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My goal today is to knock out some of my drafts, if not all, and maybe change my theme tbh

#hxroism #u dont wanna make me a new background do u babu ........ IM SRY I LOVE U #ooc

don't leave

Send ‘don’t leave’ for my muse’s reaction

”Don’t leave.”

Stiles bowed his head, whiskey-hued eyes closing tiredly as his fingers flexed tight enough around the lid of his suitcase to make his knuckles bleed bone-white. There was resignation in his stance, in how his head dipped low, agony in his scent: it was the latter, however, that had seeped into each and every surface within his bedroom, soaking in deep until misery and loneliness had become part of this room’s personality, as well:

Had been this way from the moment that Scott had begun pulling away after Allison’s death and once the Nogitsune had finally been exorcised from Stiles permanently. The teen had been left to fend for himself while the rest of the pack followed after the Alpha, and Stiles… Stiles had become an omega, though not by any choice of his own. Losing Scott and his friends within the pack had hit the Spark hard, and the teen had become withdrawn and closed-off afterwards; with nothing else to do, no one to spend his time with Stiles had focused on his studies: and the end result ended with his early acceptance to Yale. An acceptance that Stiles sent back the week before, letting the school know that he’d be arriving in the spring.

Now, though—

Stiles would say that he was surprised, but… he honestly wasn’t. Not really. Somewhere, hidden and deep and knowing within him, the teen had been expecting this from the moment he caught his dad letting Melissa know that Stiles was leaving for the East Coast in a couple of weeks and probably wouldn’t be back for a while. It was… It was ironic, only not, and the entire scenario raised a sense of bitterness within the Spark, bile caught in his throat as Stiles suddenly smacked a hand against the top of his luggage.

”Why? Why, Scott? Why don’t you want me to leave? You’ve—pushed me away. Ignored me since… since the fucking fox. After. After everything that happened, after everything that we all went through, that we all lost—I needed you afterwards, just like I knew you needed me, and… you pushed me away. Shut me out. Told the others to stay the fuck away from me, too.”

Remembered hurt boiled over within the golden-brown-eyed boy then, the aching knowledge that he was more alone now than he ever was after his mother’s death—because he had both his dad and Scott afterwards but, now, he only had his father—and the sense of loss that struck deep at that moment… nothing would ever make him forget that moment. Fury spiking, Stiles grabbed a pillow from the head of his bed and turned in a quick movement to throw the fluffy thing at Scott’s head as hard as he possibly could.

Of course, with an Alpha werewolf’s instincts and reactions, the other teenager easily dodged—though at least Stiles had the satisfaction of watching his one-time best friend’s dark, chocolate-brown eyes go wide in unexpected shock as the ‘wolf finally caught an edge of Stiles’ deep-rooted rage. “Tell me, damn you! Tell me why the fuck why I shouldn’t just leave and never look back! Never come the fuck back! You—you bastard, you ignore me for a year and you tell me to not leave?! Fuck you! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just leave now.”

The last was hissed, angry and sharp, Stiles’ amber eyes vividly bright in his rage and pain and loneliness, and the teen’s normally pale skin was mottled crimson in his temper: honest, true fury had never looked attractive on Stiles—but, then again, the teen had never been a particularly kind person when anger took over, broke rough and violent in a crashing wave, and drowned the normally whiskey-eyed Spark in the dark emotion. Even as Stiles’ cheeks and throat turned red, letting that vicious side run free and open and loose, all of the color bleached from Scott’s tanned skin, horror and hurt readily apparent in his dark brown eyes.

”Stiles—no, I—it wasn’t like that…” Scott began, words halting; he didn’t get very far before the ugly look that the other teen threw his way cut him off. “You… you were always following after me. Always getting wrapped up in everything. Always getting hurt when you got dragged into the middle of things…”

”It was my decision to make, Scott!” Stiles snapped back, words quick and layered with so many different versions—layers—of anger. Underlying it all, however, was still that open wound (bleeding and sore and tender) that Scott had left that first time that the Alpha had pushed his best friend away; despite that gaping injury, though, Stiles’ chin remained uptilted and challenging, mouth pursed and set even as a muscle ticked regularly in the edge of his jawline. Perhaps it was the fact that Stiles refused to stand down to an Alpha—had never been willing to stand down to an Alpha, even from the very beginning with Peter Hale—or maybe it was the fact that Scott could see that the other teen was already nearly completely packed and that Stiles wasn’t bringing anything that the ‘wolf had ever given to him, but… something within Scott broke just then.

His weight slammed forward into Stiles, both boys tumbling backwards to land awkwardly on the bed, half on and half off of Stiles’ suitcase, and the teenage Alpha had to resist hard against the temptation of clawing the luggage to shreds with his claws. Instead, he pressed his cheek against Stiles’, moving on to his jaw, his throat, his collarbone, the vulnerable indent of bone that was his temple: scentmarking, layering Stiles’ familiar scent with his own, desperate to have his best friend smelling like him again after going so long without it.

”I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Stiles, I’m sorry,” Scott practically babbled, words coming too fast and muffled as he buried his nose against the curve of the other teen’s throat. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m so sorry. I was only trying to protect you—I couldn’t let you die, couldn’t go through listening to your heartbeat slow and stop, the way Allison’s did… the same thing, same scenario… I couldn’t lose you, too, so I thought… better to force you not to get involved. Not give you a chance to get in the middle of things. I thought—I thought that it’d be better, safer, that you’d be alive and it’d be okay, but I’m losing you in a different way because of it and please, please, please don’t leave, Stiles. Don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”

He couldn’t bring himself to glance upwards when he felt Stiles shift beneath him, still too frantic with the need to press his skin against the other teen’s, to ensure that Stiles once more carried the Alpha’s scent as easily as his own, but Scott could feel it when Stiles brought a hand up to cover his eyes, the small tremors that began to shiver through the muscles of his torso—the moment when salt and water trickled down his cheeks from beneath Stiles’ tightly-pressed fingers.

#*meme #*drabbles #hxroism #abettermccall #(( CLOSED MEME. DO NOT SUBMIT. ))