#cops hill burying ground

[eopederson]

Gravestone for Bartholomew Gedney, Copp's Hill Burying Ground, Boston, 2000.

Memorial Day 2023.

#gravestone #early american #cops hill burying ground #boston #massachusetts #2000 #photographers on tumblr #black and white #copps hill burying ground

[tenpointsav]

night shift pt. 1

After a few weeks in Hawkins, on a late night in April, Emma has an unexpected visitor on her back porch.

cw: slight angst, season 4 spoilers, descriptions of healing injuries, blood, this will be a short series and there will be smut in eventual parts but we have some healing to do first.

remember to like, reblog, and gimme a little comment or two. <3

Emma hasn’t seen much of Hawkins since she moved in. 

She made it about two hundred miles before her old truck went out on the edge of the small town. The plan had been to head to Indianapolis for a new start, something different from the nowhere town that she grew up in. When the mechanic sent her the bill for the repairs, Emma took a job in town and now she’s stuck. 

Government vehicles sit on every corner and barricades block off many of the neighborhoods and businesses. There are still people, families who made the decision to stay and young people who have never known anywhere other than this place. A few of the kids from the local high school, which now sits buried under rubble, come by the diner she works at often. They are sweet, even if they often speak in hushed tones and their eyes shift from person to person, slightly paranoid but abundantly cautious. The one with the curls is her favorite, but there’s something about his smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. She always gives him something sweet on the house. 

Emma drags a final box to the center of the table, pulling out books for the small shelf by her bed. Double shifts didn't allow for a lot of time to get everything unpacked at once, so it had been a slow process. Her dog Duckie's tail thwacks the side of her leg as she makes two piles, one of books to keep and another to give away. It's the kind of thing she should have done before she packed up her old place, but it had been rushed. 

Suddenly, her dog lets out a low growl that vibrates Emma's skin. She follows the dog's line of sight to the back door. It’s dark out and she doesn’t know anyone in town that would be coming to visit her here.

"What is it, baby?' Emma asks softly, scratching the coarse hair behind Duckie's ear. A bark echoes through the trailer and he steps towards the door. The hair stands up on her neck as she tries to make out anything in the night outside her windows. 

The thought of calling the police flashes through her mind, but the cops haven't been much use lately, based on chatter she’s overheard at the grocery store. Especially since a Hawkins High cheerleader died in the trailer near hers. It was two days after she got the keys and cops were camped in her yard for a week before the earthquake. Her new home was one of the few that survived at Forest Hills. Every once in a while, a tremor runs through the ground, just strong enough to make the lights flicker and the screen door rattle. During the day, the feeling isn’t so bad, but at night is the only time Emma slightly regrets the decision to stay here. 

"We've seen enough horror movies to know this is a terrible idea," she says, both to herself and to the dog. She follows Duckie tentatively, heart hammering in her throat. 

They reach the back of the trailer and Emma grabs a bat that rests by the back door. The sound of shuffling boxes and bottles makes her jump as her trash can is knocked over. Duckie barks, following it with a high pitched whine. Emma takes a deep breath as she grips the bat tighter. 

"Fuck, okay…" she grumbles, taking a deep breath. 

With a quick motion, Emma grips the handle, twists and pushes the door open. The sound of crickets and the loud smack of the door on the outside paneling is the only thing that greets her. The cement steps leaving her trailer are illuminated with yellow light and the fluttering of moths, but beyond that is pitch darkness. Most streetlights haven't been working. 

She sticks the bat out of the doorway, swinging it into the night haphazardly. Silently hoping that none of her neighbors happen to be watching this display, Emma steps outside. Spring hangs in the air as April crawls into May. A warm breeze ruffles her hair and she looks around slowly. Her eyes begin to adjust to the dark, the outlines of cars and trees barely visible. Stepping down two more times to reach the small yard, Emma turns to see Duckie. The large dog is still standing in the doorway, tail tucked between his legs as he whines. 

"Some help you are," she grumbles, raising the bat over her shoulder before walking towards the side of the trailer. There's a huddled shape and it groans before moving towards her sluggishly. Emma gasps, swinging the bat high above her head. 

"Wait, please," a male voice pleads from the dark. It’s breathless and raspy, seeming hoarse from lack of use. Walking forward, Emma can barely make out the sole of a black boot and the slight glow of white skin. 

"Help…I need help." 

She hears shuffling as he tries to stand, a hand gripping the rusted siding of the trailer. He steps closer to the light with a limp, his hand clutching his side. He stumbles and Emma feels her heart stutter. She rushes the final few feet to keep him from falling and throws her arms around his narrow waist. With a grunt, Emma tries to take on the full weight of his body. He’s lean but tall, all broad shoulders and long legs. 

“Christ, what happened to you?” she whispers, her eyes flickering to the stains his clothes are leaving on her shirt. "We have to call the police.”

He stops in his tracks and grabs her arm, fear painted across his face. Scratches and bruises marr his pale complexion and his eyes are black in the light filtering across the small area.

"No," he exclaims, the rings on his fingers digging into her skin and she bites back a wince. "Don't. They can't know I'm here."

Emma pauses in alarm, staring up at him. Those deep, dark eyes pull her in and for just a minute she feels a tingling in her chest. He notices her fearful expression and lets go of her arm, a hint of sorrow crossing his features. 

"Okay, I won't. No cops," she replies before continuing to help him up the cement steps to the door. "But if you try anything, I'll beat your ass myself."

A huff that could be mistaken for a laugh can be heard from above her head, his breath fanning against her temple. Another tingle shoots through her, this time raising goosebumps. The dog is losing its mind, an angry growl punctuating each bark as Emma nudges him gently out of way with her hip.

Stumbling inside, Emma sits the man at her small kitchen table. He sags down against the back, swaying to the side. Her hands come out to grab his jacket which leaves more black residue on her skin.

"Whoa," she exclaims, gripping his upper arms until he's propped on the table. "I'm gonna go grab some first aid stuff and I'll be right back. Just don't...die or anything. Okay?" 

He gives her the smallest nods as he takes in a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed in the warm light of the living room. His thick lashes stand out against pale skin. Even covered in grime and what can only be blood, Emma can’t help but think he's handsome.

Yeah, Em, the guy you found in the trash is hot. 

Emma spins around and flies down the hall to dig through her miniature bathroom. She manages to find a few bandages, some gauze, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Balancing everything in one arm, Emma snatches a clean towel from the shelf by her shower and hurries back to the kitchen. Her guest is thankfully still upright, head resting on the kitchen wall behind the chair. She’s glad she thought to bring something useful with her from home besides old romance novels and her wine glasses. 

"Alright," Emma says, attempting to announce her presence, "I can't promise this isn't gonna suck."

His eyes flicker up to hers briefly as she drops everything onto the table. He looks so tired, dark circles under his nearly black eyes. She gets a good look at his body for the first time, blood dried to his shirt and torn fabric plastered to his skin.

“Jesus Christ," she whispers, turning to quickly wash her hands. There’s a tar-like substance on him and it’s stuck under her nails. Emma scrubs and scrubs until it’s somewhat gone before giving up. She figures she is going to get a lot messier pretty soon. 

Her dog continues to pace the kitchen as he growls, a low steady hum. His nails click on the floor but he never attempts to approach their visitor. She reaches over and pats his soft fur as he emits another whine. 

"Duckie, chill out,” Emma grumbles, walking back to the table. She starts fighting with the plastic of the alcohol bottle as the man shifts in his seat. 

"Like from that movie?"

Emma's head flies up as she jumps, the sound of his voice startling her. It’s clearer than before, low and husky in a way that makes her face warm. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. She prays he can’t tell her heart is racing a mile a minute.  

"W-what?" she stammers, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

He nods to the dog, sitting forward to try and pull his worn leather jacket off but failing, lacking the strength to even lean up more than an inch or so. Emma grasps the torn fabric and helps ease it off his shoulders. The t-shirt underneath is in shreds and she bites back a gasp at the sight of the jagged wounds across his ribs. Maroon colored streaks run along his forearms, seemingly in pattern with his veins. The color is completely gone from his face now with the effort, making his eyes seem even more piercing. Emma feels a shiver down her spine as she turns and busies herself with preparing the gauze to try and get him back into good shape.

"Your dog's name,” he murmurs. “Like the dude in that movie."

Emma huffs out a laugh, picking at plastic to avoid looking him in the eyes. 

"You don't strike me as a Pretty in Pink kinda guy..." 

"Well, we've all got our secrets, sweetheart," he rasps, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans back on the wall.

Emma wants to melt into the floor, becoming very interested in the bandages before mustering the courage to look at him and say the first thing that comes to her mind. 

"So is your name one of your secrets or would you like to share?" 

His smile is small as he looks at her again, barely moving his cheeks but enough to show off a dimple there. 

"Eddie." 

There’s an itch in the back of her mind as his name passes his lips, like she has heard it before somewhere.

"Emma." 

A heartbeat goes by, the only sound is their breathing and the hum of the nearby fridge. Eddie's eyebrows furrow as he looks down at the table, seeming to notice everything she's pulled out for the first time. 

“Why do you have all this doctor stuff?” 

Eddie’s question makes Emma laugh softly and it earns her another small twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

“Well, this doctor stuff is pretty normal for a first aid kit. But I was going to school to be a nurse. Just kinda never got out of the habit of being well stocked, I guess.” 

Eddie hums in understanding, his eyes fluttering closed again. She reaches back, grabbing a washcloth from a nearby drawer. Eddie's body is slouched in the chair, clothes tattered, his skin bloody and bruised. She can't help but wonder what he looked like before whatever happened to him. 

After about half a minute of studying both his wounds and her meager collection of medical supplies, she throws the cloth on the table. Emma puts her hands in her lap with a heavy sigh.

"I think it might be easier if you took a shower," she murmurs, scrunching her nose as she looks up at Eddie through her lashes. He sighs, a full bodied movement, before giving her a slight nod. 

After several minutes and a few deep groans from her partly willing patient, Emma manages to get Eddie up from the chair and down her small hallway. The warmth is missing from his body as it shuffles next to her and it sets off alarm bells, but Emma pushes it down. If she thinks too much about how weird this all is, she might break down and call the cops. Something is telling her not to do that just yet. 

The small bathroom is just a toilet, a standing shower, and a small sink with a mirror. It’s shoved so close together you could do your makeup in the mirror while you took a shower. The already lacking amount of space is cut down drastically as they enter together. Eddie detaches himself from her side and limps forward a step. The rings on his hand shine in the dim light as he holds himself up on the wall. She turns to leave, pulling the door closed behind her. 

“Wait.” 

Emma stops, looking down at Eddie’s outstretched hand. His fingertips are barely skimming her arm. He glances at her nervously, his hand falling back to his side with a soft slap.

“I think…I might need help. I don’t know-” 

There's a weariness in his voice, so soft it makes Emma's heart hurt. She hesitates, looking down at the worn tile floor. For all she knows he could have done something terrible to end up this way. There's something in his eyes though, deep within the swirls of brown and gold, that tells her to trust him. 

She nods, motioning with her hand for Eddie to sit on the closed toilet lid. When he moves, she scoots by and reaches up to turn the shower on. Part of her swears she feels his breath on the bare strip of skin that shows when she reaches up and it raises another set of goosebumps, another shiver down her spine. The water sputters to life and Eddie stands up wearily. 

"Could you…" he asks, gesturing to his shirt with one slightly shaking hand.  

Emma grasps the torn hem of the once white t-shirt and he jumps slightly when her fingers brush his skin. Her eyes flicker up to his and he nods, giving her permission to continue pulling it up over his stomach. The pale skin there is partially torn and still oozing blood and her hands start to shake slightly as she eases it over his chest and head. Lean muscle tinged in that same crimson and black that covers his clothes is exposed to the air and he shivers. Her hands can’t help but ghost over the healing cuts and bruises, deep jagged marks across his abdomen and chest. 

"What happened?" she asks softly, the question tinged with worry and a little fear. 

Eddie says nothing, instead focusing on a spot on the floor between them. A few heartbeats of silence give Emma her answer. Something horrible, something most people don't come back from. 

"Okay," she says into the silence before dropping her hands, swirls of steam now spreading around them. "We don't have to talk about it." 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly and Emma’s heart feels the fissure, swallowing a lump in her throat.

“Um, I’ll just turn around and let you, you know-” she whispers, gesturing to his pants and shoes. 

The clinking sound of the metal chains of his torn jeans is the only sign that Eddie has moved, a soft rustling filling the air as he nudges his pants off his feet. She peers over her shoulder as the shower curtain moves and realizes that Eddie still has his boxers on. Grateful for that small mercy for both his sake and hers, despite the pounding in her chest, she steps over and stands on the plush bath mat. 

Eddie lets out a groan as the water falls on him, drenching his tangled curls and battered body. He hisses in pain slightly when it gets to be too much on his wounds and Emma isn’t sure where to even begin to help him. This is all so ridiculous. Less than an hour ago she was listening to Bowie and getting ready to drink wine until she passed out in front of the television. Now she’s helping some guy who’s been through hell and back, washing blood out from underneath his fingernails. 

He does most of the work, the sweet smell of her body wash filling the small room. She helps rinse shampoo out of his thick, dark curls, standing on her tiptoes to run her nails against his scalp. Eddie lets out a groan when she hits a particularly sensitive spot and Emma jumps back a little, a deep blush turning her face as red as the bathwater at Eddie’s feet. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “That felt really nice.” 

It takes a while to wash away the evidence of Eddie’s misfortune, the water turning cold before it’s even close to actually running clear. When he starts to shiver, Emma turns off the tap and passes him a towel, leaving the room to grab him some extra pajama pants and a shirt to sleep in. Once he changes, she leans on the doorframe, watching him squeeze the excess water from his hair. 

“So,” she starts hesitantly. “How long have you…been like this?” 

Eddie pauses, looking at himself in the mirror. Now that he’s clean, Emma can see the pallor of his cheeks and the scars that snake underneath his shirt. “I’m not sure. When…I don’t even know what day it is,” he huffs out with a grimace. 

“It’s almost May.” 

He nods and Emma sees his jaw clench before he swallows, hanging the towel up behind him. 

“Long enough, I guess.” 

Water still steadily drips down his back and Emma steps forward to grab a hair tie off her sink. She holds it up to him and raises an eyebrow.

“Want some more help?” she asks softly and Eddie nods, turning his back to her. 

Emma grabs handfuls of his damp curls, heavy in her hands as she does her best to bundle them up. A few pieces fall to the front so he turns back around. Her heart starts to hammer again and she focuses intently on getting Eddie’s hair into some sort of order. She notices his eyes flicker down to her lips and to her throat, his breath coming a little shorter than before she got started. Emma takes a step closer, arms stretched up above them as she wraps the rubber band around his hair. His hair is now in a messy bun, hanging from the back of his head while loose curls frame his face. Her fingers itch to move some of the pieces behind his ears but she chooses to ball them at her sides instead.

“God, you smell good,” Eddie whispers fervently, licking his lips as his eyelashes flutter.

Her breath falters at the drop of his voice, something pulling her towards him. Her thighs brush his and she tilts her head up to meet his gaze. Suddenly, the small bathroom light flickers and Emma steps back to take a deep breath. Eddie’s eyes close and he does the same. 

“I think you’re tired, Eddie,” she says softly, cutting through the thick air. “I’ll go grab some blankets for you. The couch pulls out into a bed so you can sleep there if you want.”

“Thank you,” Eddie blurts out as she turns away. “For all of this. I know it’s really weird and you didn’t have to, so…thank you.” 

There’s a loud banging at her door and she jumps, unable to reply to his genuine comment. Eddie’s eyes go wide and Emma places her hand on his chest.

“I’ve got it. Just stay in here, okay?” 

He nods and rubs a hand across his face, a slight tremble to his fingers as he turns around in a little circle. Emma hurries down the hall for what seems like the hundredth time tonight, trying to calm her expression and her breathing. If someone ever asked her to cover up a crime, she’s now sure she’d never be able to handle the pressure. Whipping open the door, Emma’s wide eyes take in an unexpected sight. Instead of uniformed officers like she imagined, there’s a guy about her age with thick brown hair, dressed in jeans and a red polo shirt. He stands on the bottom step and gives her a wave with two fingers. 

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Steve. Harrington. I know it’s late but-” 

Steve turns to gesture behind him, revealing two more kids. One is a smaller teenage girl with spiky brown hair, almost shaven, and a face she actually recognizes. 

“Dustin?” She asks incredulously, staring down at the kid from the diner. 

“Hey, Emma,” Dustin says bashfully, looking a lot more animated than she has ever seen. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Steve interjects, holding up his hand and turning back towards her, his light brown eyes attempting to calm her nerves. “I think…you might know a friend of ours.”

He looks behind him once more at the girl, who nods once with a serious expression. Steve continues, saying the only thing she was afraid of and Emma has to remind herself not to panic.

“His name is Eddie.” 

#eddie munson x oc #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson slow burn #eddie munson smut

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Do you have any fics involving children. Preferably stiles or Derek's but I'm not fussy. Thank you xx

Sure thing!

A Wild Heart's Desire by mikkimouse

(1/1 I 13,410 I Teen)

If there's one thing Stiles Stilinski knows, it's that Deputy Derek Hale absolutely Does Not Like him. The only reason Derek even tolerates him is because their kids are worryingly codependent.

So Stiles is understandably confused when a very feral Derek shows up in his backyard after a call gone wrong and proceeds to move in with him.

That Which You Cannot Undo by uraneia

(1/1 I 28,181 I Explicit)

By twenty-eight, Stiles has resigned himself to a quiet life of working in his magic shop, selling Jackson Whittemore fart-inducing tea, and looking after his goddaughter. It's a good life. But the quiet goes to hell when his sister, Lydia, shows up with a crispy werewolf in her trunk and a bite mark on her shoulder, because hard on her heels comes the hottest person Stiles has ever seen, and he happens to be looking for his uncle.

You know, the dead guy Stiles helped Lydia bury last night.

(Or: the Pracitical Magic AU nobody asked for.)

Somewhere I Belong by heartsdesire456

(1/1 I 30,815 I Teen)

When Stiles got an interview for an internship at Fangs & Fur magazine, the publication owned by the well known and widely respected alpha Talia Hale, he never expected it to be offered an actual job by Alpha Hale herself. He also never expected for his life to change so much after he met the man whose department he was assigned to.

Stiles was not prepared for Derek Hale's cub, either.

Trust me by madsmeetsmisha

(18/? I 32,590 I Explicit)

Derek Hale needed a nanny for his kids. Someone who knew about werewolves, someone who was persistent enough not to throw in the sponge as soon as the kids wouldn't behave, someone trustworthy. Could a young, very talkative man like Stiles Stilinski be what Derek was looking for?

our lives are changing lanes by grimm

(1/1 I 47,537 I Explicit)

There's a lot of screaming going on inside the first house Stiles visits. He isn't really worried, because it sounds like kids, but then the door opens and hi, says his dick, because the dude in front of him is gorgeous, built like a god with a face like thunder. Stiles wants to lick that solid jaw line. Hold the fuck on, says his cop brain, because the dude's got kids hanging all over him; one's on his back, skinny legs looped around his waist, and another two hanging off one arm, toes barely brushing the ground. There's a tubby toddler clinging to his leg like a koala, and he's got a baby tucked into the crook of the one arm that doesn’t have kids hanging off it. Stiles' mouth drops open.

"How many of those kids did you kidnap?" he asks before he can wrangle his brain into submission.

The man gives him a look that says what the fuck is wrong with you and snaps, "You think I'd subject myself to this on purpose?"

"Oooh," says one of the kids hanging off his arm. "I'm telling Mom."

Give It Up to Me by moon_star

(8/? I 49,841 I Explicit)

Derek is a single father and a full time attorney. Stiles is the new intern at the law firm. They find it extremely hard to work together, but it gets even harder when they start sleeping together.

Bundle of Accidental Joy by tearsandholdme

(20/21 I 66,411 I Mature)

Stiles is just trying to live a simple life. Have a job, pay his rent, and survive enough to eat his next meal. But then he's fired from his job, watches a mother abandon her baby, tries to stop her and picks the baby up, and now everyone thinks the baby is his. Even his very handsome and moody boss, Derek Hale, who forces the responsibility onto him at the cost of keeping his job or else.

Balancing on breaking branches by Anonymous

(15/20 I 67,613 I Explicit)

“Your kid,” Derek said slowly, “came running up to me. Tried to nuzzle a hole into my calf.”

Stiles let out a laugh. It sounded bitter. “Caleb wouldn’t just leave my side like that. Did you call his name?”

“I’m not a—”

“A child predator? That’s exactly what a child predator would say, Derek."

Waiting For Our Superman by tearsandholdme

(22/22 I 95,250 I Mature)

Derek knew the moment he opened the front door of his clean and pristine apartment to Stiles Stilinski holding a small boy, a cluster of bags, and a suitcase, he was screwed. In every way possible. Undone by the big brown eyes of a small child and his annoying, witty, and attractive father.

