell on top of her stomach like a limp noodle, “You.”

“Me,” Stiles squeaked.

You muted the video and made sure Stiles was sufficiently distracted by the curl of Lydia’s finger before you pressed play. Nothing happened at first. The video was shot in a strange, almost voyeuristic style, and the lighting was terrible, so dim you could barely tell that the camera was facing a large window. You squinted and made out the video store’s sign flickering above the door. So, this was from last night. Weird—but at least it wasn’t revenge porn; that had been your first guess.

You’d almost given up on finishing the video, and then the camera angle moved. Two red eyes flashed in the darkness, a large…something smashed through the glass, and you bit down on your thumbnail so hard blood welled through the sidewalls.

It was a goof, obviously. Some kind of poorly edited creepypasta. A cruel prank someone sent Lydia after they heard what happened last night. Had to be. Your hands shook as you sent yourself the video, and then you deleted it from Lydia’s phone. Your number, you realized once you stopped seeing red, was still saved as ☀️✨Babe!!!!✨☀️ in Lydia’s contacts. It took you longer than it should have to delete the sent message.

“If you’re done fighting your erection, we should get going.” Your voice sounded remarkably even, considering how scattered your mind was. It was certainly more composed than the babble spewing from Stiles’s mouth.

“I do not have—it’s not like—I wasn’t—she thought I was someone else.”

“Ah,” your phone felt heavy in your pocket, “real boner killer.”

Stiles sighed through his nose, “New rule, you can't make fun of anything I do or say when Lydia's in my fuckin' lap. Starting now."

He must’ve known something was wrong when you didn’t argue. That, and the way you practically sprinted out of the house to avoid seeing anyone else. Your hands were still shaking when you crawled into the jeep, and Stiles shot about a dozen little furious, concerned glances in your direction, but you couldn’t seem to move your tongue.

Your bottom lip quivered. Your chest tightened until your ribs corseted your lungs. The screech of your ground teeth sent an unpleasant chill down your spine, but you’d rather choke on a chipped tooth than let the beast howling in your throat escape—the last thing you needed was to cry in the passenger seat next to Stiles Stilinski.

You were clearly losing your mind; everyone said it was only a matter of time—watching a loved one burn to death tended to have that effect on a person. Not that you remembered much, but you were clearly off your rocker if you were having vivid, day-time hallucinations of red-eyed monsters roaming the streets of Beacon Hills.

You wiped your sweat-damp palms on your dress and bounced your leg up and down, driving your heel into the floor over and over again—and then you felt a solid warmth over your knee. Your eyes were a little wild when you followed the trail of Stiles’s arm to his face, and the divot between his brows deepened when he met your gaze, “Hey, she’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Your head jerked with a quick nod, and you sucked in a few shallow breaths, “I know.” The air got stuck in your chest, and your heart flapped erratically as the back of your eyelids played reruns of a familiar film starring your narrowing trachea. You dug your toes into the dusty floor mat, scrambling for any kind of grasp on reality, and choked on your words, “Her mom always…had…the good shit.”

Stiles kept his hand on your knee and then shook his head, pulling over against the curb and putting the jeep in park. “You don’t have to talk, but you gotta breathe.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was squeezing your kneecap in even intervals. You inhaled and exhaled with the flex of his joints until the panic receded enough for embarrassment to heat your cheeks. You slammed your head back against the seat and stared at the steel roof. You hoped that if you ignored the tears bubbling along your lash line, they’d instantaneously evaporate before they could spill onto your cheeks, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t usually…this hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Stiles chewed on his cheek and pulled his hand back into his lap. He drummed his fingers against his kneecap and then spoke softly, “I used to get ‘em too. Sucked.” Stiles stared out the dashboard, watching but not really seeing dead leaves swirl in little circles over the asphalt, “Happened a lot after my mom died.”

You froze for a moment, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. You realized, belatedly, that you hadn’t ever heard the Sheriff talk about his wife, not even once in the last four years, even though he wore a gold band on his left ring finger. It hadn’t even occurred to you to ask.