The Moon Lives (In The Lining of Your Skin) by Quixoticity

(28/30 I 131,436 I Explicit)

Stiles is doing fine. Okay, so he didn't expect to be a single father to an infant daughter at the tender age of twenty-three, but it's working out great. And no, he didn't expect to be a curator in Beacon Hills Museum, where weird things happen with no explanation, but he's rolling with it. And he seems to have acquired a new brother now that his dad's gotten engaged, which, odd, but hey, Stiles is flexible, and there's no such thing as too much love, right?

But then the next twist comes in the form of mysterious new neighbour Derek Hale, who is both insanely angry at the world (it's possible he's murdered people with his eyebrows alone), and adorably good with children. He's also in possession of a truly excellent butt.

Stiles is doomed.

Past, Present, and Future by Code_Zackary

(24/60 I 182,513 I Mature)

Deputy Derek Hale has just become a single parent, after adopting abandoned five-year-old Isaac Lahey, and drowning in his new responsibilities as a father, and Alpha. Add the babysitting of his new rookie partner, Jackson Whittemore, and the weight of his past bubbling to the surface, Derek isn't sure how he's going to keep his head straight.

Meanwhile, Stiles Stilinksi returns home to Beacon Hills to give his son, Scott Stilinksi, a better quality of life. However, raising a werewolf pup, as a human, is something he struggles handling on a daily basis. Stiles wishes nothing more than to find a werewolf willing to show his son "the ropes", so Scott can fit in with all the other pups come the first day of Kindergarten. But where would he ever find a werewolf willing to help a human?

When the two meet, their struggles in life will come to the forefront, as the loners become an invaluable support system for each other, and build a unique Pack all their own.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #anon #kid fic

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things- Repeating History

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and alcohol. Canon typical violence.

A/N: this takes place during season 3 episode 11, birthright. i had a lot of fun studying this episode and making it my own. i have changed certain dialogue and who says what for the sake of the story. please enjoy!

The Purest Things Masterlist

(my gif! please credit if you use.)

january 2008

Syd Moore said, “Disregard for the past will never do us any good. Without it we cannot know truly who we are.”

+++++

Your alarm is often hushed before it even has an opportunity to set off nowadays because you usually wake up before it even has the chance.

4:25 A.M.

You groan and toss your pillow over your face. Maybe, just maybe, you can will yourself to sleep for a little longer. As if someone heard your pleas for slumber, your phone starts buzzing on your bedside table. Of course, it is unnecessary for you even to read the messages. There is a case.

+++++

"Last night in Fredericksburg, a 20-year-old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted," J.J. begins, "She's the third to go missing in the last 6 weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen them since until now. A couple days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park that was once the site of the battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an I.D.?" you and Hotch ask simultaneously. Your eyes meet, but he breaks the contact abruptly. Flustered and insecure, you bury your focus deep into the file in front of you. The group discusses the case for a couple of minutes, but you are so concentrated on the papers that you hardly absorb any information they've shared.

There is something familiar about this case to you. Suddenly, realization strikes.

Rejoining the discussions, you say, "I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania county. Similar markings on the bone. It was the winter of 1980, also in Fredericksburg. There were 5 women aged 16 to 24. They were buried in pieces."

"Same markings. Same civil war battlefield," J.J. responds in agreement.

The team agrees that this could be the works of the same killer. There are aspects of the more recent killings that would be impossible to copycat since those details had never been released to the public. But, if this is the same unsub, what's he been doing for the past 27 years?

+++++

Hotch focuses on the road while you watch out the window of the passenger seat. Occasionally, you sneak the odd peek at him. His stoicism is alluring, and you find yourself drawn to this demeanor like a moth to a flame. Piecing together the tiny glimpses you've collected thus far as if working on a mental puzzle, you scrutinize his attributes. His eyes bare the beginnings of crow's feet. Only his sideburns tease the speckling of salt and pepper undertones. His lips turn downwards at the corners, no doubt from years of scowling at unsubs.

Reid speaks up from behind you both and breaks your train of thought. Probably for the better, there's no reason why you should examine your unit chief so intently.

"It's funny--he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk."

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting," Aaron reckons.

"It makes him feel important," you say in agreement.  

Once you have arrived at the crime scene, you follow Agent Hotchner closely. Reid trails ahead, most likely trying to keep up with his own train of thought.

"How does someone not see or hear them?" You ask the sheriff.

He turns to you with a defeated expression, "It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. He said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

Hotch surveys the surroundings, "He's patient and works fast."

"He's perfected his M.O.," Reid states while looking around.

You cross your arms as a wave of unease gets the best of you as you envision the moments leading to Molly's attack.

"If our unsub's pushing 60, he's gotta be strong enough to carry her a long way without her struggling," you bring out.

Hotch looks to you with a concerned squint. You shake your head, signaling to him that it's nothing you can't get under control. He nods in response. The sheriff agrees to point out the various entrances to the park.

"I'll catch up with you," your Unit Chief states. He motions for you to step aside with him, and you comply.

"You know, ever since my wife and I had our son, I dread receiving cases involving children," he discloses to you.

Tears well up in your eyes, "I can't even imagine, but sir, why are you telling me this?"

"This job will inevitably strike close to home on some cases more than others. It's okay for you to feel overwhelmed by it all every once and a while," he assures you.

"You never lose it, though."

He sighs heavily, "Maybe I should have."

Shortly before you joined the BAU, Hotch's wife Haley left with their son Jack. You never ask questions or stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It isn't your place, and you can't blame him for not wanting to bring his family struggles to work. He deals with enough broken families on the job as it is. Mixing his own personal life into the field would only make it more challenging to prioritize. Despite all this, you cannot help but wonder what exactly led to his and his wife's separation. You hope that they can find their way back to each other. The crimes you investigate do not need to claim the Hotchner's as victims as well.

+++++

"I'll let you talk to Chrissy Wilkenson," Hotch directs you towards the kitchen. You wipe your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants and make your way into the kitchen, Hotch following closely behind you.

"Mrs. Wilkenson," you say gently, "My name is Y/F/N. I have just a few questions about your husband. Where does Charlie usually go when he's stressed?"

"The barn," she stutters. You can tell she's anxious and afraid for the well-being of her family.

"Anywhere else, Chrissy?"

Hotch is called into the other room, and you continue questioning Chrissy. She's becoming overwhelmed, so you guide her to the dining room.

"I know this is difficult, Chrissy."

"Did the father of my child really do that to those poor women?" She cradles her baby bump.

Your heart breaks for her, and you choose to remain silent. Sometimes saying nothing speaks louder than words.

Footsteps bound throughout the house, and Hotch appears in the doorway, "The sheriff will stay here with Mrs. Wilkenson. We need you with us."

Standing up from your chair, you place your hand atop Chrissy's, "History doesn't have to repeat itself." It is almost as if she could tell you were reading her thoughts. The endless whispers that cloud her mind making her feel like she's left with only one choice, but there's always another option. That is all you are trying to remind her of.

+++++

As you and your team trek through the forest, you see a clearing.

"Hotch, this way," you beckon him to pursue your course.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, and you stop in your tracks. You make eye contact with Hotch and mirror each other's actions, dashing towards the opening in the trees. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your footsteps colliding against the ground. It is clear to you from your exchange with Chrissy at the house that the origin of the gunshot will shock everyone but yourself. As you reach the clearing and rush down the hill, your speculation is validated.

Chrissy Wilkenson is standing over the body of her husband, the unsub. A traumatized young man haunted by his father's past and plagued by the idea that children are trapped in the endless cycles created by their parents.

I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Jesus. Now is not the time for that.

The newly widowed woman claims self-defense, yet the cops handcuff her anyways. Inside, you feel conflicted while watching her get into the back of the squad car.

Hotch appears by your side but remains silent. Again, sometimes silence speaks louder than words. You bit your lip, attempting to hide the fact that it is trembling.

"What did you say to her as you were leaving the dining room?"

"I told her that history does not have to repeat itself. I wanted her to know that even when it feels like you are backed into a corner, there is always another way out. Sometimes people don't know where to look for their out thought," you quiver.

He lightly touches your arm and gives you a reassuring tilt of the head, "Just know that you did everything you could. We will never do this job perfectly. Doing the right thing usually costs more than it pays. You did your part.  I'm not a saint, and I am far from a hero, but I have integrity and honor, and I do this job to the best of my ability."

"If you can leave a case with a clear conscience," he continues, "you know you did the best you could. Any other thought process will eat away at you slowly but surely, and ultimately, it will result in the demise of your career and destruction of yourself."

+++++

After a seemingly neverending day, you all arrive back at Quantico.

"I could really go for a drink, guys. What do you say? Newbie's buying," you wave your wallet around frivolously.

"I could go for 5 drinks!" Prentiss exclaims.

"Count me in," Morgan winks at you. He never fails to make you blush.

Reid hesitates and you pout your bottom lip, "Please Reid! How could you not want a repeat of Dolly Parton night last month?"

Hotch comes down the stairs, "Dolly Parton night? Do I want to know?"

You and Derek snicker to each other as Spencer attempts to diffuse his own embarassment.

"9 to 5 is an iconic female anthem that certainly has a rather bewitching affect on a man when mixed with alcohol."

"You only drank Diet Coke that night," you roll your eyes at him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hotch forcing his way through the small group formed around the desks.

Making your way over to him, you invite him to join, "Want a beer?" You second guess yourself, but it seems as though his rather stern expression softens ever so slightly when he pivots on his heels to look at you.

"I would like that," he answers softly.

He immediately returns to his original path and hovers near the glass doors. You casually make your way over to him, joined by Dave and Emily. A man barges in through the glass doors announcing Aaron's name.

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes," the subject in question breaths out almost defeatedly.  

The yellow package he holds in his hands is all too familiar and instantly churns your stomach into knots. You gnaw at your bottom lip, drawing a metallic taste that causes you to cringe.

"What is it?" Emily speaks up.

There's no question as to what it is. Oh Hotch. I’m so sorry.

Hotch's eyes trace the package from corner to corner in disbelief, "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

When he eventually takes his eyes off of the lettering, his eyes meet yours. They lock onto you and it is in that moment that you feel as though you have been given the key to unlock his soul. His eyes are so unusual at this moment; they are more vulnerable than you have ever seen. The stoic man is gone, and instead, it is the eyes of one who is in tremendous pain. You had mistaken his bloodshot eyes for physical fatigue on the plane, but now you see that it is emotional exhaustion as well.

If only you knew how badly I want to hug you and tell you that you won't be swallowed up by this darkness. There's a long road ahead, but you have so many people here who love you and are here to support you through this. You aren't alone. Trust me, I know.

In some way, you pray that he can read into your soul and see the pain you feel for him. Once more, your shared silence proves to speak for itself.  

At last, he breaks eye contact with you and finally releases the breath that you had been holding in. Dave grabs onto your arm, seeing the clear impact Hotch's news has on you, no doubt having also noticed Hotch's immediate response in looking at you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can join you tonight," he excuses himself and escapes to the seclusion of his office.

Maybe history does have a way of repeating itself.

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[curious-menace]

Telltale riddler X reader

as promised

synopsis 

you are a meta human with healing/mending powers, mostly new to gotham and a little out of the loop. you usually work in a hospital but you've headed to the scrapyard after work to find some useful parts to repair and few side projects. that's when you find a most unusual box buried under the trash.

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

Scrounger they called you. Scavenger, trash rat people said. You didn't care, desperate times call for desperate measures.  Since waller came to town, Gothams villainous underclass could hardly scratch their ass without her knowing. You weren't a criminal, far from it. You were a meta human; a healer, a mender of broken things. Your powers could put anything back together: from bones and minds to fenders and fixtures . Heroes and villains alike came to you ; for aid, for repairs and occasionally, just for the attention. That’s what brought you back to the junkyard night after night. Things were becoming scarce, it was harder to find parts to fix things, even harder to find the supplies to fix people. You had some equipment, but right now you were barely keeping the lights on. So off to the gotham trash heap You went, slipping the gate guard some home made cake to keep his mouth closed while you picked through for something usable. Decent things could be repaired, repaired things could be sold. 

You were about to call it quits when you saw it. A Coffin, or at least you thought so . Hopefully it was just a storage pod, maybe with goodies in it. But this was Gotham and luck wasn't on your side: no one ever threw away anything good. Finding a dead body would put you out on the wrong side of midnight and you were in no mood to deal with the gcpd. You hated late nights.

It wouldn't have been so out of place in your day job, people tended to die in hospitals. But after hours? rummaging through a scrap heap for spare parts? now that was concerning. You nearly ignore it, make a mental note to call the cops and head on your merry way back home.  But You can't; the temptation of supplies is too great to ignore. Besides, even if it was a body, the thought of someone being thrown away like garbage is too much to handle. “Just a peak” You promised yourself, just to make sure it’s not a body. You can always come back tomorrow if it’s anything good.

It takes you a while to clear all the rubbish from the lid. It was buried under weeks if not months of trash and refuse. The thought of a person winding up like this made your stomach turn. You’d heard of people winding up in dumps before, but usually they were in pieces, maybe in a suitcase or a fridge. You’d never heard of a whole casket turning up in one.

not till now at least. 

Up close, it does look more like a fridge. It's cold to the touch too, colder than it should be in mid september. A thin layer of condensation is trickling out of the seams, a faint red battery light flickers every now and then. You stick your thumbs into the slim opening and pull. The lid doesn’t budge. Frustrated you stand back in your precarious foothold in the trash, cans and bottles rolling to the ground from under your feet. You could pull it down to ground level, have a better standing to pry it open. But disturbing the trash mountain could bury you and the box before you ever get a look inside. 

Running your hands along the edge, you look for a way in. There’s what looks like a turn dial on top, like on an old safe. Could it be that easy? You flipped up the handle and pressed your ear to the cold metal to listen for the gentle click of mechanical parts. You’re about to start turning when the box hisses, frigid air ruffles your hair and sends a shiver down your spine. The box begins to unfurl, spider like latches spread out snagging your jeans as they went. “Damn it!”  you swore, grabbing at your shin as a thin trickle of blood made its way down and into your boot. That was your last good pair of trousers too.  You lent against the edge of the box for balance to examine the cut. But when your hand brushed something soft, you froze in place. Mousey  brown hair tinged silver at the roots, a domino masked face fixed in place by rigor mortis.  

As you feared; A body.

You might have suspected as much, but it still wasn't a pleasant find. The man looked as though he was sleeping, only a few patches of bruising, a little decay and a thin layer of frost that covered his body suggested otherwise . Fans whirled, frost began to evaporate from his skin leaving it a sickly gray. But this poor soul wasn't the only horrifying thing about the coffin. All along the inner walls were deep gouges that could only have been made by him “god…” you murmured crouching down beside him. A quick glance at his bloodied hands confirmed the worst; whoever this was, they’d been alive when they’d been put inside. “poor thing.” you reach out to gently thumb a split just under his eye “who did this to you?” Between your thumb and his face there was a tiny, almost imperceptible blue spark.

Now. you would by no means call yourself an expert, but you weren't fumbling in the dark with your powers. You could fix a lot of wounds, most non fatal injuries. But you’d never brought someone back from the dead.

Especially not by accident.

When your hand made contact, the person jolted awake like they’d been hit by lightning. The man lurched to life, gasping like he hasn't breathed in weeks. Colour came flooding back to his face as he claws at the air for purchase.  He whips around frantically, face smeared with dry blood and green eyes faintly milky in colour “HOLY SHIT!” You yelled. Panicked he throws himself over the edge of the coffin, knocking you back in the process. Together you tumble down the rubbish pile landing in a heap at the bottom “ow.” you breathe, hoping the pain you feel is just a bruise forming and not cracked ribs. As the dust settles you heave yourself upright, looking around for the man “ shit.” you murmur watching him squirm away, obviously scared and confused out of his mind. He face-planted in the dirt  once more as he makes stuttering attempts to get to his feet, barely managing to crawl along the ground. He’s hyperventilating, head on a swivel as he tries to take in every angle at once “hey” you call, lifting yourself up “ are you hurt?!”  The man twists around on the spot to look at you, face a picture of terror “n-nuh!” he holds up a hand in defence as he tries to back away“st-stay awa-aw- its ok!” he has a shard of broken glass clutched in his hands, so tightly they’ve started to bleed. Or so you think, It's hard to tell with all the blood that is already staining his clothes. Despite all logic telling you to run for the hills, you crouched down to his level, hands out to show you meant no threat “ i'm not going to hurt you” you soothed staying very still.

As quickly  as he had sprung to life, he suddenly went motionless again. He sagged the rest of the way to the ground, whimpering like a kicked animal as he retracts his hands to his chest. He’s making noise, muttering incoherently, his eyes flickering left and right blindly and unseeing. He’s wide awake but nowhere near conscious. The lights are on but it seems like no one's home. 

Sighing deeply you roll your shoulders.

This was going to be a late night. 

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

its only part 1! please dont hate me, ill be working on the rest as soon as i post this.  also im a little bit sorry for torturing riddler like this. 

and im going to make it worse because im terrible >:)

#riddler x reader #telltale riddler #riddler #edward nygma #edward nigma #my stuff #my art #my writing #batman telltale #riddler x reader part 1 #should i call this graveyard shift? #taking all name suggestions

[delusionalteenagewhispers]

Get Away Driver

Fandom: The Devil All The Time

Pairing: Arvin Russell x Reader

Part of a Series: Yes or No

Warnings: Spoilers! Don't read if you haven't watched the movie!/Lots of Angst/Some fluff/Mentions of death/Blood/Murder/Mentions of abuse/Mentions of Rape/Cussing/Gun Violence/Mentions of suicide/Mentions of baby death

Disclaimer: "The Devil All The Time" is not mine, Credit to lovely Creators. GIFS are not mine! Credit to owners! 

A/n: HI! I just watched the movie and it is fucking awesome! And I love Tom Holland and now I’m in love with another character he plays, Arvin Russel! Also, I don’t know if they gave a name to the cop who gave Arvin the news about Lenora being preggers but his name is Howard I’m pretty sure, I had looked it up. If I am wrong don’t come after me. Also I think he was in his very early Twenty’s and he was semi friends with Lenora, Arvin and Y/n. Please do not read if you haven’t watched the movie! I hope you like it! Thank you for reading!!

Summary: Y/n knew the young Russels all her life. She knew Lenora the day she was born, courtesy of both their mother’s being great friends. She met Arvin the day he moved there. Y/n loved Lenora like her own sister and Y/n loved Arvin. So when Lenora took her life and Arvin avenge her going on some type of murder spree, she went after him. To help him. 

Main Masterlist -> Here

Request List -> Here 

-----

“ God damn-it Howard, just tell me what yah told the sheriff. Tell me where the fuck yah think he is. And don’t bullshit me either,” Y/n said staring the deputy down with a hard stare, trying to get much needed information out of him. To find her best friend’s brother, to find her friend, to find the stupid boy she was in love with. 

“ I can’t tell yah that Y/n, yah know that..”

“ And yah know me, and Arvin. And yah knew Lenora too. Arvin was only doing what he needed to do to protect ‘er, to avenge ‘er,” Y/n knew Howard had always liked Lenora but she was too wrapped up in god and running away from the boys that would torment her at school to notice. Sure, Y/n was using that to her advantage but she needed to use all that she had if she was gonna find Arvin. 

“ Don’t yah use that on me, look I care about yah guys. I know Arvin wouldn’t hurt nobody that didn’t deserve it. But I can’t tell yah where he is, and the Sheriff’s got it handled. He can take care of Arvin by himself, he don’t need a girl such as yourself getting in the middle.”

“ But he don’t know Arvin like I do. And that sheriff don’t use ever use his god damn head. I should know with how handled mah daddy,” Y/n and the Sheriff from Knockemstiff weren’t too friendly with one another. Back when Y/n was nothing but youngling, only 13 at the time, Sheriff Bodecker blew the head off her Daddy. Bedecker did protect her and her Mama that night. But Bodecker wasn’t there to help them. He was there for money her father owned him, and the man just wouldn’t give it up. So just seeing the man hit his daughter gave him enough reason to kill him and get his money. Y/n didn’t like how it went down, she’d seen the whole thing. All the yelling and the big shot gun. Got stricken across the face and then, her Daddy being shot. 

“ I just know that Sheriff is gonna do somethin’ to sent ‘im off and Arvin might do somethin’ he gonna regret. Please just tell me where yah think he is. I need to find ‘im Howard. I need to find him before he does somethin’ stupid again. Please.” 

Howard sighs, looking at the young girl in front of him. She was a good friend, he knew that much and he knew her since they were young. Arvin and him weren’t the best of friends, but they knew each other and that was enough. He knew Arvin cared for Lenora deeply and he’d do anything to protect her. And he knew Arvin loved Y/n, the two were so enamored in the other that they didn’t even know they held the same feelings. But with their feeling, he knew that Y/n was the best bet to help Arvin out of the hole he’s dug himself into. 

“ Alright, alright I’ll tell yah. But don’t get yerself killed, Kay?” Y/n nodded happily. 

“ We think he went back to Knockemstiff. Where he used to live as a kid, to his old house or somethin’... Now git, and don’t you tell nobody I to-” He was interrupted by the young girl hugging him tight. 

“Yah won’t regret this, thank you.” And then she ran to her truck and made her way to knockemstiff, hoping she wasn’t too late to stop Arvin from taking another life if he felt he had to. 

----

Shit is a word that Arvin repeated over and over again in his head as the Sheriff pointed his shotgun at him, yelling like a mad man. I mean, Arvin would have done the same thing if his sister was killed and in a way he had when he killed the Preacher. The sick fuck had deserved to die. 

The Sheriff continued speaking, angry and drunk. Wanting so bad to kill the man who killed his sister. So when he finally found his hiding spot, he tried to shoot him wanting the bastard to die, wanting Arvin Russell to die. But sadly, he would not be getting his drunken revenge. The sheriff shot, trying to shoot the young boy only to shoot the fallen tree protecting Arvin and to get shot himself by the German Luger in Arvin’s hand. 

Arvin’s whole body felt shaky after he shot him, he hated the thought that he killed another person, another man. Someone who had family, who had a life unlike the other three he shot and killed. This man was a lawman, and the law would have his head for this. Arvin pulled out a small picture, it was of Sandy Bodecker holding a dead man in her arms. Arvin showed him, so that the Sheriff could see why he had to kill her because if he didn’t, he might’ve of been killed himself. So he sat there as the man died just a few minutes later even though it seemed like hours. Arvin stood up, exhausted and went to grab his Jacket to get ready to take off when he heard his name being shouted by a voice he knew all too well. It was Y/n. 

“ Arvin! Arvin Russel! I know yer out here!” Before Arvin could think, he scrambled behind the fallen tree, hoping she’d go away. He didn’t want to pull her into this, hell he’d left a letter for her too. Hoping his Grandmomma  would have given it to her. The letter was all about her staying away, but she couldn’t even do that. Arvin knew Y/n was too stubborn to listen when she had her mind set. Y/n never listened to reason when she got her mind set on something else. Which in this place was running after him after he said not to. 

“ Arvin please come out! I don’ts got a gun on me or anything. I have money and a truck, I even gots some clothes. I want to help yah. That ol’ sheriff is gonna be here any minute to get yah and I need yah to come with meh.” Arvin realized that she didn’t know the Sheriff already came, and that he shot him. He felt like shit that he was pulling her into this, that she was in this. This mess that he created. 

Arvin knew he couldn’t just sit there, expecting that she’d think he wasn’t there Y/n always knew. Arvin always suspected that she knew him better than she knew himself. He spoke, just wanting so badly for to leave him be so that maybe she could be safe,“ Y/n, I need yah to leave. I uh, I’ve done shit things and I don’t wanna pull yah down with me. Please don’t be stubborn for once in yer life and listen to meh.” He heard Y/n sigh, which meant she was close.

“ Arvin, I ain’t leaving. So get your ass up outta whatever place your hiding in before I make yah.” He sighed, he knew he wasn’t gonna be able to do anything to make her leave. He stood up slowly, time seemed to slow down as tears filled her eyes upon seeing him, running at him and hugging him tightly. Arvin wrapped his own arms around her and rested his head onto her shoulder. 

“ Yah big, dumb, idiot you...” She said quietly, hugging tightly like he might disappear if she lets go. Arvin sighs, feeling a strange sort of comfort in her arms. It reminded him of the comfort he used to have with mother, when she’d hold him or sing that old song ‘Bessie’. She pulled back before looking down to see the dead body, Sheriff Lee Bodecker. 

He heard her sigh,“ Where the Luger?” 

Arvin was surprised by how calm she was, seeing a dead body right in front of her. But then again, he knew Y/n. She’d seen things that even he hadn’t seen and he saw his pet dog being crucified and his Daddy taking his own life with a god damn pocket knife. Arvin looks down at the ground, where he buried his poor dog and his Daddy’s gun,“ I buried it.” 

“ Good, we don’t need nobody else dying cause yer trigger happy.” Arvin nods his head, not really having anything to say. 

“ ‘Kay, go git into the truck, I’ll be up there soon. I need a few minutes to send a few prayers for the man and such.” 

“ Look Y/n, yah don’t have to do thi-”

“ Go git in the truck Arvin. We’ll talk in a few. Just go git in the truck.” Arvin sighed, nodding before making his way up the hill to Y/n’s old black pickup. He opened the door and sat in the passengers seat. He knew he could’ve probably dipped out on her, tried to push her away so that she doesn’t get involved in this mess. But he knew no matter how hard he tried, she would just pop right back. Because she loved him, it was clear to him now that she loved him the same way he loved her. I mean, what kind of girl would drive all that way to knockemstiff just to pick up a boy she knew murdered several people. Girls in love.

----

Arvin and Y/n sat in silence in the truck. Silence reminded Y/n of her Father. How her and him would sit in his black pickup truck, the same one she now drove in. They’d drive in complete silence, to a place where he could have his way with her when she was nothing but a child.

Y/n thoughts started to wonder, wondering if that's what the preacher did to Lenora, took her to a place in his car where he could get what he wanted, blinded by his sinful acts. She’s seen him do it to the Reaster Girl and he once tried to do with her. But she wasn’t stupid enough to get into a car with a man she just met, with a man that reminded her of a man she longed to forget but always stayed ingrained in her brain. 

Men like that are always blinded by sin, no matter how much they say they are a man of god, they are just the devil in disguise using god's name to cover up their tracks for what they do. She thought Lenora would've been safe, but that sadly wasn't god's plan. Arvin stared ahead, trying to keep awake as he tried to figure out something to say when Y/n spoke up," I do this cause I care about yah and yer all I have left. I donts got any family no more. At least nobody in coal creak. Your all I gots left.", the girl had started, causing Arvin to wake up a little. And he looked at her, watching as she gripped the steering wheel, so focused on the road but also focused on making Arvin know her reasons for helping him. For a helping a boy who's killed.

"We aren't blood related but we're friends, we're close enough to be family. Lenora was mah friend, but she was mah family. And what that preacher did, he deserved to die. That man reminded me too much of mah Daddy. I knew he was trouble from the start. I could see the way he did things, it was the same type of things mah daddy did. Those type of men, they always have a pattern. Mah Daddy did, and so did the preacher."

Y/n didn't speak of her father often, sometimes it was too painful to talk about. About the things he did to her and her mother. He'd beat them, and he'd use them in more ways than one. Using them to show off to the world what a man of god he was as the Father of a small Church. Or to use them as servants for his house to be picture perfect, not a thing out of place or there would be a price to pay. Or, he'd use them in the most sinful way of all, through lustful acts. And not just his wife, but his daughter too. Lenora had saved her most times, sneaking her into her home late at night or sometimes in early morning or during the day. And Y/n helped her with the boys at school, trying to get them to leave Lenora alone. It never worked, both Lenora trying to keep Y/n away from her Daddy and Y/n trying to keep Lenora away from the horrid boys at school. But they both tried, and for just that Y/n saw Lenora as family and Lenora saw her as family too.  

" Lenora didn’t deserve what happened to her. She was such a bright girl, she my best friend. She always helped, no matter if it was gonna hurt her in the end. She always helped.” Y/n paused, a small memory forming in her head and then into words.

“ Remember how Lenora used to hide me from mah Daddy? She'd sneak me in the window and yah'd hear it and come running to tell us to shut up before we woke up Grandmomma. Then you’d proceed to act like yah didn’t want me there, only throw one of yer shirts at me telling me it wouldn’t be the greatest thing for meh sleep in mah day clothes,” Y/n spoke, a small smile and chuckle leaving her, Arvin watched it. Watched how a memory with not good things embedded into it made her smile. Arvin never understood how Y/n could get so happy just by a single memory. Even memories that weren’t the greatest. Arvin thought it was probably because she didn’t have many good memories, only a few but they always had some type of her hurt in them but she still cherished them as much as she could. Mostly, all memories she had was her trying to save herself and her depressed mother from her Daddy, so not too many were happy. And because of  all those no good memories, Arvin rarely ever did see her smile like that, smile with really happiness and not just something phony so no one will worry about her. But Arvin knew, he always did. 

He hears her sigh," I wished she would've recognized the signs of a man like that. Of a man like mah father, she knew ‘im, we both pledged to stay away from men like that. But sadly, they always tend to get us one way or another. No matter what their relation is to yah, they always get yah." She pauses, thinking about Lenora for a minute, thinking about how she didn’t deserve that kind of abuse, about how she didn’t deserve to die, to kill herself.

“ What I’m trying to say, is who yah killed, they deserved to die, not the other way around. And thats why I’m helping yah, because yah don’t deserve whatever’ punishment the law’s gonna inflict on yah. You were Lenora’s brother and in a way she was my sister. So I’m looking out for yah, for her.” 

Arvin looked down at his hands, the same ones that held a gun, his Daddy’s gun,“ But aren’t I like those men, aren’t I turning into them? I’ve killed, Y/n. Not just the preacher. I’ve killed another man and a women, I’ve killed the Sheriff.”

“ And why did you kill ‘em?”

“ They were gonna kill me. T-the man had a gun, so did his wife. I shot ’im before he could shoot me and I shot his wife too. I had begged her to put down the gun. B-but she wouldn’t. And the Sheriff, he was gonna kill me cause the wife was his sister. ”

“ See, yah only killed to get rid of the horrible people who only intend to hurt yah. Yah killed with reason, not just cause yah were blinded by sin. And that Sheriff, sure he was a lawman, but he was a bad one. He deserved it as much as his sister. So no, yah aren’t like ‘em. That’s why I love yah, stupid. Because yah aren’t like them.” Arvin looked at her, all she did was stare straight ahead, focusing on the road. Arvin knew she had hard times with saying love. Even just saying love to people who were just family or friends. Love scared her, he knew that. It scared him too. Love to kids like them was a scary thing, because it didn’t come often and when it did it was ripped away from them. Slowly Arvin put his hand on her leg, to give her at least some sort of comfort, some sort of touch and maybe he needed the touch as much as she did too. 

“ I love yah too, yah know.” He said as he looked out the window.

“ I know.”   

-----

“ Put these on.” Y/n spoke throwing a black t-shirt and Jeans at him, the clothes landing on his head.

“ Why?”

“ Cause, they already know what yer wearing. If yah wear something different it’ll be harder to find yah, plus it’ll be better for yah to wear somethin’ cleaner.” Arvin sighed grabbing the clothes Y/n threw at him.

“ Also, I got somethin’ for yah. Here.” She then throws a pack of cigarettes at him. The pack hitting him square in the face making Y/n laugh. 

“ Yah know, yah could always just hand me the stuff instead of throwing it at me.”

“ Well where would the fun be in that?” Y/n said with a smirk and wiggling her eyebrows in a goofy way. It was dark out and Arvin sat in the open back of the truck while Y/n threw stuff at him that she’d packed. Arvin was surprised about how prepared she was. She packed all the necessitates. Like blankets and clothing, even food and water and even money. Arvin was grateful and lucky Y/n came after him, he would’ve been completely lost without her. 

“ Now git dressed. I’ll look away, don’t yah worry.” Then made a show of slowly turning around and putting her hands over her eyes. It made Arvin chuckle, he liked when he saw Y/n like this, all goofy and just plain smiles. It reminded him of Lenora, it reminded him of his mother. 

“ So where did yah get these clothes anyway? They look like mine.”

“ Yeah, I raided yer drawers. Grandmomma helped me too.”

“ She knew yah were going after me?”

“ Yeah, she does. She wanted me to find yah and to make sure yer safe. She said I’d be the only one to keep yer ass in line out here.” There was a moment of silence between the two.

“ I’m done getting dressed.”

“ Finally, I need some well deserved sleep and you are taking up our bed for the night. We’ll find something better tomorrow though.” Y/n hopped on the makeshift bed with all the blankets she had piled onto one another to make it more comfortable than it was on the back of the pickup truck. She laid down and looked up at the sky, a small smile on her face. 

“ Yah aren’t gonna change either?”

“ Oh, uh I uh, I forgot to bring a change of clothes. I was so focused on getting shit for yah and finding yah. I forgot some clothes for myself. But it’s fine.”

“ No it ain’t. Here, wear one of my shirts yah brought, I bet wearing that dress isn’t too comfortable.” Y/n raised an eyebrow at him. 

“ Is this just yer way of getting me to wear yer clothes. Cause yah could always ask.” 

“ Oh shut up and put on the clothes.” Arvin said with a little red starting to creep up on his cheeks, he was thankful it was dark out so she couldn’t see. Y/n laughed as she grabbed one of Arvin’s shirts, it was his white button up church shirt. Y/n had always wanted to try it on, it seemed comfy to Y/n, and it was. When Arvin could finally look, his eyes wanted to pop out of his skull, and in a way they were. There she was, in just undergarments and his white button-up. Arvin always hated that shirt but right then, he loved it. 

“ Alrighty, now it’s time for sleep. We got a lot of driving to do tomorrow cause we are going all the way to Cincinnati.”

“ What’s in Cincinnati?” Arvin asked as Y/n climbed in the back and laid down. 

“ My Uncle lives out there. I gave him a call at one of the phones while you slept in the Truck. He’s gonna keep us for awhile, he’s got an extra room and he’s gonna let us stay until we are able to leave and make a life for ourselves without the cops coming after yah.” She laid down looking up at the sky as she spoke. She never saw her uncle anymore, the man used to live with her and her parents when she was young. But one fateful day at age 10 he moved to Cincinnati and never really kept in contact. Y/n knew his number, always wanted to call him. There were multiple times where she wanted to call and beg him to take her away from her small house in Coal Creak. But she never did. When she called, the man was ecstatic when he heard her voice. He offered her to stay with him before she could even ask. It made her wonder how a man who obviously wanted her to be in his life never kept contact for many years of her life. But she already knew it was probably cause of her Daddy. The man never liked how his brother looked at her Mama and how she looked at him. How he seemed to act like more of a father to Y/n then her own was. 

“ You have an Uncle?”, Arvin asked popping Y/n out of her thoughts as he propped up on his elbow so he could look at her. As he looked at her, he started thinking about how beautiful she was. Even in the dark and with the dirt and the few stray leaves in her hair and even wearing his horrid old church shirt. He still thought she was just plain beautiful. 

“ Yeah I do, he used to live with me when I was younger. He’s a good man.”

“ And does he know what I did?” Arvin asked nervously.

“ I told him, he said it wouldn’t be any different if yah were in the war. Don’t worry, we gonna have a place to go. Yer gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay. I got it handled,” Arvin couldn't explain how he felt in that moment, as he stared at her, knowing how Y/n was always there. Even when they were just kids and he was just plain lonely and to now where she's helping him get away from the law after killing. But all he knew, in that moment, was that he loved her and he wanted to tell her in the best possible way. Love to kids like him and her was a rare thing, so he decided he was gonna act on it. So he kissed her. 

From his propped up position he was able to swoop down and touch his lips to hers as she laid there looking up at the stars. Y/n was surprised at first, not knowing what was happening when realization hit her. Arvin Russell, her best friend growing up, the boy she loved was kissing her. So she kissed him back. Their positions changed through the kiss. Y/n now straddled his lap and her arms circled around his neck, one hand running through the back of his hair. Arvin sat below her, one hand on her hip and the other grasping the side of her face gently. Both putting all their love and passion for one another into that one kiss. They both finally pull away, both of their lips being swollen but big smiles on both of their faces, even Arvin who rarely showed smiles. But that just made Y/n appreciate them that much more.

“ Arvin...,” Y/n started, looking at him with so much love.

“ I love you’ Y/n. And not just as a friend or any of that shit. I love yah, I love you as someone I want by me like my Daddy wanted my Mama.” Y/n looks at him as if he just moved the moon. 

“ I love yah too. Always have, always will,” She speaks, with lovey, dovey tone to her voice before leaning down and kissing him again. Both got aroused fast from their positions and soon they both had one of the best nights of their lives. The lost of both of their innocents. Both of them were each others first and will also be their last.   

-----

It was sunrise when Arvin woke up, Y/n laid upon his very shirtless chest as her naked body stayed hidden under the blankets. The memories of what happened last night circles around in his brain, making him smile. He and Y/n had both lost their innocence last night in the back of her Black pickup truck. Arvin couldn’t remember a time of being so happy and feeling so loved like he was last night. Both knew it was a sin in god’s eyes, but they both hoped he’d forgive them since even though it was before marriage, they were still in love and in their eyes its not any different.

 Arvin looked down at her, entranced by how beautiful she looked, how pure she looked just sleeping all sprawled out on his chest, her hair all messy and a light pink dashed across her cheeks from the cold. He sighed, wishing this type of peace could last forever. That the two could just stay like that in the middle of the woods in the back of the truck just enjoying one another’s company. But he knew thats not how life always worked. 

Y/n started to stir, her eyes starting to slowly open as she let out a small yawn. Her nose scrunched up as she yawn, it reminded Arvin of a small Kitten. She was his little kitten. 

“ Mornin’,” Arvin spoke in his deep southern voice as he looked at her. She looked up at him, a small smile gracing her face. 

“ Good Mornin’, so yah ready to take off for Cincinnati with meh? You know you ain’t getting rid of me now?” Arvin smiled, swooping down to give her a gentle and soft kiss the lips before pulling away. 

“ And I wouldn’t change it for the life of me, Darlin’.” 

#arvin russell #arvin russell x reader #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel x you #the devil all the time #Emma Russell

[fanficteen]

Old Friend

deucalion x reader

“(Y/N)?” Rafael’s voice crackled on the other end of the phone. “McCall?” “I need your help.” Sirens whirled in the background. “You what?” “There’s a hunting problem.” That cleared absolutely nothing up. “I’m an author, not a cop, McCall.” “At the shipyard,” he continued, as though he hadn’t heard you. “Remember I told you about the Hale attack?” “McCall,” you heard, muffled, on the other end of the phone. “Name’s a little too close to home, ain’t it, Ferrell?” “Please.” The line went dead. “Hale attack? That was a fire.” Your heart plummeted in your chest. “Hunters.” You scrambled for the door, not even bothering to lock it as you ran. You’d heard about them coming, heard about the new pack, the True Alpha. Hell, you’d even helped once or twice, when Melissa or Argent called you in. But you hadn’t made the connection between McCall and Scott McCall, the tiny, chubby little kid you’d looked after while his mom worked.

Guns were already firing when you reached the shipyard, and someone was crawling for cover. Or, trying too. He was far too old to be Scott, even as his eyes flashed red, claws extending to drag him across the ground. Three teenagers were scattered around the yard, another man crouched behind a steel beam. You waited, as the Hunters moved forward. Then the barrage ceased, though they kept their guns raised. You launched forward, then, and cut off three from the back with ease. You grabbed a fourth by the throat and tossed him into another, finally drawing their attention to you, as you managed to grab the wounded wolf and bolt in their confusion. “Made a new friend, Scott?” That voice sent chills down your spine, blood-soaked memories clawing their way from the pit of your mind. Your parents – human parents, dead on the floor, just for protecting you. “Just in time to bury them.” You swept through the group to the woman speaking, throwing her to the ground. She spun to look at you, as she landed, but you were already moving, surging towards her. Through the corner of your eye, you caught sight of one of her hunters moving towards the stone column, where Scott was crouched, and you changed courses, knowing you wouldn’t get there in time. Then an engine revved, and suddenly there was a Jeep spearing into the shipyards and the Hunter went flying from the impact. You felt a bullet shatter your shoulder and growled, turning back towards Monroe as two new faces joined the fight. She glanced at you, then behind her, and took off for her car, her men following behind her. Half of you wanted to go after her, but Scott needed you more than you needed revenge. Scott’s pack soon grouped up around where he was struggling, vainly, to stem the blood flow of the wounded man. You pushed him aside, lightly, kneeling in his place. The man ignored you, still focused on Scott. Something about Gerard and knowing he couldn’t win. His breath cut off. “It’s really started, hasn’t it?” None of them stopped you, but you could feel them staring as you leaned forward, eyes flashing black, as you buried your claws in the back of his neck. “Hey!” The late werewolf – a Hale – grabbed Scott’s arm as he protested. “She’s a Grim,” he breathed, as the man’s flashed open and he gasped for breath. “She just – she just brought him back from the dead, right?” Stiles asked, jaw dropped. “I’m not insane?” “She just brought him back from the dead,” the redhead agreed. “He wasn’t quite dead,” you corrected, immediately darting out of the way as the man swung onto his hands and knees, choking in mouthfuls of air.