You never had the right words to explain it. For a long time, you spoke in ripples at therapy, incomprehensible circles that skirted the point in an endless loop—but you realized, as you got stuck on the honey in Stiles’s eyes, you didn’t need the right words here. With him. In fact, you didn’t really need any words at all. “Me too.”

Stiles watched your eyes steadily, and his fingers stilled against his legs, “Yeah?”

You nodded and swallowed a little, “Yeah.”

A smile tugged on his mouth, tangled with too many paradoxes to parse in the soft, short moment humming between you. You smiled back at him, far more timidly, but that wasn’t a surprise. He was brave, you decided, much braver than you. It was contagious.

Your tongue darted out, licking your chapped lips, and you clung to the fragile current of courage lapping against the back of your teeth. “We just stopped talking.”

Stiles glanced at you, clearly confused.

“Lydia and I.” You knotted your fingers in the hem of your dress and tugged on it every time you felt the stopper in your throat start to swell, “We just stopped being friends after my mom died. That’s why I didn’t…I mean, there’s not really a story to tell. We were close, and then I woke up one day, and we weren’t anymore.”

Stiles turned until he was facing you, leaning against the door and struggling to find a comfortable angle for his long legs. “Most people…they’re okay with the funeral part ‘cause it’s pretty simple—y’know: hold hands, bring food, pretend no one’s crying. And then after comes, and they can’t figure out what to do because it’s over, but it’s not.”

“Limbo,” you mirrored his position and pulled your knees to your chest. You rocked the soles of your boots from heel to toe, like small patent leather boats adrift on a sea of faded nylon, “It’s limbo, and everyone else is so incredibly, hideously alive.”

The relief was back in Stiles’s eyes, and you were swimming in it. He nodded and bent his knees, scooching his feet until the toes of his sneakers were pressed against yours. “Yeah," he exhaled, and the moment felt important, like something you were supposed to remember on your deathbed. You tried to memorize the look on Stiles's face, but you didn't know where to start. How could you etch infinity?

“It wasn’t just her,” you admitted out loud for the first time.

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged a little and gave you a grin that brought the dimples back to his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but smile at their reappearance, “but we can pretend it was, just for today.”

You let out a breath that felt like a laugh and lifted your toes, dropping them on top of his and pressing down until they were pinned beneath the tread of your boots. Stiles narrowed his eyes and wriggled his feet free, fighting your scurrying ankles with his tongue trapped between his teeth. His triumphant cry when he finally caught the tip of your laces was just enthusiastic enough to coerce another laugh through your clamped lips.

The soft smile Stiles gave you while you laughed made his body go lax and the back of your neck warm. You quickly bent over to retie your laces, and he turned to restart the engine.

“I should probably get us back to school,” Stiles ran his hand over his head. “My dad'll kill me if I get marked truant again.”

“It’s parent teacher conferences tonight,” you recalled as the words left your mouth. You slunk down in your seat, chin catching on the seatbelt, “I’ve never skipped school before. I have no idea what my dad’s gonna say.”

Stiles’s attention shifted from the road to your profile, “Really?”

“What?” you crossed your arms over your chest and blew your hair out of your eyes.

“Nothing,” Stiles tried to hide his smirk, but it was too sharp to cover with a cough, “it’s just…hasn’t everyone skipped at least once?”

“What would I even do?” The corner of your mouth tugged into a dry smile, “Visit my catatonic ex-best friend?”

Stiles nodded agreeably, and then his head danced from side to side, rolling over other options, “Or bowling. Bowling is fun.”

You grumbled a little in your throat and sunk further into the cradle of your hips, “I hate bowling.”

Stiles grinned, “Yeah, me too.”

Pausing, your bottom lip wormed its way between your teeth, “I’d play D&D with you, though.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you watched the sun disappear behind the tree line over the hill and ignored the feeling of being examined like a bacterial petri dish.

“See, we are friends. The best of friends, actually. Two peas in the proverbial pod.”

And, well, you couldn’t really disagree.

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien imagine #teen wolf #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you

63 notes · View notes