“Who – wait, (Y/N)?!” “It’s been a while, pup.” He stared as you rubbed the back of your neck, awkwardly. “Pretty impressive pack you’ve gathered. A handful of Hales, a Banshee, another Alpha…” You glanced at Stiles. “…the Sheriff’s son. Very human, very smart. You’re taking good care of him, right?” You carefully placed your foot on the wounded man’s back as he moved to stand. He swung his head around to glare. “Sorry, but you should stay down there, sir.” “Gonna introduce us, Scott?” the late Hale prompted. “Oh! Yeah, sorry,” Scott gestured between you and the pack, “Everyone, this is (Y/N). She used to babysit me as a kid. I did not know she was supernatural. (Y/N), this is Derek, Peter, Malia, Lydia, and you know Stiles.” You tilted your head, surreptitiously, towards the recovering wolf. “That’s Deucalion.” “He’s who?” you questioned, earning a half-hearted laugh from the man on the ground. “Can I get up, now?” he requested, lightly, his voice still rough around the edges. You hesitated, then offered your hand. “You have to let me help you, though.” He glanced from your hand to your face, then sighed and took it, letting you help him to his feet, supporting his aching body. “Nice to meet you, oh Mr Demon Wolf, Destroyer of Worlds, pep-talker of my favourite kid.” He chuckled, lowly. “Nice to meet you, Miss Death-Defier, Beacon Hills’ Grim, babysitter of the True Alpha.” The others were all staring at you, wide-eyed, when you both looked back at them. “We should leave.” “I want to take him to Deaton,” you added, as they all nodded. He sighed, and you all waited for him to protest. “What?” he challenged, letting you help him towards your car, “I’d rather see the Druid than die.”

The roar echoed through the school, reverberating in your chest – pain, anger, hurt. “Scott?!” Before you could take off, Deucalion grabbed your arm. “You don’t know how to fight it.” “Scott’s hurt!” “He’ll be more hurt if you’re dead.” You sighed, but nodded, mutely. “Let me go ahead.” He offered you his hand. “Unless I squeeze your hand, don’t open your eyes. It knows how to trick us.” “Don’t you need that?” You glanced at his hand, and he offered you a lopsided smirk. “If I do, I’ll just throw you with my punch.” You snorted, but took his hand anyway. “Give me some warning, I’ll even put my claws out and actually make myself useful.”

“Bobby?!” The Coach spun at the sound of your voice. “What the hell are you doing here? Are you hurt?” “Just looking after my players,” he answered, brightly. You raised an eyebrow. “Some asshole thought he could get away with touching my boys outside my office. I mean, sure, Jackson and Ethan aren’t my team anymore, but they’re still –” “Bobby, are they okay?” “What? Of course,” he huffed, folding his arms. “I hit him with a lacrosse stick.” Deucalion raised an eyebrow. “Not all of us have fangs and claws.” Then he paused for a moment. “Hang on, you’re the asshole–“ “Coach?” You heard a clatter in the nearby entrance hall, as Scott appeared, but just surged towards him. Deucalion headed for the noise. Blood still stained around his eyes but he smiled, offering a soft laugh, as you checked him over. “I’m fine.” “You blinded yourself?” Horror coursed through you. “He what?” Bobby demanded. Jackson and Ethan appeared, from the same direction Bobby had come. Ethan did a double take, but Deucalion held up his hands in surrender, and the boy approached, warily. “Coach, why are you here?” Stiles questioned, still entirely bewildered. “He just saved us,” Ethan admitted, making Derek raise an eyebrow. “Malia?” Peter crashed through the doors behind them. “Malia– you’re okay.” The girl in question smiled, brightly, crushing her father into a hug. Peter froze. Derek kicked Stiles before he could snicker. “Coach saved you?” Stiles asked, returning his attention to the boys. “No need for that tone, Stilinski.” “He beat a hunter unconscious with a lacrosse stick,” Jackson explained, and Stiles’ jaw dropped further. “Wait, do you know about this, Coach?” Scott asked, brows furrowed. “Of course I know. That’s my sister fussing over you.” “She’s your what?” “I’m adopted,” you assured the baffled teenagers.

Deucalion cleared his throat, summoning your attention. He held up Monroe by her collar. “She’s still alive.” “You won’t kill me,” she sneered, “McCall won’t let you.” “McCall’s not my Alpha,” Deucalion responded, eyes flashing red. “Yet you still deferred to him.” Deucalion snarled, but looked back to Scott. “This is your territory, Scott.” The boy hesitated. “But it’s a war for all of us.” They hadn’t even seen you moving before her heart dropped to the floor. “(Y/N)?!” “What the hell?!” Deucalion didn’t speak through the teenaged chorus, just discarded the body, unceremoniously, curious gaze fixed on your face. “A woman after my own heart.” Malia elbowed Peter, cutting off his muttering. “Was that her?” A sob tore from your throat at Bobby’s question, raw and ragged, but you nodded. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your brother, or at Scott, afraid of what you would see there. So you just held Deucalion’s gaze, as if begging him to understand… something. Anything. Even you weren’t sure what. The man was a killer, after all. You didn’t need to justify yourself to him. You could hear Bobby explaining, behind you, but still didn’t dare look back. You flinched when Deucalion finally broke the impasse by taking a step forward, but didn’t move away. He continued forward, slowly, until he had closed the distance between you, a warm hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” The question was stiff, awkward, but you couldn’t say you expected any different. Before you even registered what you were doing, you slumped forward, burying your head in his chest. He went stiff for a moment, but you soon felt his arms inch around you, one hand coming to your hair. Your sobs began to fade, breathing falling into sync with the soothing fingers trailing through your hair. “Am I seeing this right– ow, Derek!” A low growl rumbled from Deucalion’s chest, vibrating through your body, and Stiles fell silent. With a shuddering breath, you pulled away and looked up to meet the eyes of the Alpha of Alphas. He raised an eyebrow, but his expression was gentle. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “You just single-handedly destroyed a well-manicured, decades-old reputation.” There was no anger in his voice. “I think you did that when you started practicing pacifism,” Peter drawled, making both Scott and Deucalion glare at him. He shrugged, but didn’t try to take it back. “Can I suggest we leave?” Lydia piped up, quietly. “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a shower.” She looked down at her dust-covered hands, the stains of blood and sweat on her clothes. Murmurs of agreement followed, and you all headed for the doors. “Scott, if you see your father, tell him I’ll be by tomorrow.” Scott raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I just magically realised you were about to die, did you?” You didn’t bother listening to their mumbled responses, just made a beeline for your car. “Call me tonight!” Bobby shouted after you. You waved your agreement.

#pack mom reader #tw past trauma #tw parent death #tw murder #deucalion x reader #deucalion #teen wolf deucalion #teen wolf #coach finstock #bobby finstock #adopted!reader #adopted!finstock!reader #tw violence #tw gore #tamora monroe #coach is secretly soft #tw guns #tw injury #tw major injury

[lovehugsandcandy]

bloom (ColtxMC, RoD)

A/N:  I almost did not finish this in time for Colt day and I would have been heartbroken. (also, alternate summary was “Colt has a plant” but GOD why would he ever have that, right?) @rodappreciationweek

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~4500 words

Rating/Warnings: N*FW (It’s not explicit but there’s enough there that it’s probably N*FW. And swearing.)

Summary: Bloom where you’re planted.

It comes cheap, as cash deals often do. The walls are riddled with holes, gaping gunshots and massive dents inflicted in incidents even he doesn’t want the stories of; the roof is in shambles, caved to the floor in spots while leaks spread oily over the surface in others. But the land is secluded, safe, and, though it needs work, the foundation is sound. 

Colt has never been afraid of hard work, anyway.

He wanted to rebuild on the ashes of his father’s shop. It would have been apt, fitting, rebuilding the place that had been his legacy, passed down from ancestor to ancestor until it arrived at his feet, decaying and ruined. 

But it was too obvious. Every single time he drove by, he could see the undercover cops staking out the place, blindingly obvious behind the tinted windows of shiny SUVs. The drive also made him ill; when he caught sight of the charred sign and burnt out support beams, his vision would sway, hands clammy in leather gloves, heart racing a frenetic beat. The last time he sped through, he had needed to pull over, two blocks away, to spew stomach acid into a gutter.

He hadn’t gone back since.

But this new shop, this would work. He would make this work, rebuild here, in safety and relative anonymity, forging a new crew and avenging all he had lost.

A bitter voice cuts through his mental scheming. “There’s one more thing.”

“What?” He glares daggers at Smokey, the gruff man selling the place who earned his name from the trail of tobacco wafting behind him.

“The yard.” 

He follows Smokey out back, to where two wrecks sit on concrete that bleeds into dust at the edges, all surrounded by rusted-out barbed wire fencing. The Lambo would be worth something, if the engine was still there, but the MacLaren is destroyed, probably only worth scrap metal and parts.

“All this is yours, too. But I ain’t moving shit.”

Colt shrugs. “Okay.” He surveys the lot. Buried in the dust, he notices a flash of green, a leaf peeking out of the dirt caked against a metal post. “The hell’s that?” he asks, pointing over to where the small stem is, remarkably, making its way out of the dry earth, spouting where no living thing should ever be able to grow. It’s tiny, barely an inch, but it’s vibrant amid the washed out dust basin surrounding it.

“That plant thing? Fuck do I know.” Smokey sticks his hand in his overall pocket, fishing around until he grabs a pack of smokes. “Anyway, like I said, it’s all yours.”

Colt hands over the cash, takes the keys, and starts planning.

~~~~~

He plasters the walls himself, sledgehammer tearing through the plywood and insulation, dust and dirt raining down on him until he’s covered, paint chips grinding into his skin until every visible inch is full of grit and grime. He stands in the shower for an eternity, scalding water raining on muscles tense with exertion, physical labor quieting the screaming rage in his head.

He can’t do everything himself, gets a truckload of guys to shingle the roof, hires an electrician to ensure that the lifts work on the floor. He keeps his ear to the ground, always scouting new talent, people looking to make a break into his world. There’s a few, various tuners and losers, but no one he trusts. Not yet.

One thing he can do is rebuild, plan, and deal with that stupid plant. He almost ignored it, figuring it would wither away on its own, but he has begrudging respect for something thriving in an inhospitable environment. The guy at the nursery thought it looked like a melon, handing over some instructions and a bag of soil that Colt balanced on his lap as the bike wove through city streets. It’s stupid, utterly ridiculous, but he puts the soil down, anyway. Maybe the melon just needs a chance.

By August, Mona’s out, sprung from jail by some hotshot lawyer and begrudging LAPD acknowledgement of the corruption in the force. He is under the bike when she saunters through the bay doors, a smirk on her face and swagger in her step. She makes a snide comment about his transmission, then wanders into the break room to make popcorn.

He stares after her for a full minute, completely befuddled, but finally shrugs and wanders out back to water the stupid melon.

He wonders if this is his life now.

~~~~~

Colt looks closer, dropping to his knees in a cloud of dust to peer incredulously at the ground beneath him. Yesterday, there had been only one green sprout, the result of careful tending and effort, somehow reaching burgeoning leaves through the fencing slats to chase the sun. But now, there are two, as an evil-looking clover emerges through the soil carefully packed against the fence. How the fuck did a weed grow here? Hell, he has no idea how the fucking melon was growing here, pushing through the dust that caked the ground, but he would be damned if he let a fucking weed ruin his work.

He’s just digging his fingers into the dirt, trying to get every offending root, when footsteps thud behind him. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Mona asks, skeptically.

“Getting this fucking thing-”

“What is that?”

“A weed.” He drops the invader, and it scatters in the wind, dancing through the fencing.

“No…” She hesitates, sounding puzzled, and he squints at her profile in the sunlight, waiting. “The plant thing down there.”

“Guy at the store said he thinks it’s a melon.”

She blinks. “You’re growing a melon.” He doesn’t know what to make of her tone, half accusatory, half mocking, so he only shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. Finally, she snorts. “It might be nice for you.”

“What?”

“Might be nice for you to actually make something, instead of fucking shit up all the time.”

He glares daggers at her retreating back before inspecting the stupid green stem again. It might be his imagination, but it already looks stronger, as if culling the invading weed had already strengthened its roots. 

Maybe the fucking thing would thrive if its enemies were removed.

~~~~~~

In October, Ximena makes her way through the front door, a smile spreading across her face and a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. He’s speechless as she lifts him into a giant hug, his ribs creaking in protest.

“Heard things were getting better around here, sweetie.” Colt feels a bashful flush heat his cheeks at the familiar nickname, but she’s not wrong. He and Mona had just swiped a couple of Sodertaljes for a half a million just last week, and he’s already scheming to snatch two more. The crew is making a name for itself; he’s rebuilding. “Where’s Mona?”

“Back room,” he answers, watching X stroll away in absolute confusion before he wanders to the yard. Apparently, he can’t control the comings and goings of the dregs of his father’s crew.

But maybe he can control the fucking plant.

~~~~~

Ellie doesn’t come home for Thanksgiving. 

He knew she wouldn’t. It’s his business to know things, the location of priceless cars, the name of the rival crew who’s been running jobs in the Hills. Collecting tidbits of information and splicing them into a bigger picture is one of those skills that keeps the crew afloat and him alive.

But knowing things about her (the spot at the curve of her shoulder that makes her cry out, exactly how much pressure to use where she’s so sensitive, hell, even the stupid, sappy shit like how she likes her coffee, all locked away deep in his brain), well, that’s far from business.

He knows her house (third from the corner with the busted up cruiser in the drive) and he would recognize her car anywhere, even just a flash of it.

She stays at school for Thanksgiving.

But she comes home for Winter Break. He drives by one morning (three am after a successful job, when the roar of adrenaline in his blood makes him desperately miss the one person he wants by his side) and it’s there, vivid pink reflecting the streetlights. He has to remind himself to fucking breathe.

The next afternoon, groggy after tossing and turning all fucking night, he can’t decide when he should just show up at her house and how to avoid the detective if he did. 

He actually doesn’t need to decide. 

“Why didn’t you rebuild the old shop?”

He spins, splashing the coffee in a sticky mess over concrete (one cream, two sugars, far too sweet to be anything more than a reminder). “What-” The smile on her face is playful, teasing, and his fingers itch to run through her hair. “How did you…?”

“You’re not the only one who has friends in low places.” She turns at the echoing footsteps and is soon swept into hugs and smiles and the dull banter of catching up. 

But after, after he steals her away, upstairs to his loft, coaxing sugar sweet sounds from her lips with the rapaciousness of a man denied for far too long, he ensures that she remembers exactly who she came to the shop to see. 

When he’s exhausted, temporarily sated yet only waiting until the next burst of energy for round two, he traces random designs down her bare back. “You ready to come back, yet?”

“Colt…”

“Hey, I know you’re too good for school. Just wondering if you know it yet.”

She spins in his arms; when her bare skin glances across his chest, he tightens his fingers, still curled into her back. “Jesus, Colt, you haven’t changed at all.”

“Did you expect me to?”

“Your dad…” His nails dig into her back at the mention; her wince makes him drop his hand to the sheets. She continues, “Your dad wanted more than this. For you.”

“What about what I want?”

“Well, what about what I want?”

He blinks, pulling his arm back. “The fuck? You’re doing what you want across the fucking country.” He watches her stand and storm about the room, pulling on clothes, swiping at her eyes. “Ellie, come on-”

“This was a mistake.”

He sits up, crossing his arms over his bare chest to fix her with his darkest glare. “What the hell does that-“

“I should have…” She trails off and, for a moment, he sees the glimmer of indecision in her eyes. “I made my choice. I’m going back to school and I can’t…” Her voice wavers and she doesn’t even finish the sentence.

When the door slams, he flops against the bed, worn and wilting. 

~~~~~

Winter brings the first fruit. 

One of the many benefits to living in Southern California is the weather, where each sunny day is a picture-perfect copy of the last. So, even though it’s February, Ximena watches as he carefully cuts the fruit from the vine and stands, cradling it in one arm. “Huh,” she says, shooting him a critical eye. “It’s kinda like that saying: bloom where you’re planted.”

“Huh?”

“The saying… bloom where you’re planted? It kinda means… um….“ Her hands flail about before settling across her chest. “Work with what you’ve got? Plants need fertile soil and plenty of water and sunlight. That plant was given this dusty piece of shit lot owned by a fledgling crew. But even though these aren’t really the best conditions, it’s still blooming anyway. Even though the circumstances aren’t the best, you need to use your talents where you are, not think about what could have been.”

He runs the words through his head, callused fingertips tracing the dappled skin of the melon, trying not to think of different circumstances. “Christ, X.” He shakes his head ruefully. “Its just a fucking plant.” He turns and heads through the shop, careful not to splatter fruit on the concrete, her heavy footsteps close behind. 

Mona is already in the break room, lazing about the table, and he gingerly cuts into the skin, handing her and Ximena a pale orange slice.

“Is it hygienic to cut it with that knife?” X asks, teasingly, but takes the proffered piece, regardless. 

“Shut up and try it.”

He waits as they bring it to their mouths, holding his breath as each takes a tentative bite. Finally, Ximena breaks the silence, wrinkling her nose. “It’s kind of… bitter.”

“You mean it’s fucking awful!” Mona spits the blob of flesh into a napkin, disgust curling her lip, and she wipes at her tongue rapidly.

He glares at them steadily but can’t disagree once he cuts his own piece. It tastes wrong, flesh too chewy, too tart on his tongue. His eyes water as he swallows it down; he closes the switchblade and chucks the entire melon into the trash.

Maybe this whole thing is a fucking waste of time. 

Maybe nothing would ever bloom at this shop.

~~~~~

Winter also brings Toby. 

Colt hears the engine roar from the loft and, when he opens the bay door, he gapes at the blaze before him, raging from the hood of a modded-up import.

“It’s not supposed to do that.” Toby leaps from the driver’s seat, grabbing the fire extinguisher that he apparently keeps conveniently under the passenger seat.

“No shit.”

“I think I dialed the ignition force up a little too high, but with a couple of modifications-”

“What are you doing here?”

Toby’s jaw drops. “What do you mean? I heard you were building a new crew.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you suck at the delicate modifications needed to create the next generation of revolutionary sports cars, and you also wouldn’t know your way around surveillance technology if it bit you in the ass and bought you a milkshake afterwards.”

What the... Awkward phrasing aside, he’s not wrong. “What the fuck. Is everyone just gonna waltz right in and…” Colt trails off as Toby walks away, tripping over nothing on his way down the hall.

The cheer when he strolls into the break room is loud, raucous. Colt wonders when his shop became the thrift stop for local rejects.

He wonders why he does nothing about it.

~~~~~

“I’ve heard they like it when you play music for them.”

Colt looks up. “The fuck?!?”

Toby peers down at where he is carefully packing more soil around the base of the stem. “The plants,” he explains, eyes blinking wide behind his thick lenses. “I think they like music. Do you wanna borrow one of my German trance electronica CDs?”

“God, no,” Colt snarls, standing and wiping dirt on his jeans before turning heel, storming back into the shop.

After watching for two days (weren’t there supposed to be flowers sprouting on this fucking thing?), he finally buys a wireless speaker, hiding it next to the fence. At first, he tries classical; based on a quick internet search, soothing orchestra is recommended. However, the strings gnaw on his ears and, even worse, the plant still looks like shit. 

Once he’s annoyed with that prissy crap, he flips to music he likes and is amazed when the furled leaves seemed to get greener and greener. Colt can just make out 2pac as he stares in amazement at the plant. Will I see the penitentiary or will I stay free? He shakes his head and walks away; he doesn’t know shit about plants.

~~~~~

She comes back for Spring Break, too. He doesn’t even need to drive by her house; she posts a picture at LAX, beaming grin filling his phone screen as she poses at arrivals.

He waits, doing petty jobs and minor repairs, anything to keep his hands occupied, but it doesn’t stop his mind from racing. Finally, on the fourth day, soft footsteps edge onto the shop floor. He tries to keep his eyes from widening; based on her smirk, he doesn’t succeed. 

He doesn’t even let her speak, crossing the floor in five steps, arm on her wrist, dragging her upstairs so he can push her against the door.

“I’m not gonna apologize.” He says it into her mouth, words rushed to shorten the time before her lips were on his.

“I would never expect you to.”

“You know how important this is to me.” Her fingers curl in his jacket as he rolls his hips.

“I know,” she moans as his lips slide down her neck. “I just want… you could be so much more than this. I don’t want you to destroy yourself.”

He makes his way back up to kiss her ear. “Fuck, Ellie.” His voice is low with promise and she shivers at every word. “I’m going to destroy you.”

She laughs joyful and clear as they fall into bed, and he reacquaints himself with the curve of her shoulder, the soft skin of her thigh. The dirt under his nails leaves streaks of grit down her back, over her ass, and he scrubs her clean in the shower, catching the droplets of water as they fall from her lips.

“How long are you staying this time?”

She’s in a towel, water still dripping from the pile of hair at her nape, skin glowing from being scrubbed clean. Colt had never seen anything so radiant. “I’m home until Sunday.”

“Not what I was asking.”

“Tonight?” She bites her lips, eyes wide on his.

“I’ll take tonight.” He leans over to pull on the fabric, dropping the towel to the floor. Beaming, she squeals as he pulls her back into bed. If he only had tonight, he was gonna make it fucking worth it.

~~~~~

They try the melon again. It’s May and the days are getting longer; snooty colleges would soon let underclassmen fly home for the summer.

He tries not to think about it.

He cuts through the fruit, three pairs of eager eyes around him, and hands out crescents, his leg bouncing under the table as he waits and watches the crew take hesitant bites.

“It’s…” Mona chews thoughtfully. “It’s not bad.”

Ximena smiles. “It is definitely better than last time. It’s not very sweet, but at least it’s not terrible.”

“Thanks,” he replies dryly.

“What do you guys mean?” The words are hard to comprehend over the entire wedge that Toby has crammed into his mouth. “This is incredible!”

Colt takes a tentative bite. It definitely wasn’t as bad as last time, the sourness of the last attempt now faded into an inoffensive tartness. The flesh is soft against his tongue, but it’s not sweet; unlike the fruit from the store, it is bland, inoffensive, boring.

At least it’s edible, a marked improvement from when the first fruit sprung from the barren soil.

Only Toby takes another piece, but Colt counts it as a win.

~~~~~

The soil disappears easily, lather carrying it down the drain as if it were never there. The grease is more difficult, solvents and scrubbing not enough to take everything off, and he can see the dark lines coating his skin for days, until they are as much a part of him as the freckles dotting his nose and the scar under his rib cage.

He carries other dirt with him, foul and dark, and no amount of scrubbing will ever make him clean.

~~~~~

He almost thinks she won’t come back, not this time, that Spring Break was a bittersweet goodbye and her full year away has convinced her that her new life is a better fit, holding more promise than a crew still finding its legs and growing into its reputation. He fears her time in the books may have taught her she belongs in musty libraries and dim corridors, soaking up knowledge like she soaked up gearshifts and speed, and that formulas and theories would replace the itch to drive fast and take chances.

But he’s wrong.

The door opening on the shop floor barely twinges his consciousness, and the increased chatter doesn’t stir him either. He just rolls over, burrowing his face into the pillow.

But the hands sliding down his bare back definitely jar him awake and he whirls, brain working far slower than his limbs, and it takes a minute to come to grips with the figure in front of him. When he finally realizes that she isn’t some dream-induced phantom but is real, a corporeal figure perched over him, morning sunlight glancing off her hair and fingers solid at his back, well, then he moves, quickly pulling her down before she can change her mind, relearning how she cries out and moans his name.

After, her body drapes over his, slick skin on slick skin, and his fingers trace their way up her back, her forearms; he’s comparing the real Ellie in his arms with that of memories and dreams and his mental mapping is disturbed when her lips forms words, hot against his chest. “Have you ever gotten something you wanted and realized that you might not want it anymore?”

The question makes him pause; he can think of a million things he’s wanted, desperately, abject need coursing through his veins and making him desperate to destroy all obstacles.

But he can think of only one he has actually gotten. He pulls her close, heart simmering at the question, and drags needy lips up the bare skin of her shoulder, etching tongue and teeth in a haphazard line that only stops behind her ear, when the moan flows through her chest and vibrates against his skin. “I’ve gotten things I wanted and realized that I wanted them even more.”

Her answering smile glows in the sunlight and, yet again, he finds himself again lost to the world of sensation and pleasure and the utter rightness of her body under his.

When she sits up in bed, hours later, he is deeply satisfied when her voice again rasps over his name; he is so distracted by imagining all the things he can do that will make her again dip the vowel, slow and sexy, tongue sliding over the single syllable desperately, that he misses the question. “Wha-?”

“Show me around.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’ve been here before.”

“Yeah, but...” She tilts her shoulder and tugs the sheets tighter around bare skin; Colt pulls his eyes from mapping the dark marks lining her shoulder and focuses on her words. “I only really saw the break room and your bedroom.”

“The only important spots here.”

She huffs a sigh. “Show me around?”

“Fine, fine.” He trudges out of bed, dressing slower than normal since his eyes won’t stop cutting to her, jealously watching her jeans slide up to cover the teeth marks on her thigh. If she was just going to skip off again, he was going to do his damnedest to memorize the sight of her perched on his bed, glowing in the daylight.

“Ready?” she prods.

He rolls his eyes, throwing on his t-shirt and walking out of the room, taking the stairs twice at a time, hand vaguely waving at the shop floor as he saunters through. “Hydraulic lift. Air compressor. Impact wrench. The piece of shit that Toby swore he could get running two months ago, but the engine still won’t fucking turn over.” He turns to see her trailing careful fingertips over a toolbox. “Can we go back upstairs?”

“Is it like your dad’s shop?”

He starts. Usually he bristles when people mention Pop, fury and regret and a deep need to prove himself just below his skin; however, there is only curiosity brimming in her eyes, a hint of concern below the surface. He has nothing left to prove to her. “What?”

“I dunno. Does it have everything the old shop did?”

He shrugs. “Mostly. There’s more space, so I added in another lift. We also have the lot, so Tony has been collecting more pieces of shit that he swears will be vintage collectors one day.”

“There’s a lot?”

“Hm?” He eyes the distance between them and the stairs, probably 50 feet, but he could get Ellie back there and up to the loft in seconds if he were properly motivated. “Yeah, out back.”

“Can I see?”

Internally, he groans but nods, leading her out the back door and into the sun. It’s the same dust pit as normal, and he casts an unimpressed eye around the heaps of metal. However, Ellie looks enraptured, peering around the wrecks, walking the perimeter in slow, careful steps. 

“Wow, it’s huge.” He shrugs; he feels the tips of his ears reddening and tries to fight it, but it’s a lost cause when she gazes at him like that. “Wait…” She pauses, eyes falling to the ground. “What’s that?”

“What?”

She kneels to the ground, hovering over the dust to stroke careful fingers over the melon. “This.”

“A stupid plant.”

“A plant?” She blinks up at him, squinting against the midday sun, and this time he can’t suppress the huff.

“Yeah, it’s a stupid melon thing. It was here when I bought the place and I’ve been trying to actually get something decent, but it’s fucking pointless.” She stares at him so long he fidgets, rocking back on his heels. “We’ve tried it a couple times, but it never tastes good. And I looked up when to water it and the guy at the shop blathered on about soil and sunlight, but it never seems to come out right.”

She falls silent again, and he stuffs his hands in his pocket, waiting until she finally asks, “You… you did this?”

He gapes. He did everything in this fucking place, from installing the bay doors to filling the tool chests to even putting together the bed she had just fallen apart in. “Yeah?”

“Huh,” she murmurs, eyes falling on him as if she was just seeing him for the first time.

He rocks back on his heels. “It’s just a stupid fucking plant.”

“I just… I never expected… you...” She stares at him, piercingly, as if she could see right through him, deep inside his brain to his deepest thoughts and desires and fears, deep to where she had already twisted tendrils inside him that he could never prune. “I thought you were gonna burn yourself down.”

“And I said we were both gonna be great.”

She bites her lip, considering, and Colt has the dawning realization that can actually, finally get what he wants. “When are you supposed to get fruit?” she asks and his heart skips a beat.

“Well…” He calculates days in his head. “It flowered a week ago, so I dunno, three more weeks? A month?” A smile spreads, slow and sure across her face, and Colt realizes that things will be different. “Why?” He smiles back. It’s impossible not to break into a grin when she looks at him like that, like he answered a question she never asked. “You gonna stick around?”

~~~~~

And when they finally cut into the melon, a week after he built two more things (a desk and a dresser, painted in such an audacious shade of pink that he smirks every time he walks into their room), he licks the juice dripping from the corner of her mouth, sucking the sweetness and laughter onto his tongue. It tastes amazing. It tastes like home.

.

Tags:

Perma @desireepow--1986 @leelee10898 @emichelle @client-327 @choicesgremlin @brightpinkpeppercorn @thequeenofcronuts @lilyofchoices @choicesarehard @desireepow-1986

ROD  @mskaneko @lovemychoices @burnsoslow @troublemakerinspace @omgjasminesimone

Colt

@deimosensblog  @alegria1580   @thefarrari @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @flowerpowell@poeticscolt @zaira-oh-zaira @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices  @maxwellsquidsuit  @liamzigmichael4ever @octobereighth @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @theeccentricbibliophile @dancingboba @tempesrature

RoDAW @ritachacha

#RoDAW #colt x mc #colt kaneko #n*fw #ride or die: a bad boy romance #playchoices fanfic #amy wites #cw: police #very brief police mention #but its there #it is late and i am tired #amy writes

[rockislandadultreads]

Non-fiction titles about Serial Killers, for any murderino

The Kill Jar: Obsession, Descent, and a Hunt for Detroit's Most Notorious Serial Killer by J. Reuben Appelman

Four children were abducted and murdered outside of Detroit during the winters of 1976 and 1977, their bodies eventually dumped in snow banks around the city. J. Reuben Appelman was six years old at the time the murders began and had evaded an abduction attempt during that same period, fueling a lifelong obsession with what became known as the Oakland County Child Killings. Autopsies showed the victims to have been fed while in captivity, reportedly held with care. And yet, with equal care, their bodies had allegedly been groomed post-mortem, scrubbed-free of evidence that might link to a killer. There were few credible leads, and equally few credible suspects. That’s what the cops had passed down to the press, and that’s what the city of Detroit, and J. Reuben Appelman, had come to believe. When the abductions mysteriously stopped, a task force operating on one of the largest manhunt budgets in history shut down without an arrest. Although no more murders occurred, Detroit and its environs remained haunted. The killer had, presumably, not been caught. Eerily overlaid upon the author’s own decades-old history with violence, The Kill Jar tells the gripping story of J. Reuben Appelman’s ten-year investigation into buried leads, apparent police cover-ups of evidence, con-men, child pornography rings, and high-level corruption saturating Detroit’s most notorious serial killer case.

Death in the Air: The True Story of a Serial Killer, the Great London Smog, and the Strangling of a City by Kate Winkler Dawson

London was still recovering from the devastation of World War II when another disaster hit: for five long days in December 1952, a killer smog held the city firmly in its grip and refused to let go. Day became night, mass transit ground to a halt, criminals roamed the streets, and some 12,000 people died from the poisonous air. But in the chaotic aftermath, another killer was stalking the streets, using the fog as a cloak for his crimes. All across London, women were going missing--poor women, forgotten women. Their disappearances caused little alarm, but each of them had one thing in common: they had the misfortune of meeting a quiet, unassuming man, John Reginald Christie, who invited them back to his decrepit Notting Hill flat during that dark winter. They never left. The eventual arrest of the "Beast of Rillington Place" caused a media frenzy: were there more bodies buried in the walls, under the floorboards, in the back garden of this house of horrors? Was it the fog that had caused Christie to suddenly snap? And what role had he played in the notorious double murder that had happened in that same apartment building not three years before--a murder for which another, possibly innocent, man was sent to the gallows? The Great Smog of 1952 remains the deadliest air pollution disaster in world history, and John Reginald Christie is still one of the most unfathomable serial killers of modern times. Journalist Kate Winkler Dawson braids these strands together into a taut, compulsively readable true crime thriller about a man who changed the fate of the death penalty in the UK, and an environmental catastrophe with implications that still echo today.

Hell's Princess: The Mystery of Belle Gunness, Butcher of Men by Harold Schechter

In the pantheon of serial killers, Belle Gunness stands alone. She was the rarest of female psychopaths, a woman who engaged in wholesale slaughter, partly out of greed but mostly for the sheer joy of it. Between 1902 and 1908, she lured a succession of unsuspecting victims to her Indiana “murder farm.” Some were hired hands. Others were well-to-do bachelors. All of them vanished without a trace. When their bodies were dug up, they hadn’t merely been poisoned, like victims of other female killers. They’d been butchered.

Hell’s Princess is a riveting account of one of the most sensational killing sprees in the annals of American crime: the shocking series of murders committed by the woman who came to be known as Lady Bluebeard. The only definitive book on this notorious case and the first to reveal previously unknown information about its subject, Harold Schechter’s gripping, suspenseful narrative has all the elements of a classic mystery—and all the gruesome twists of a nightmare.

Mad City: The True Story of the Campus Murders That America Forgot by Michael Arntfield

In fall 1967, friends Linda Tomaszewski and Christine Rothschild are freshmen at the University of Wisconsin. The students in the hippie college town of Madison are letting down their hair—and their guards. But amid the peace rallies lurks a killer.

When Christine’s body is found, her murder sends shockwaves across college campuses, and the Age of Aquarius gives way to a decade of terror.

Linda knows the killer, but when police ignore her pleas, he slips away. For the next forty years, Linda embarks on a cross-country quest to find him. When she discovers a book written by the murderer’s mother, she learns Christine was not his first victim—or his last. The slayings continue, and a single perpetrator emerges: the Capital City Killer. As police focus on this new lead, Linda receives a disturbing note from the madman himself. Can she stop him before he kills again?

Lady Killers: Deadly Women Throughout History by Tori Telfer

When you think of serial killers throughout history, the names that come to mind are likely Jack the Ripper, John Wayne Gacy, and Ted Bundy. But what about Tillie Klimek, Moulay Hassan, and Kate Bender? The narrative we're comfortable with is one where women are the victims of violent crime-not the perpetrators. In fact, serial killers are thought to be so universally male that, in 1998, FBI profiler Roy Hazelwood infamously declared that There are no female serial killers. Inspired by Telfer's Jezebel column of the same name, Lady Killers disputes that claim and offers fourteen gruesome examples as evidence. Although largely forgotten by history, female serial killers rival their male counterparts in cunning, cruelty, and appetite. Each chapter explores the crimes and history of a different female serial killer and then proceeds to unpack her legacy and her portrayal in the media as well as the stereotypes and sexist cliches that inevitably surround her. When you think of serial killers throughout history, the names that come to mind are likely Jack the Ripper, John Wayne Gacy, and Ted Bundy. But what about Tillie Klimek, Moulay Hassan, and Kate Bender? The narrative we're comfortable with is one where women are the victims of violent crime-not the perpetrators. In fact, serial killers are thought to be so universally male that, in 1998, FBI profiler Roy Hazelwood infamously declared that There are no female serial killers. Inspired by Telfer's Jezebel column of the same name, Lady Killers disputes that claim and offers fourteen gruesome examples as evidence. Although largely forgotten by history, female serial killers rival their male counterparts in cunning, cruelty, and appetite. Each chapter explores the crimes and history of a different female serial killer and then proceeds to unpack her legacy and her portrayal in the media as well as the stereotypes and sexist cliches that inevitably surround her.

The Spider and the Fly: A Reporter, a Serial Killer, and the Meaning of Murder by Claudia Rowe

In September 1998, young reporter Claudia Rowe was working as a stringer for the New York Times in Poughkeepsie, New York, when local police discovered the bodies of eight women stashed in the attic and basement of the small colonial home that Kendall Francois, a painfully polite twenty-seven-year-old community college student, shared with his parents and sister. Growing up amid the safe, bourgeois affluence of New York City, Rowe had always been secretly fascinated by the darkness, and soon became obsessed with the story and with Francois. She was consumed with the desire to understand just how a man could abduct and strangle eight women—and how a family could live for two years, seemingly unaware, in a house with the victims’ rotting corpses. She also hoped to uncover what humanity, if any, a murderer could maintain in the wake of such monstrous evil. Reaching out after Francois was arrested, Rowe and the serial killer began a dizzying four-year conversation about cruelty, compassion, and control; an unusual and provocative relationship that would eventually lead her to the abyss, forcing her to clearly see herself and her own past—and why she was drawn to danger.

#true crime #non fiction #nonfiction #nonfiction books #true crime books #reading list #tbr #Reading Recs #Book Recommendations #reading recommendations #book recs #murderino #murderinos #library #public library #book list #booklr

[ridiculousyoungicarus]

i wanna hide the truth, i wanna shelter you

a love letter to luxor’s zander driskell

I want to start off with a disclaimer that there’s a bunch more pre-Luxor content on this one compared to the girls’, but with Zander it felt extremely important to explore that aspect. There’s a note on the section where I’m finally playing him in the roleplay due to that, but anything before that point is before I started playing him in the group. Anyway, I’m proud to present a 3 hour Zander playlist, come help me judge him for the amount of references to his dad and Ches throughout this entire playlist.

Yet again I’d like to thank Lex for help throughout this process, and warn everyone that the usual Zander trigger warnings are all over this playlist (mental health, violence, abuse / child abuse, etc etc). Anything additional is noted on the sections.

‘cause i had a fire, passion and desire. now all i require are circuits and wires | pre-luxor:

zander before attending luxor additional tws: potential self harm (breathe me)

iRobot (Jon Bellion) [ I was a human, before you killed me and ripped my heart out. ] // Breathe Me - Acoustic (Jonathan Roy) [ I think that I might break and lost myself again and I feel so unsafe. ] // Tell Me Why (Taylor Swift) [ Why do you have to make me feel small so you can feel whole inside? Why do you have to put down my dreams so you're the only thing on my mind? ] // Weight Of Living, Pt. II (Bastille) [ All that you desired when you were a child was to be old. Now that you are here, suddenly you fear you've lost control. ]

happiness is beautiful to see, won't you box it up for me? | sophomore year:

zander’s sophomore year at luxor, and the introduction to one ches elswood. additional tws: bleed out can be extremely uncomfortable to listen to with the whole, bleeding out theme. please skip that song if you feel you need to

Cop Car (Keith Urban) [ You were thinking that running for it would make a good story; I was thinking you were crazy as hell. ] // Don't Trust Me (Phillip Phillips) [ So when I say I'm okay, don't trust me. ] // Burn Out (Imagine Dragons) [ Oh, give me strength, and give me peace. Does anyone out there want to hear me? ] // Crawling (Linkin Park) [ This lack of self-control I fear is never-ending. Controlling, I can't seem. ] // Bleed Out (Blue October) [ Will I bleed out? I gave it all, but you can't stop taking from me. And way down, I know you know where to cut me with your eyes closed. ] // Don't Sing the Blues (Bohnes) [ I was ridiculous, young Icarus. I flew too close to the sun. ]

do you remember all the plans we made? | helena:

a section dedicated to zander’s relationship with helena additional tws: sex (carry your throne), alcohol (tonight I wanna cry)

Carry Your Throne (Jon Bellion) [ If you're lost in this darkness I'll carry your throne. No, I won't let it swallow you whole. ] // Snake Eyes (Mumford & Sons) [ It's in the eyes. I can tell, you will always be danger. ] // Halfway Gone (Lifehouse) [ You were always hard to hold, so letting go ain't easy. I'm hanging on but growing cold. ] // The Promise (Andy Black) [ Tell me what ever happened to the love we gave, the promise that we both betrayed. ] // Tonight I Wanna Cry (Keith Urban) [ And I thought that bein' strong meant never losin' your self-control, but I'm just drunk enough to let go of my pain. To hell with my pride, let it fall like rain from my eyes, tonight I want to cry. ]

i say one day the valley is gonna swallow me whole, i feel like a photo that's been overexposed | junior year (‘18-‘19):

junior year of high school, fairly self explanatory additional tws: smoking (antisocial)

Flaws (Bastille) [ You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve and I have always buried them deep beneath the ground. Dig them up. Let's finish what we've started. ] // Battle Cry (Imagine Dragons) [ Just one more time before I go, I'll let you know that all this time I've been afraid, wouldn't let it show. Nobody can save me now, no. ] // 12 Rounds (Bohnes) [ I'm coming home, I've got some things to say. My gloves are on and my shoes are almost laced. ] // Novocaine (Fall Out Boy) [ Don’t mind me, I’m just the son of a gun. So don’t stop, don't stop 'till your heart goes numb. Now I’m just numb, I don’t feel a thing for you. ] // Machine (Imagine Dragons) [ 'Cause I've been wondering when you gonna see I'm not for sale. I've been questioning when you gonna see I'm not a part of your machine. ] // Antisocial (Ed Sheeran feat. Travis Scott) [ So antisocial, but I don't care. Don't give a damn, I'm gonna smoke here. ] // Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea (Fall Out Boy) [ Seems like the whole damn world went and lost its mind and all my childhood heroes have fallen off or died. ] // Never Going Back (The Score) [ I'm never gonna follow just because they say so. ]

consign me not to darkness | summer 2019:

the summer after the merge, where zander is stuck at home working for lance additional tws:  alcohol (if you’re going through hell)

Two Evils (Bastille) [ I'm the lesser of two evils or am I tricking myself nice? ] // Man or a Monster (Sam Tinnesz feat. Zayde Wølf) [ When you look at yourself, are you a man or a monster? ] // DNA (Lia Marie Johnson) [ Are the pieces of you in the pieces of me? I'm just so scared you're who I'll be. When I erupt just like you do, they look at me like I look at you. ] // Broken Crown (Mumford & Sons) [ So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down I'll never wear your broken crown. I can take the road and I can fuck it all away, but in this twilight, our choices seal our fate. ] // If You're Going Through Hell {Before The Devil Even Knows} (Rodney Atkins) [ I've been deep down in that darkness, I've been down to my last match. Felt a hundred different demons breathin' fire down my back. ] // Mud On the Tires (Brad Paisley) [ 'Cause it's a good night to be out there soakin' up the moonlight. ] // Pray For You (Jaron And The Long Road To Love) [ I pray your brakes go out runnin' down a hill, I pray a flower pot falls from a window sill and knocks you in the head like I'd like to. ]

but all the scars they prove that i fought my way through so, i always keep 'em showing | senior year of hs (‘19-‘20)

finally, the point in the timeline where zander is actually getting roleplayed by me. includes summer camp fun too

The Silence (Bastille) [ Tell me a piece of your history that you've never said out loud. Pull the rug beneath my feet, and shake me to the ground. ] // Stand Up (The Cab) [ Yeah, all of my demons are kicking and screaming but I'll never leave them behind. Yeah, maybe I'm crazy but don't try to save me, 'cause I've never felt so alive. ] // Only One (The Score) [ Tell me how it feels to know I'm not a puppet under control. I cut the strings a long time ago. ]

running from the devil, but the devil takes hold | fall & winter 2020:

a new school year, increased disdain for his father, a certain set of posters, and the start of realizing there may be something wrong with him.

Gold (Imagine Dragons) [ But now you can't tell the false from the real. Who can you trust? When everything you touch turns to gold. ] // Just Like You (Three Days Grace) [ You thought you were standing beside me, you were only in my way. You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you. ] // Bad Blood (Bastille) [ All this bad blood here, won't you let it dry? It's been cold for years, won't you let it lie? ] // Middle Finger (Bohnes) [ But I refuse to let you make me feel like I can't fly. Not only will I soar again, I'll own the fucking sky. ] // American Beauty/American Psycho (Fall Out Boy) [ You take the full, full truth, then you pour some out, and you can kill me, kill me or let God sort 'em out. ] // Homecoming King (Andy Black) [ You're standing there with the homecoming king; turn the silver spoon into a diamond ring. Can he make you disappear without anyone noticing? Yeah, fuck the homecoming king ] // Monster (Imagine Dragons) [ I'm only a man with a candle to guide me, I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me. A monster, a monster, I've turned into a monster. ] // Animal I Have Become (Three Days Grace) [ Somebody help me through this nightmare I can't control myself. Somebody wake me from this nightmare, I can't escape this hell. ] // Gallows (The Score feat. Jamie N Commons) [ Been turning my back on the sun these days, trying to walk the line but I'm losing my way. ]

i'm sifting through the sand, looking for pieces of broken hourglass trying to get it all back but it back together | spring 2021:

continuing to take a good look at his mental health, a desire to improve, and an appreciation for his support circle. additional tws: sex/masturbation mention (All Time Low)

All Time Low (Jon Bellion) [ I've been trying to fix my pride but that shit's broken, that shit's broken. ] // Bishops Knife Trick (Fall Out Boy) [ These are the last blues we're ever gonna have, let's see how deep we get. The glow of the cities below lead us back to the places that we never should have left. ] // Demons (Imagine Dragons) [ They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate; it's woven in my soul, I need to let you go. Your eyes, they shine so bright, I wanna save that light, I can't escape this now, unless you show me how. ] // I'll Be Good (Jaymes Young) [ I never meant to start a fire, I never meant to make you bleed. I'll be a better man today. ] // The Anchor (Bastille) [ You were the light that is blinding me. You're the anchor that I tie to my brain. 'Cause when it feels when I'm lost at sea, you're the song that I sing again and again. ] // Ungrateful Eyes (Jon Bellion) [ Still lost, still feel depressed like I'm try to find a way in. I'm trying to figure this out, but my God I'm so human. And so I turned to my sister and smiled and asked this question, “all we wanna know is where the stars came from, but do we ever stop to watch them shine?” ] // Rise Up (Imagine Dragons) [ The darkness right in front of me, oh, it's calling out, and I won't walk away. ] // Bless The Broken Road (Rascal Flatts) [ Every long lost dream led me to where you are, others who broke my heart, they were like Northern stars, pointing me on my way into your loving arms. This much I know is true, that God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you. ]

#musing ( playlists ) #no chains won't hold me down ( musings ) #violence tw #Smoking tw #alcohol tw #abuse tw #child abuse tw #self harm tw #blood tw #stabbing tw #bc implied

[jaxl-road]

Cat Club

Nikki had only planned on yelling at the dude whose cat got his cat pregnant. He wasn’t expecting him to actually stick around.

Pairings: Nikki/Tommy

Warnings: None

~~~~

As the door clicked shut behind him, Nikki sighed heavily, flicking on the lights to illuminate the derelict house he called home. Walking further into the living room, he tossed a handful of papers onto the coffee table before gently placing the cat carrier in his grip on the ground. Releasing the latch on the carrier, Nikki flopped back onto the couch, pressing his fists into his eyes.

It only took a moment for a solid weight to land on his chest. Moving one hand, Nikki eyed the long-haired tabby staring back at him with one bright blue eye. Huffing, he picked the cat up, lifting her above his head so he could stare blankly up at her.

“You whore,” he deadpanned. “You dumb slut. How did this happen? I raised you better than this.”

The cat blinked at him.

Nikki groaned, “Goddammit, Holly, I can’t stay mad at you,” he grumbled, placing the cat back down onto his chest. Once released, she quickly curled up right beneath his chin, Nikki sputtering as long fur got in his mouth, but relaxing as the cat started purring against him. Stroking his pet softly, Nikki stared at the ceiling and contemplated his situation.

Why the fuck hadn’t he gotten her spayed?

Oh, that’s right, he thought as he turned to glance at the bill on the coffee table. It was because he was broke as fuck, and vets were expensive as hell, and even with a payment plan this single morning appointment was going to fuck up his budget for the next month at least. God, he was not equipped for this.

Suddenly, the cat on his chest perked up, sitting up and looking towards the back door. Turning to follow her gaze, Nikki sat up abruptly, sending the cat jumping away.

“YOU!!” He snarled, eyes locking with the sleek black cat pawing at the sliding glass door that led out into the overgrown box of space that had been called a backyard on craigslist. Lurching from his seat, Nikki stormed over to glare down at the animal, “This is your fault, I just know it,” he muttered. He had seen this cat hanging around before, and had seen it wandering in the yard with Holly a few times. Right on cue, the tabby trotted up to the window, meowing to be let outside.

Narrowing his eyes, he shooed her away, “Oh no, I don’t think so. You are grounded, young lady.” He turned back to the black cat still staring after his baby, eyeing the neon green collar around his neck, “Alright, let’s see who I need to fuck up,” he grumbled, unlocking the door and slipping outside. Kneeling down to try to read the cat’s tag, the cat darted out of his reach. Frowning, Nikki took another step forward, only for the cat to jump away again. Groaning, he threw his arms in the air, “Oh come on!”

In the back of his mind, Nikki knew it was ridiculous to go chasing after a cat that may or may not have gotten his own cat knocked up. But hey, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do today, and he really wanted someone to blame for all this, so fuck it. He was chasing this cat.

Of course, the cat had to lead him up the street, climbing the stupid steep ass hill Nikki lived on. Which was bad enough on its own, until the cat led him over the hill. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he looked down the street from the top of the incline. It was almost comical the way the two sides of the hill contrasted each other. On Nikki’s side, the houses were in various levels of disrepair, the street cracked and full of potholes, the occasional drug deal taking place nonchalantly outside of the drugstore on the bottom corner. Meanwhile, on the other side, the lawns were bright and well maintained, houses with fresh coats of paint and a fucking park at the bottom with happy families laughing and playing.

Figures his cat would shack up with an upper class feline. He was going to have words with her when he got home.

The upper class feline in question was sitting a few feet away, looking at Nikki lazily as if he was waiting for him. Nikki hated going into this neighborhood- he felt so out of place, with his shaggy black hair, piercings, tattoos, and tattered clothing that was held together with safety pins and spite. Even his fucking shoes were duck taped together. But he was determined, and so he approached the cat again, unsurprised but still annoyed when it once again kept a few feet in front of him.

However, it didn’t take long for the cat to trot into one of the yards, casting one last look at Nikki before darting in through a cat door installed in the front door. Steeling himself, Nikki stalked up to the door and pounded on it without hesitation. Even if he couldn’t shake the cat’s owner down for money, he at least wanted to vent some of his frustration and goddamn it he was going to let this person have it.

In all honesty, he was expecting some middle aged suburbanite who probably worked in a bank or something. So he was admittedly caught off guard when loud footsteps rushed to the door, throwing it open and revealing a kid who couldn’t be older than Nikki was. He was tall and lanky, long, dark brown hair flying wildly around his head, and a few tattoos dotting his arms. Tight leopard print pants left little to the imagination and it looked like he had probably owned that tank top since middle school.

All in all, not at all what Nikki was expecting.

“Hi!” The stranger looked surprised, but still smiled brightly, “Can I help you?”

For a moment, Nikki couldn’t seem to find his words. Then, his eyes drifted over his shoulder, glancing around the cluttered but spacious living room with pictures and posters on the wall and a tv surrounded by video games in the corner until his eyes landed on the creature that had led him here in the first place.

Fury reignited in him, he pointed accusingly past the stranger, “Is that your fucking cat?” he snapped out.

“Uh,” blinking in confusion, the other boy followed his hand to look at the cat in question, “yeah? Why?”

“Because that fucker got my cat pregnant!” Nikki exclaimed.

“What?! No way!” he looked between him and the cat in disbelief.

Narrowing his eyes, Nikki crossed his arms, “Is your cat a dude?”

“Yeah-”

“Is he fixed?”

“No, but-”

“Then guess what! I’m now dealing with a fucking vet bill and a knocked up cat all because your cat is a fucking tramp!”

The other man gasped, looking offended and appalled, “Excuse me?? Catrick Stewart has never done anything wrong in his life!”

Whatever comeback Nikki had planned was lost as he felt a record scratch in his brain. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath through his nose, “I’m sorry,” he spoke slowly, “what did you just say his name is?”

When he opened his eyes, the stranger had a bright blush on his face, but he still crossed his arms and huffed, “It is a strong name fitting for a cat of his level of refinement,” he insisted.

Nikki knew he was gaping, but he didn’t care. This day sucked and this confrontation wasn’t making him feel better like he hoped it would. He felt like the universe was laughing at him.

But then again, he thought to himself, what wasn’t the universe laughing at him?

“Oh my God,” he ran his hands through his hair, laughing with a tinge of hysteria, “I can’t believe I’m going to starve because my cat got knocked up by a fucking pun.”

The stranger frowned, face turning serious, “Wait, what?”

But Nikki ignored him, glaring as he pushed at his chest weakly, “Get your fucking cat fixed, you can obviously afford it,” he spat out. Turning on his heels, he stormed away, ignoring the voice calling after him. He practically ran home.

He didn’t understand it, but it felt like something fragile was cracking in his chest- a helplessness he hadn’t felt in a while. Or maybe, it occurred to him as he shut the door behind him, he had just been ignoring it. Leaning against the door, he slid down until he was sitting on the stained carpet, looking around him at the blank, cracked walls and water-damaged ceilings, the furniture he’d dragged out of alleyways before they could be hauled to a landfill, the crooked cabinet doors in the kitchen that hid a painful emptiness.

It’d been a long time since he felt this alone.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until a taste of salt hit his lips, and by then it was too late to hold it back. He just let the tears fall, because even though he was used to struggling by himself, it never got any easier.

Something soft and warm brushed against his side. Looking down, he saw Holly looking up at him, her one blue eye bright and warm. She crawled up onto his lap, and Nikki couldn't help but wrap his arms around her gently, burying his face in her back and letting his tears soak into the long, soft fur. He held her close, and she stayed with him, purring loudly against him until he felt ready to face the world again.

Sniffling, Nikki lifted his head, smiling shakily as he looked down at his companion.

“We’re gonna be okay, aren’t we, girl?” He whispered. She blinked up at him slowly, and he nodded, hugging her a little closer.

“Yeah. We’re gonna be just fine.

~~~~~~~~

“Mick, you’re a sketchy guy- do you know where I can sell a kidney?”

The smaller man paused, frozen mid-motion in cleaning the bartop, before slowly turning to narrow his eyes at Nikki.

“What are you, a cop? Fuck off.”

Nikki groaned, leaning heavily against the bar, “Mick, I’m serious. I’ve got a fucking vet bill to deal with and I’m still rationing food from when I needed to get my brakes fixed last month.”

Humming nonchalantly as he returned to his task, Mick glanced at Nikki out of the corner of his eye, wearing that expression he got when he wanted to convince you he didn’t care but he actually cared very much, “What happened? Holly get into a street fight or something?”

“Worse,” Nikki huffed, putting his chin in his hand, “she’s pregnant.”

Mick’s eyebrows flew up, “You didn’t get her spayed?”

“Don’t even start, I’m already kicking myself,” The conversation was cut short as a large group entered the bar, Mick and Nikki busying themselves serving drinks and already internally groaning at the rowdy kids that would surely only get more annoying the more they drank. Still, Nikki was on his best behavior- good tips were more important than ever.

By the end of the night, as the two bartenders finished cleaning up and breaking down the bar, Nikki was twelve kinds of tired.

Mick looked at him with sympathy. As much as he tried to be a hardass, he had always had a soft spot for the kid ever since he'd used a blatantly fake id to get a job at the bar nearly two years ago as a 20-year-old, “Hey, why don’t you take the next few Saturday shifts.”

Nikki looked up in surprise, “Really? Are you sure?” Saturdays were one of the busiest nights, and thus one of the heavier tip days.

“Yeah, why not,” Mick nodded, “You need ‘em more than me, and honestly I could use a few quieter weeks. My back has been killing me,” he grumbled.

Smiling sincerely, Nikki gave him a soft punch on the shoulder, “Thanks man, I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, now go take the fucking garbage out.”

~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Nikki was awoken by a familiar yowling next to his ear. Groaning, he pulled his pillow over his head, “Shut up, Holly, I’m not letting you out.” A weight settled on his back and the yowling got louder. Huffing, he sat up, Holly jumping off him and staring at him judgmentally.

He glared right back, “Hey, you’re the one who got knocked up. This isn’t even a punishment, I just can’t have you out there eating garbage when you’re eating for who-knows-how-many?”

Nikki hated the situation, and the next two months were going to involve a lot of financial gymnastics, and he was already frustrated beyond belief, but none of that changed the fact that he was going to do everything in his power to make sure his cat and her kittens were taken care of. Fuck feeding himself, he was switching her to namebrand cat food as soon as he went to the store.

Maybe she understood, because the yowling stopped, the tabby moving to curl up on Nikki’s lap. As he scratched her ears, she started purring contently. Nikki smirked, “Yeah, I love you too, bitch.”

Finally forcing himself to get up, he stretched his arms over his head as he made his way to the kitchen to get some coffee started and fill Holly’s food dish with fresh wet food. Once they both had their morning fix, Nikki wandered into the living room, dropping down onto the couch, stretching his legs in front of him and sipping his coffee slowly as he thought about his day.

His shift wasn’t until that night, and he really should go grocery shopping. But first he should actually look over that payment plan he’d signed up for at the vet’s office and recalculate his budget. He had a credit card payment coming up too, fuck. Finishing his coffee, he decided he could allow himself one more mug before cranking some tunes and tackling a plan for the next few weeks.

Suddenly, a loud banging noise had Nikki nearly jumping out of his skin. Shooting up, a voice called out.

“Hey! Dude!”

Turning towards the sliding glass door Nikki thought for sure he must be hallucinating. Because there was no other explanation for why he was seeing the lanky stranger he had harassed yesterday grinning and waving enthusiastically at him from outside the door, a familiar black cat pacing around his legs.

“Dude!” He gestured at two heavy looking paper bags he held in his arms, “Hey, let me in! I got something for you!”

Blinking slowly, Nikki waited for the hallucination to end. But when the other man didn’t disappear in dust and smoke, he stood slowly, creeping through the dim room towards the door, his eyes narrowed in suspicion at the sunlit stranger.

“How the fuck did you find out where I live?” He asked through the glass. He wasn’t just going to let this weirdo into his house without figuring out what the hell was going on.

“Oh, Catrick showed me,” he said casually, pointing at the black cat beside him. Grinning, he raised an eyebrow at Nikki, “That’s how you found out where I live, right?”

Nikki flushed. In his surprise and suspicion he had nearly forgotten that he had been the first one to show up unannounced on a stranger’s doorstep. He shook his head, crossing his arms with a huff, “Your fucking cat needs to learn not to give out personal information so easily.”

To his surprise, the man laughed, a bright and sunny sound that made something tighten in Nikki’s chest, but not necessarily in a bad way. “Yeah, he really does, the little shit,” he smiled down at the cat fondly. Turning back to Nikki, he was still smiling, but his voice was gentler, “But seriously, I have some stuff for you,” he nodded towards the bags in his arms, “Think of it as, like, child support!”

Barking out a surprised laugh, Nikki hesitated for one more moment before finally giving in. Shaking his head, he lifted the security bar from behind the door before flipping the latch, sliding the door open and standing back as the black cat darted inside followed by his owner.

Nikki couldn’t help but be a little self-conscious of his living situation, but he shoving the feeling back as the other man set the bags down on the kitchen counter before turning and holding his hand out with a wide smile.

“I’m Tommy by the way! We didn’t exactly exchange pleasantries yesterday,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly, “I’m Nikki.”

“Nice to meet you!” Tommy’s smile was practically blinding. Nikki’s kitchen had never been this bright, even when all the lightbulbs were working. “Anyway,” he continued, “I got you some groceries and stuff. I wasn’t sure if you had any food allergies or anything, so I got a bunch of different stuff, and anything you don’t want I’ll take. Same with cat food, if there’s like, a flavor or something you know she doesn’t like, Catrick eats pretty much anything.”

Nikki’s eyes widened as he looked through the bags. Bread, peanut butter, eggs, milk, apples, frozen vegetables, two bags of dry cat food and probably a dozen cans of wet food. There was more, but Nikki took a step back, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. It was one thing when he had to fight tooth and nail to get something from someone. Being just… given it? Filled him with guilt.

“Dude, you…” he cleared his throat, trying to keep his cool, “This is awesome, but you really don’t have to do this. I know I’m the one who showed up and yelled at you, but I was just blowing off steam, honest. You don’t have to do all this.”

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it’s not for Tommy to shrug nonchalantly, “I know, but I want to. It’s not fair for you to have to deal with a pregnant cat on your own when my cat is half responsible. So seriously, don’t worry about it.”

Normally, Nikki’s pride might prevent him from accepting something like this. But something about Tommy just felt so… sincere. It didn’t feel like charity or pity. Just some weird guy taking responsibility for his wayward cat. Nikki could respect that.

“Well… thanks,” he said, smiling as he gave Tommy a grateful pat on the shoulder.

“No problem,” he beamed. At that moment, Holly wandered into the kitchen, hopping up onto the counter to inspect the bags of food.

“Holly, no!” Nikki slid the bags away from her. The last thing he needed was his cat chewing up the first decent food he’d had in ages.

Tommy gasped excitedly, “Oh, is this the mama-to-be?” he reached out eagerly, but pulled his hand back just as fast when the tabby flattened her ears and hissed at him.

“Hollywood Riot Sixx!” Nikki scolded, putting his hands on his hips, “We do not hiss at the dude giving us bags of free food!”

Watching as the tabby jumped down to run back into the living room, Nikki shook his head with a huff. Turning back to Tommy, he found the other man with a hand over his mouth, clearly muffling laughter.

Nikki immediately narrowed his eyes, “What?”

Unable to hold it back anymore, Tommy burst into giggles, speaking as best he could between his laughter, “You-... her name is ‘Hollywood’? And her middle name is Riot??”

“Excuse me, your cat’s name is ‘Catrick Stewart’!” Nikki exclaimed, “At least her name is actually cool.”

“Catrick Stewart is very cool!” Tommy argued, trying to look serious, but still grinning.

Something about the easy way Tommy joked and laughed was infectious, and Nikki couldn’t help but smile too, “You fucking nerd,” he shook his head, something like fondness coloring his voice.

Perhaps having heard his name, Catrick trotted over and, to Nikki’s surprise, rubbed against his legs happily.

“Aw, he likes you!” Tommy grinned.

“He’s just trying to butter me up after he hooked up with my baby,” but even as he pretended to scowl, Nikki knelt down to scratch the cat under his chin. Glancing back up at Tommy, he impulsively offered, “Hey, do you want a beer or something? It’s the least I can do since you’re helping me out.”

“Uh, it’s like 11am?”

Nikki raised an eyebrow, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Laughing, Tommy nodded, “Fair point. You know what? Sure. Honestly I could always use a drink.”

“Excellent,” Nikki went to the fridge to pull out two bottles, “I’m a bartender so alcohol is like, the one thing I can offer you.” Passing him his drink, they both moved into the living room where Nikki moved to sit on the couch. Almost immediately, Catrick hopped up onto his lap, rubbing his face against Nikki’s chin, drawing a startled laugh from him as he stroked the cat’s back.

Meanwhile, Tommy was kneeling in the center of the room, hand held out in careful determination towards Holly, who watched him suspiciously. Tilting his head as the tabby finally stepped forward to sniff his hand, he spoke up questioningly, “How’d she lose her eye?”

Shrugging, Nikki scratched the black cat on his lap under his chin, feeling a gentle purr against his legs, “I dunno. It was like that when I found her.”

“Oh, she was a stray?” Nikki nodded, and Tommy asked, “How’d you find her?”

“Um…” Nikki flushed with embarrassment, “Y’know, I just… found her wandering around,” he explained weakly. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that in truth, she had found him; that he had been a homeless teen sleeping in an alleyway and had woken up to a cat licking his hair and then she simply never left.

But Tommy accepted his halfhearted answer, grinning widely when Holly finally allowed him to scratch her ears, “There, see! I’m not so bad,” he cooed at her, “You gotta get used to me, I’m gonna be around for a while.”

Nikki nearly choked on his drink, “Come again?”

Turning to face him, the younger man pulled out the biggest puppy eyes Nikki had ever seen, “You’re going to let me help with her, right? Please let me help- She’s going to have kittens, Nikki! Kittens! Little baby furballs! I can’t miss that! Plus, Catrick deserves a chance to know his children!” He clasped his hands together, literally begging.

Which was hilarious to Nikki, because he had assumed that once the kid got his sense of responsibility and obligation taken care of, he’d be done and gone. But here he was, asking to be allowed to help.

What a weird dude.

Huffing out a laugh of disbelief, Nikki shrugged, “Hey, if it means that much to you, I’m not gonna stop you.”

Tommy cheered, which of course sent Holly jumping away. His disappointment quickly turned to exaggerated offense when she hopped onto the couch, curling next to Nikki and allowing him to pet both cats at once.

“No fair!” Tommy whined.

Nikki only smirked, “Suck it.”

~~~~~~~~~

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Tommy continued to stop by whenever he could, usually bringing little treats or toys for Holly, whose belly was slowly filling out, and restocking Nikki’s groceries every few days. With food taken care of, and working Fridays and Saturdays at the bar, Nikki actually managed to get all his bills paid on time, heaving a sigh or relief when the payments all cleared and his account wasn’t overdrawn.

He felt a little bad that there wasn’t more he could give in return, but Tommy seemed thrilled enough at getting free drinks, plus just being allowed to hang around, so he tried not to worry about it too much.

Weirdly enough, Nikki realized that he and Tommy were actually becoming friends. It didn’t fully hit him until he showed up at the bar during Nikki’s shift. At first he had assumed he was just cashing in on the free drinks he offered, but he insisted on paying, tipping him and Mick generously and hanging around for almost two hours just chatting and joking around. When he finally took off, waving enthusiastically as he did, Mick raised an eyebrow at Nikki.

“Well, you two are certainly getting… friendly.”

“Um, yeah, I guess,” Nikki replied in consideration, “Holly’s warmed up to him, so he can’t be that bad, y’know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

Mick smirked, walking away to refill a guest’s drink, “Nothing at all.”

Nikki huffed, but Mick was always being weird, so he let it slide.

Things got a little more interesting a few days later. Despite Nikki’s house being a complete shithole, that was where he and Tommy mostly hung out, Catrick following him over to curl up with Holly who was still on house arrest. But on this evening, about an hour after Tommy had left, Nikki was listening to music and messing on his phone when he noticed something laying on the floor by the front door. Closer inspection revealed it to be a wallet with a driver’s license in it for one Tommy Lee.

Rolling his eyes at the absent minded boy, Nikki headed out to return the item. Walking to the other side of the hill and knocking on Tommy’s door, he figured it would only take a minute- just return the wallet and then head back home. No big deal.

That plan was thrown off the minute the door was opened by a short young man with blonde hair and bright white pants. For a horrifying moment Nikki was afraid he had knocked on the wrong door.

But before he could backtrack, the other man’s eyes brightened mischievously, “No way,” he drawled with a slow smirk, “You must be Nikki.”

Nikki crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes, “And who the hell are you?”

“Tommy never mentioned me? I’m hurt,” he put a hand over his heart dramatically, but he was still smiling, “I’m Vince, Tommy’s roommate, and the guy who’s been hearing all about you.”

Raising an eyebrow, Nikki’s voice was heavy with suspicion, “Excuse me?”

“Oh yeah,” Vince laughed, leaning against the doorframe, eyes glinting as he spoke, “he hasn’t shut up about you. Nikki this, and Nikki that. Fuck dude, I recognized you immediately just from how often he talks about all the things about you that make him h-”

As he spoke, Tommy suddenly rushed up behind him, frantically slapping one hand over Vince’s mouth while the other wrapped around his waist. Vince made a muffled noise of indignity as Tommy lifted him completely off the ground, the blonde flailing and struggling as Tommy laughed nervously, his face bright red.

“Nikki! Hi! What are you doing here? I hope Vince wasn’t bothering you too much hahaha.”

“Um…” Nikki looked between the two of them, “You left this at my place,” he held out the wallet.

“Oh! Thanks!” Tommy reluctantly set Vince back on the ground so he could take the item back.

“Right. Uh, I’ll see you then-” Nikki took a few steps back, still reeling from the whole situation.

Before he could get far though, Vince finally escaped, freeing himself to call out, “Hey dude! You should stick around a hang out! We were just gonna play some Mario Kart and it gets boring kicking Tommy’s ass all the time.”

Without even thinking, Nikki snorted, “Oh, so you wanted to get your ass kicked instead?”

“Oh, Tommy, I like this guy,” Vince grinned, elbowing the still flushed Tommy in the side. With that, the two roommates ushered Nikki inside.

“I would have invited you over sooner,” Tommy shrugged, “But someone can be a little bitch sometimes, so-” he glared petulantly at the blonde, who merely laughed and flipped him off.

Keeping his word, Nikki did indeed kick Vince’s ass at Mario Kart. The demand for a rematch turned into the three boys breaking out some beers and rifling through their collection for more games that Vince could challenge him to. Tommy was careful to always sit between Nikki and Vince, always ready to smother the smaller boy mid sentence every now and then. Nikki didn’t get it, but apparently the two of them were high school buddies, so maybe it was just some weird inside joke.

“You know, it’s Vince’s fault I never got Catrick fixed,” Tommy complained at one point.

“Oh please, you can’t keep blaming me for that!” Vince shoved his shoulder.

But Tommy continued, “I was going to, honest! But then this fucker started going on about ‘how would you feel if someone chopped your nuts off in your sleep?’ and I just couldn’t do it!”

“Oh my God,” Nikki pinched the bridge of his nose, “Just for that, I’m going to chop your nuts off in your sleep.”

“No!!”

Vince howled with laughter.

When Nikki finally left, pleasantly buzzed and having played video games he didn’t even know existed, Vince waved his fingers at him, “Don’t be a stranger now~.” Tommy blushed next to him and quickly shoved him back into the house. Nikki just shook his head and hiked back to his side of the hill.

Weird dudes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Before either of them knew it, six weeks passed, until one morning Nikki was frantically calling Tommy.

“Dude, I think it’s happening!”

Tommy ran to his house in record time.

One of the gifts Tommy had brought along earlier in the month had been a plush cat bed, which Holly had immediately dragged into one of the empty cupboards under the sink in the kitchen. That was where she was now.

“She was pacing around and meowing like crazy earlier,” Nikki explained, crouching in the corner of the kitchen and looking into the open cupboard anxiously.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it!” Tommy knelt down beside him. On the counter above them was a bowl of warm water, a towel, and a few old t-shirts. Both of them had looked up everything they could to try to be ready for this day. Now all they had to do was wait.

So they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Holly shifted around on her bed, and they could see her stomach clenching, but nothing was happening.

Biting his lip, Tommy turned towards Nikki, “Dude…”

Nikki was chewing on his nails as he shook his head, “It’s not supposed to take this long.”

“Maybe it was a false alarm? Maybe she’s not actually in labor yet?” Tommy’s voice was unconvincing even to his own ears.

Standing abruptly, Nikki practically ran to grab his phone, “I’m calling the vet.”

Half an hour later, he was gently loading Holly into her cat carrier and Tommy was volunteering to drive. Nikki gave him directions absently, staring down at the carrier in his lap and whispering soothing words to the cat within it. When they arrived, luckily the office wasn’t particularly busy, so Nikki was able to go in right away, leaving Tommy waiting anxiously in the waiting room. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes when the other man returned, but to Tommy it felt like ages.

“Hey, is she alright?” He asked as he jumped to his feet.

Nikki was tapping his fingers against his legs rapidly as he answered, “They’re going to try to assist her, and hopefully she won't need surgery or anything, but…” he trailed off with a shrug.

Tommy nodded and tried to smile encouragingly, “Hey, I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s in good hands now, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Nikki replied softly. Then he turned and walked towards the door, “I need a smoke.”

As he left, Tommy followed after him, figuring he definitely wouldn’t mind a smoke right now either. Standing a few feet away from the building, they both lit up their cigarettes, smoking in silence for a few minutes. Tommy was about halfway through his first cigarette when Nikki was moving on to his second.

Looking at the other man in concern, Tommy spoke softly, “Hey. Are you alright?”

Exhaling shakily, Nikki clenched his eyes shut as he ground out, “No.”

He shoved his cigarettes back into his pocket as he turned to face Tommy, face caught somewhere between frustration and sorrow, “No, I’m not fucking alright, Tommy! That’s-” his voice cracked, and he scrubbed his hands over his face roughly, “That’s my cat. And... and she’s all I’ve got,” he admitted softly, “It’s been just the two of us for so long. She's the only thing that’s kept me from losing my fucking mind through all the endless bullshit! Because even when I had fucking nothing at least I had Holly, y’know? And now…” he dropped his head, hands shaking at his side as he whispered, “I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to her.”

Part of him was ashamed when he felt tears start dripping down his face, and he half expected Tommy to start laughing at him. But instead, he felt long, lean arms wrap around him, pulling him into a warm, firm chest.

“She’s gonna be fine, dude,” Tommy whispered into his hair, rubbing his back softly even as he tightened his grip on the other man, “And even if something happened… you’re not alone, man. You’re not dealing with this on your own anymore.”

Nikki choked out a sob and then he couldn’t hold back anymore, reaching out to cling desperately to Tommy’s back, allowing himself to be held together by someone else for the first time in a very, very long time.

And Tommy let him, only hesitating for the briefest moment before placing a soft kiss on his wild black hair.

“We’re in this together now, dude. I’m right here with you, no matter what.”

~~~~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes later, when Nikki was called back into the office, he laced his fingers with Tommy’s and tugged him along with him.

~~~~~~~~~

“Vince, help me out here! Nikki keeps shooting down all my name ideas!”

“He wanted to name one of the girls ‘Catricia’!”

“We agreed that you would name the boys and I would name the girls!”

“I have to step in! Think of the children, T-Bone! They’re going to get bullied by all the other cats!”

“Oh my God, you two are worse than middle aged married couples,” Vince laughed, dangling a string with a feather on the end in front of one of the more adventurous kittens, luring it towards him with a wide grin.

Tommy had spent every possible moment of the last two weeks at Nikki’s house with the kittens. The previously empty home now felt full, with Catrick and Hollywood curled up together on a large cat bed with their kittens around them. Holly had given birth to four pitch black kittens, two boys and two girls. It was hard to tell so early, but it looked like three of them would be long hair, with one of the girls being short hair. One of the boys was crawling around Vince to bat clumsily at the colorful toy.

As for the other three…

“Mick, this is ridiculous, it’s like they’re perfectly camouflaged on you!”

The older man barely suppressed a grin. He was wearing all black, as he usually did, and the result was that at certain angles it was difficult to see the three kittens crawling around in his lap, “At least I won't have to worry about using a lint roller or some shit,” he grumbled.

“That’s actually not a bad strategy. I still can’t believe Vince still wears white after living with Catrick for so long.”

“Some of us are dedicated to our style!”

Laughing, the four men hung out for a few more hours, eventually leaving the cats alone to curl up together and rest while they drank and argued about everything from music to cat names. Eventually, Vince had to leave for work, giving Tommy a pat on the back and a wink on his way out, but Nikki was used to his weird shit by now. Mick decided to head out soon after, but before he did, he pulled Nikki aside.

“What are you guys planning on doing with the kittens, anyway?”

Nikki shrugged, “Well, they have to stay with Holly until they’re like, ten weeks old or some shit. After that, I dunno, probably post fliers and try to find some good homes for them.”

Mick nodded quietly. Then, after a long moment of silence, he looked up, “Can I have them?”

Nikki felt his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “You want them?”

“Yeah.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah.”

“...Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“...You’re not going to like, use them for a ritual or something are you?”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Mick rolled his eyes.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Nikki laughed, holding his hands up in surrender, “It’s just surprising is all. But sure, man. Once they’re old enough they’re all yours. It’s perfect cause then I get to come over and bug you all the time to visit them,” he smirked.

“I knew telling you where I lived was a bad idea,” Mick grumbled, but he still looked pleased.

After he left, Nikki told Tommy about the new development, and the lanky boy threw his arms up in excitement, “Fuck yes! Now we don’t have to give them to strangers! And we can visit them all the time!”

“That’s what I said!” Nikki laughed as Tommy crashed into him in an enthusiastic hug. Ever since the day at the vet, they’d been closer than ever, hugging and goofing off and spending most of their free time together. Nikki didn’t even stress when he got the second vet bill- he knew he wasn’t dealing with it alone.

So maybe he should have been less surprised when Tommy pulled back just enough to kiss him firmly on the lips.

Still, he certainly wasn’t surprised when he found himself kissing back.

When they finally broke to breathe, they both couldn’t help but laugh giddily. “I’ve wanted to do that since the day we met,” Tommy admitted.

“The day I followed your cat to your house and yelled at you?” Nikki raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re hot when you’re angry.”

“Oh shut up!”

“Make me.”

Nikki kissed him again. And again, and again, and ran his fingers through his hair, and convinced him to spend the night. They laid on the couch tangled in each other's arms, and Nikki didn’t think he’d ever felt less alone then he did in that moment, with the sound of Tommy’s heartbeat under his ear and the occasional patter of little paws in the dark.

#Poor terrorcest has been so neglected by me lately lol #I'm not actually particularly happy with this but sometimes you just got to let it go #Motley Crue #terror twins #terrorcest #nikki/tommy #Nikki Sixx #tommy lee #my writing

[myhauntedsalem]

A gravedigger/ groundskeeper shares his stories and experiences on the job

Sometimes spooky crap happens that you just cant explain. A man walked up to us as we were throwing the canvas over the dirt trailer and commented on how beautiful of a resting place it was. We assumed he was a part of the family that was currently holding visitation and told him we were sorry for his loss and agreed that it was a beautiful spot. Later on, when the crew walked through the funeral home to get to the lounge for lunch, we all saw the picture they had set out for the guy that had died. It was the same man that had just came to the burial site a few hours before. He didnt have a twin, and no one else in the family looked that much like him. That kind of crap stays with you. Chills you to the bone.

Sometimes spooky crap happens that you just cant explain. A man walked up to us as we were throwing the canvas over the dirt trailer and commented on how beautiful of a resting place it was. We assumed he was a part of the family that was currently holding visitation and told him we were sorry for his loss and agreed that it was a beautiful spot. Later on, when the crew walked through the funeral home to get to the lounge for lunch, we all saw the picture they had set out for the guy that had died. It was the same man that had just came to the burial site a few hours before. He didnt have a twin, and no one else in the family looked that much like him. That kind of crap stays with you. Chills you to the bone.

The only other time this happened to me. I was cleaning off some headstones and cleaning up the grounds when a little girl caught my eye. She was playfully wandering around and looked happy. But I didnt see any adults around so I figured she had wandered outside from the funeral home. I took my gloves off because I was about to go on break, and figured I would ask where her parents were on my way to the building. I turned around and set the gloves down. When I turned back around, she was gone. A few weeks later, I helped set a picture plaque onto a headstone, and it was 100% the same little girl I had seen. Again, another thing I can never explain.

If a grave is sloping down a hillside or sinking too much, we get permission to move them to more level and stable ground. This particular grave was one of the first that had been in the cemetery, and the dates read april 1871-august 1877. Back then they buried their dead in pine/wood boxes. We had to move this grave as it was in a bad flooding spot on the grounds and just kept sinking further down every year. When we got to the coffin. The top had caved in and you could see the remains of the little boy curled up into a ball. That gave me chills like nothing else. We figure they unintentionally buried him alive, and when he woke, didnt know what to do, and eventually just curled up in a ball and died. You could see his little skeletal hands wrapped around his knees. I’ll never forget that.

Turns out this guy was pissed that he was left out of the will, and came to the cemetery to show his disrespect to his grandmothers grave. I dont care what that person did to you. If you try to kick anyones headstone over, im kicking you in the nuts and calling the cops.

Unfortunately, this happens more than you would think. We started the morning mowing the grounds. I went to mow the far end of the grounds first, but stopped when I noticed a person laying at the edge of the woods. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that the person had committed suicide (gunshot to the head) they did find a suicide note, but we never learned why he did it there. I assume he lost a loved one and just wanted out of the pain. Or maybe wanted to make sure he was found by someone other than family. Makes you sad, man.

Good ol’ Don. He’s a nice guy. He brings the crew lunch some sundays. Because every sunday, he and his wife would go out to lunch after church. He is there every Sunday to read to her from the Bible and put fresh flowers down. He’s a sweet old man and has been coming there every Sunday for as long as I’ve worked there. he tells us stories about their life together and gives that sad, longing kind of smile when he’s done. True love man. You cant deny that good ol’ Don was truly in love with Mrs Margie.

This one freaked EVERYONE out. A teen who had been killed in a car accident (19 I believe) was being lowered into the grave when we all heard a thumping noise coming from inside the casket. You could of heard a pin drop it got quiet so fast. Of course the director Re-opens the casket. Turns out the family buried him in the jacket he was wearing in the accident (dont ask why, i dont know) and the thumping was a ringtone he had set for an alarm that day. They had been looking for his phone, and somehow the battery had lasted the whole damn time, but the phone was on silent. That is, until his scheduled alarm went off. The mother almost passed out, because she thought her son had come back to life or something. It was really heartbreaking to witness.

Not sure if its teens being stupid or if people actually perform rituals to try to bring people back or are doing some other crazy crap, but we clear off at least one grave a month.

So, again, on the other side of the cemetery is where most of the early graves are. And it floods a lot over there. Another grave started sinking and sloping to one side of the hill. Same case with this woman. We hoist the wood box up and the lid slides off the top. And to our horror, there are claw marks. And I mean tons of them, on the inside of the lid of the coffin. This poor lady was unintentionally buried alive around 1900, had obviously woken up buried alive, and tried like hell to get out, but she didnt. Another one I’ll never forget.

#A gravedigger/ groundskeeper shares his stories and experiences on the job #shared stories #pararnormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits

[domesticated-feral]

Steo Week 2020, Day 4

Title: Well, this is your wish come true

Prompt: “I came for Void Stiles” Rating: Teen Warning: Nothing really, small use of profanity? WC: 1884

You can also read it on my AO3

Summary:

"Let's see if you really wanted it," 

Theo’s car rolls up behind Stiles and he quickly walks to the car. Theo stops the car and walks out of it.

“Sorry, I got here as fast as I could,” Theo huffed, running up to Stiles.

“I got to go now, Parrish has got the bodies,” Stiles said, walking quickly to the passenger seat.

“Hey, wait up, Stiles, wait-” Theo said.

“Parrish is out, he’s got the bodies, we got to find Scott, we got to tell him,” Stiles quickly said as he opened the car door.

“Stiles!” Theo shouts, stopping Stiles in his footsteps.

Stiles closes the car door and takes a step closer to Theo who was standing in front of the car.

“ I don’t think Scott wants to talk to you right now,” Theo warned Stiles.

“Yeah, thanks, I’m aware of that,” Stiles acknowledged, “doesn’t matter, he needs to know about this.”

He steps back and goes to open the car door.

“Stiles,” Theo said, his voice lower, “Scott doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Stiles walks closer, and Theo pulls out his library card that he had thrown in the hospital trash can earlier.

“But I think your dad does,” Theo muttered.

Stiles’ heart quickens, afraid of what his dad was going to say to him.

“Your dad was looking for you, Stiles-” he started to walk with the card in his hand- “found me instead,” he said.

“Where is he?” Stiles asks as he follows Theo.

Theo looks at Stiles and shows Stiles his library card, “I covered for you, this was taken care of. Melissa didn’t find it at the hospital, I guess even the son of a cop can make mistakes.”

“Did you hurt him?” Stiles asks, referring to his father.

Theo stops and looks Stiles straight in the eye, “I never lied about why I came back to Beacon Hills-” he pauses for a moment- “I’m here for a pack.”

“I came for the werecoyote, the one whose first instinct is to kill. I came for the Banshee, the girl who is surrounded by death,” he said as he circled Stiles, “I came for the dark kitsune, the beta with anger issues. I came for void Stiles, that’s the pack I want!”

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t include Scott,” Theo said as he stops in front of Stiles.

Stiles felt his anger rising, and so does Theo.

“Your heartbeat’s rising, Stiles,” Theo commented, as he walked to his car, “it’s not because you’re afraid. The nogitsune is gone, but you’ve still got more blood on your hands than any one of us.”

“I’m about to get more,” Stiles threatened Theo.

“I’ll tell you where your dad is-” Theo places the library card on the hood of his car- “if you promise not to help Scott.”

Stiles’ anger takes the best of him and he punches Theo, he stumbles but doesn't fall.

Theo chuckles despicably and he stands back up, “There he is! That’s Void Stiles! It felt good, didn’t it.”

Stiles punches his right in the nose, and Theo falls onto the gravel floor. Blood pools as his nose bleed, but he tilts his head back and spits the blood out onto the gravel.

“We won’t tell Scott, cause you can’t lose your best friend right, even though we both know you never needed him,” Theo said.

Stiles paces before he lunges towards Theo letting out a grunt of anger as he does so. He holds Theo by the jacket he was wearing.

“You hate me now, but you’ll get it eventually,” Theo retorted.

“This is the hard part, you can’t help Scott and save your dad’s life,” Theo said.

Stiles' mind was racing as he tried to calm himself down by taking deep breaths.

“You still got time, Stiles,” Theo warned, “you still got time.”

Stiles’ body tenses up and his grip on Theo’s jacket was getting stronger and stronger. Stronger than he should be feeling.

“You said you wanted Void Stiles,” Stiles said through ragged breaths, “well, this is your wish come true.”

Stiles stands up and lifts Theo with ease. He stares at Theo before throwing the chimera towards his car. Theo’s body hits the bumper of the car and falls onto the gravel.

Stiles’ hand trembles as his breathing levels out, he stares at Theo. Theo was staring back, pain and shock expressed greatly on his face.

“Let’s see if you really wanted it,” Stiles said, his voice neutral and unwavering.

Stiles, well more accurately, Void Stiles turns around and walks away, disappearing into the dark.

~

It’s been ages since then, Stiles remained Stiles, and everything unfolded, the ghost riders, anuk-ite and even Theo became a good ally to the pack.

Everyone was having a great time in college, and everyone was back in Beacon Hills for summer break. It was a cool summer night and Theo was woken up by shouting.

“Stiles, Stiles!” Theo said, holding Stiles.

Stiles calms down as he wakes up and Theo loosens his grip on him.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Theo said, concerned.

“I’m fine, I jus- I just had a bad dream,” Stiles panted.

“A bad dream, or a night terror?” Theo asked.

“Theo, let’s go back to sleep,” Stiles mumbled, brushing the subject off.

“Stiles, I know you’re lying and these night terrors, you’ve been having them every night,” Theo said.

“I- I don’t want to talk about it,” Stiles said, his eyes locking with Theo’s.

“Babe, it hurts me to see you hurt,” Theo said.

Stiles reaches out and turns the bedside lamp on. He sits cross legged across to Theo on the double bed.

“Well, I’ve been having night terrors, about things that I shouldn’t be bothered by anymore, things that are in the past, thing that-” Stiles began rambling.

“Stiles, it doesn’t matter if the thing is in the past if it’s bothering you now,” Theo cut in.

“I’ve been having night terrors about the Nogitsune, and about Donovan, about my mother during her last days,” Stiles said, “I don’t know why, but it started after we had the pack picnic near the nemeton.”

“We couldn’t have released the nogitsune, you told me that it’s buried where it can’t be disturbed.” Theo said.

“But we both know who could’ve, remember when the nemeton was disturbed while we were in college, there were holes in the ground around the nemeton,” Stiles said, “whoever it was, didn’t release the nogitsune though, Derek found the capsule, the fly was still inside and he hid it deeper, in a place no one can find it.”

“He hid it in the hale vault,” Theo said.

“Yeah, and there’s no reason I should be this on edge about it, no reason I should be thinking about turning void, no reason at all,” Stiles ranted.

Theo softly caressed his lover’s arm, “you’re stressed that you might turn void again, and you won’t. There’s no chance of it ever getting out of that container made out of rowan wood.”

“There could be, the nogitsune can create illusions, it’s a fox, a trickster, what if the fly was an illusion and the real fly is possibly out there,” Stiles theorized.

“You figured it out, Stiles,” Theo said, except it was the raspy, guttural voice of the nogitsune.

Theo shifts into the nogitsune’s body, well the dead body of Rhys, Stiles jolts out of bed as the nogitsune reaches out to him.

“Stiles! Babe!” Theo said as Stiles once again wakes up, in his hold.

The collar of his shirt was wet with sweat, his heart was racing and so was his breath, his throat felt hoarse like he had screamed for hours. Theo was panting as well.

“Get away from me!” Stiles said, jumping out of bed and backing away from Theo.

“Wha- Stiles, are you okay?” Theo asked.

“N-no, you’re the nogitsune,” Stiles stammered as he slowly backed away from the bed until his back hit the closet.

“Stiles, that can’t be true, it’s me, Theo, your boyfriend,” he said.

“Prove it,” Stiles said.

“If I was the nogitsune, wouldn’t I already be causing chaos?” Theo asked.

Stiles felt something change with him. He felt as if something crawl up his neck. In a second’s time, he was gone.

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Theo asked as Stiles face gained a neutral, evil stare.

“Never better,” he replied.

Stiles’ eyes turn a dull white and Theo realized, this wasn’t his boyfriend. Stiles disappears out the bedroom door and Theo quickly dials Scott.

“Theo? It’s 4 in the morning, wh-”

“It’s Stiles, he’s, he’s not him anymore,” Theo said.

“What do you mean he isn’t him anymore?”

“The nogitsune, it’s in Stiles’ body,”

“But the nogitsune is in the hale vault, in the-”

“Stiles was talking in his sleep, the nogitsune could be out, an illusion in the container, or something, and he’s gone,”

“Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“He walked out our apartment, I don’t know where he went,”

Theo puts the call on the speaker and begins to change out of his nightwear into what he was wearing yesterday.

“I’m calling the Sheriff, he needs to know,”

“Ok, I’m going out to find him,” Theo said, pulling his jeans on and taking his phone from the bed.

He ends the call and walks out the bedroom, he takes his keys and walks out the apartment. He jumped down the stairs, he couldn’t wait for the elevator. Going to the sub-level floor, he runs to his navy blue truck, Stiles’ jeep was parked next to it, meaning the nogitsune was afoot.

He gets in his car and drives out the apartment parking. He scans the streets as he drives, hoping to see his boyfriend, not the nogitsune.

As he drives down the empty streets, he glances at the rear view mirror for a second and sees the nogitsune sitting in the back seat.

“Oh, fuck!” He screams as he swerves the car left and goes off-road.

He stomps down on the brakes before it rams into a tree and it was barely half an inch away from the tree when stopped.

Theo glances at the rear view mirror once more, and nothing was in the back. He gets out of the car and sees Scott pull up behind his car.

“What happened?” Scott asked as he took his helmet off.

“I saw an illusion of the nogitsune, I swerved,” Theo explained.

Scott seemed to catch a scent, a very familiar scent. Theo smelled it too, strongly, and it was Stiles’ scent.

“Stiles,” Theo said, taking off his clothes and shifting into a coyote to track the scent better.

Scott shifted, his eyebrows ridging and hair growing on his cheekbones. Scott takes Theo’s clothes, knowing he’d shift back at some point. Theo runs following the scent with Scott leaps alongside. They found Stiles, scared in the middle of the woods.

“Theo?” Stiles said, seeing the coyote run up to him.

Scott runs into the moonlight as well and Theo shifts back. Scott hands Theo his clothes and he puts his boxers on.

“Stay away from me, I don’t want to harm you,” Stiles stammered.

“Stiles, what did you do?” Theo asked, noticing Stiles’ hands were bloodied.

“I- I don’t know, Theo, I don’t know,” Stiles said.

~

#steoweek #steoweek2020 #steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #myfic

[queerpontmercy]

pick four characters and then roll a d4 for each of these numbers to determine which char to answer for: 1 4 5 6 17 22 24 26 39 27 51 57 60

tumblr did me so dirty but I finally got all of these in one doc, thank you <3 I decided to alternate between my Beam Saber pilots for character #4, so we have Solace “Trash Panda“ Altiora the infiltrator, and Dr. Finch Tandem, the officer/cat herder. Put under a cut because fuck this is so long...

What does Solace typically keep in his pockets?

I rolled a 3 for Leucien, but I already described his pockets, so...Solace is messy and generally keeps a tube of lipstick within easy reach, which means inevitably he’s also got a few tissues stuffed in a pocket from the last time he had to apply blot it. Other than that, he always has at least one knife on him, and that could feasibly be in a pocket. No, he’s not just happy to see you. 

Other than that, you know he’d never tell but honestly? I think he keeps his old prayer beads on his person, despite having left the Cenotaph both physically and spiritually. There’s something grounding about them: something organic in a world full of unforgiving machinery and vastly unknowable AIs, perhaps. It’s still soothing. Shut up. 

4. If Tanith was a work of art, how would you describe her?

This is such an interesting question for Tanith-- the most important bit for her would be that it’s something functional and beautiful, made lovelier still by use. A well-loved sea shanty with lyrics that keep time out on the water, a handsome medicine chest with fanciful carvings of beasts on each wooden panel…oooooh maybe a set of three nesting clay pots/jars! The first one is big and solid, rough gray-green with a fitted lid and decorations like barnacles and limpets, and below that is one with blue and brown glazes, pooling and mixing into each other, and the last (smallest) one is delicate and porcelain, almost opalescent from within where the light hits it, with the most simple, graceful curved shape It’s meant to house something rare and precious. 

5. How does Tanith express she’s comfortable?

She doesn’t like to sit in her emotions or thoughts, and spends a lot of time trying to transmute them into practical action. You’d know she’s comfortable if she let herself be still, taking in the world with quiet acceptance, and told you what was on her mind-- what she saw, or remembered, or was thinking about, without worry, just being. 

6. How does Fen express that they’re uncomfortable?

Fenestra argues about stupid shit-- pedantry in particular is such a refuge. Having a hill to die on helps her feel slightly in control, since feeling powerless is definitely one of the things that makes her most uncomfortable. She’d never admit to it, but it’s also a way to knock Threats down a peg or two. 

17. Does Leucien swear? What’s his favorite phrase/word?

For sure, but since Leu is 3 feet tall, he almost certainly got the “ohhhh i had no idea, you’re so iiiiinnocent~” treatment after saying one (1) fuck word. I was tonight years old when I learned he’s partial to “oh balls,” which is decidedly not one of my (Sketch’s) phrases, but I guess it makes sense intrinsically? Most swear words are either profane, sexual, or insulting/derogatory. Gnomes in this campaign aren’t religious, culturally speaking, and he’s not the kind to start a fight. 

Now that means there’s actually a good chance that he has at least once, in a fit of extreme frustration, blurted out “Aerum’s b--” before very hastily correcting to “face, face, I was gonna say face.”

I’m shocked I have so much to say about this, but...he was an academic, and I also have a strong hunch that he had a terrible little pretentious phase where all his swear words came from Old Gnomish or Dwarvish or oooh, maybe languages his old friend Aza had picked up, but...at this point he reasons it’s better to say the things in Everendian/Common if you want people to know what you’re saying. 

22. What kind of person would Finch never side with?

Finch would never side with a landlord cop bully. Well, definitely not a landlord or cop either. But man, the kind of leader who throws their weight around for the sake of it and intimidates innocent people into carrying out their orders? They really, truly despise ‘em. And leaders who treat the individuals under their wing as pieces of a calculated risk rather than full people. They’d honestly rather die than become that kind of leader. 

24. What’s a controversial food opinion Leucien would have?

Pineapple on pizza is good actually you guys are just mean

Leu thinks the fact that there’s such a thing as “controversial food opinions” is fascinating. He’ll try anything once, so point-blank disregarding something as disgusting feels like snobbery to him. And even badly-cooked food can tell you so much about the people who make it, so and that learning’s a pleasure in and of itself. 

26. What would Tanith want for her funeral?

In Tanith’s culture, dying orcs are dressed in burial clothes, shrouded, and left to make their “final voyage” on their own in quiet contemplation. She would uphold this tradition. Burial and scattering of ashes at sea are common, but I actually think Tanith might want to be buried at the “interfaith” shrine she established on the mainland post-campaign-- Ishka willing, to be its guardian and perhaps, in a way, guide the lost on their journeys after her death. 

She would certainly want her dear friends and party members to speak in her memory at a ceremony, especially Cae and Avris, who saw her through so much. Nothing prepared. Just what comes from the heart in the moment. Perhaps she has also transcribed an old Orcish lullaby for her beloved Anya to play at the end, with the music drifting through the air and quietly dissipating, like sea foam as it hits the shore. 

27. If they were a ghost, how would Solace haunt in the afterlife?

Solace would be such a chaotic asshole ghost but he’d have the time of his (after)life. He already has such a great time being a local cryptid as it is, convincing people that an abandoned amusement park or shopping mall might be haunted. It’d be even worse in death. The thing is, if he was a ghost and knew nothing could hurt him, he’d be even more unsubtle, he’d really want to see the impact of his tricks and shenanigans for once after a lifetime or lurking. 

39. What does Finch believe their party lacks?

Finch knows that their squad has each other’s backs in the practical way-- they’ve seen teammates trauma out or take major damage protecting each other. But they think that what the Intrepid is missing is emotional vulnerability, and it’s important? If we’re not honest with ourselves, how can we be honest with each other? It keeps them up at night sometimes. 

51. What makes Tanith a hypocrite?

She’ll forgive everyone except herself, obviously. Since she was able to get some closure with her ex Kleiya, who didn’t die but was transported to another plane, she hasn’t been nearly as consumed with guilt over who she used to be, but still? She’ll tell someone not to burn out all at once, she’ll tell someone they’re good just as they are, and never believe it herself. :/ 

57. How does the way Leucien acts seemingly contradict his ability scores?

FitD scores don’t translate as well, so...Leu it is! 

He’s got +3 charisma, but he’s the most awkward man in all of existence and can’t be normal for even two seconds. I actually don’t think it’s that contradictory; charisma is a force of personality, after all, and Leu’s got that. He became an object of cult worship in a matter of months, after all...But also I do think he’s got an endearing, bookish, understated charm, and hey, that’s a kind of charisma. D&D often makes charisma out to be the smooth-talking seduction stat, but I really enjoy when it can be more than that.

He’s also got decently high wisdom, but I’ve been playing him with small dog energy. We’ll figure it out, I suppose.

60. Who does Fenestra go to when she needs to bounce ideas off of someone?

Fenestra has a littol greyromantic wtf-is-this crush on Eli, another of the Oracle’s apprentices. :3 They have honed different ways of seeing the future. Fen captures big fragmented portents that don’t make sense until later, whereas Eli is a lot more scrupulous, and tends to focus on details and possibilities, mapping out the pieces of a butterfly effect. They really respect his different way of thinking; it’s been incredibly helpful, and if she were feeling mentally stuck Fen would go to him, no question. He’d listen.

#dnd asks #tanith #fenestra #leucien #solace #finch

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [5]: Marie Walters

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“A void in my chest was beginning to fill with anger. Quiet, defeated anger that guaranteed me the right to my hurt, that believed no one could possibly understand that hurt.” —Rachel Sontag

»»————-　⚜　————-««

There’s a particularly gruesome quality to death in the daylight. It’s a stark reminder that everyone will eventually die, a brush with human mortality that leaves those who see it uncomfortable, and the fact that the sun now is hidden by clouds and rain does nothing to lessen the effect. The body is located in an open expanse next to a jogging path, tucked neatly underneath a statue of an angel in prayer; all around the scene, yellow tape is strung from tree to tree to create a barrier that keeps the gathering of curious onlookers at bay, even if does nothing to stop them from craning their necks, their whispers drowned out by the patter of water on leaves and grass. Lir takes in everything else: the blood, the slick, dark asphalt of the trail, the cops in jackets with Forensics emblazoned on the back picking carefully through the debris. So much for good forensics, she thinks bitterly, though he’s never left us much to begin with.

At her side, Dante stands with his hands in his coat pockets, his expression frustrated and thoughtful. “Couldn’t have picked a better day,” he says tightly. “We’ll be lucky to get anythin’ off of her now.”

Lir nods in agreement. Back up at the top of the hill, a cruiser is idling at the curb with an officer standing by the back door and a man seated within, his face drawn and miserable. “Witness?”

“Dunno. We’ll have to ask.” He cranes his neck, then shouts, “Simmons!”

The young officer walks over hesitantly, his wide eyes darting from Dante’s face to the body and back again. Lir remembers how upset he’d been by the first victim and feels a mixture of pity and annoyance; Homicide is always tough on rookies, but if his stomach is truly this weak, he’d be better off in another department. “Yessir?”

Dante gestures to the statue. “You gonna fill us in?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry, sir.” Simmons fumbles a notepad from his belt and flips it open. She notices how he favors his right arm, which is slightly odd looking: like it was broken once and never quite healed correctly, leaving his hand resting a little crooked. He holds the notepad close to his body to keep it safe from the rain, which by now is a soft drizzle. “The call came in forty-five minutes ago. A woman walking her dog heard shouting and what she described as a girl begging, and she thought it was a domestic until someone said, and I quote, ‘I’m going to fucking kill you, you bitch.’ That’s when she phoned 9-1-1.”

It doesn’t sound at all like their killer, and her shoulders tighten with a new frustration. A distraction is the last thing they need now. “Where’s the witness?” Lir asks.

“Officer Galstin is getting her contact information, but I already took her statement,” Simmons responds, not meeting her eyes.

“And the guy in the cruiser?” she prompts.

Simmons glances over his shoulder. “He was here when Officer Galstin and I arrived. There’s blood all over him, and he had a knife on him, but he clammed up as soon as he saw us and tried to run. I caught him,” he adds with a bit of pride, and Lir looks down and notices the mud on the knees of his trousers. “We cuffed him and read him his rights, but he hasn’t said a word so far.”

Dante places his hands on his hips as he surveys the scene. “You rope everything off?”

“Yessir. Put up evidence markers on anything that looked interesting and contacted the M.E., too.”

Lir feels a begrudging speck of respect. “You did good, Simmons. Go see if Galstin is finished with the witness, then take our suspect back to the precinct and get him settled in interrogation.”

“Yes ma’am.” He flushes. “Sir.”

She waves off the mistake, then turns to Dante. “Doesn’t look like this is our guy.”

“Nope.”

“Morrison said it was.”

“That’s my fault,” Simmons interjects. “When I heard there was a killing in the park, I thought . . .”

“That’s alright, Simmons,” Dante says before Lir can think of a way to verbalize her frustration at the false alarm without ripping him a new asshole. “Rookie mistake. From here on out, get your facts before you come to any conclusions. Go help Galstin.”

The youth snaps a salute and hurries off, and Lir lets out a slow sigh. “Fuck,” she mutters.

“Don’t hold it against him,” Dante advises.

“I’m not,” she replies sharply. At his raised brow, she shrugs. “Like you said, rookie mistake. Doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed that someone else is out here killing women, now.”

He snorts. “At least this one was stupid enough to hang around.”

“Yeah.”

Together, they cross the clearing towards the statue and the body beneath. At first look, it’s easy enough to tell that the man who did this is not the same as the one who mutilated Sophie Marsons: this victim is clothed, her knitted scarf knotted around her throat, the front of her white shirt ripped and soaked with blood. Dante lets out a low whistle while Lir leans down, pulling a pair of gloves from her pocket and sliding them on. Trish is standing nearby, talking to a man with a camera, and Lir calls out, “You got your pictures?”

“Yup. Look to your heart’s content, Detective,” Trish replies.

Lir lifts the girl’s arms, first her right, then her left, taking in the deep cuts to her palms and fingers. Then she carefully tugs the scarf to reveal the livid bruises and claw-marks beneath before reaching into the purse on the ground next to the body. Inside is a wallet that she opens, pulling out the driver’s license. “Marie Walters.” Lir rocks back onto her heels. “She fought, and she fought hard. There are defensive wounds on her hands, and the ground is churned like she was kicking.”

Dante nods. “Reads like anger to me.”

“The scarf, though . . .” she murmurs. “Why start with strangulation, then end with stabbing?”

The leaves rustle as he crouches next to her. “You gotta think like a pissed off man, Lir. Look around you. What do you see?”

She bristles at the coaching. “A struggle.”

“Walk me through it.”

“I’m not a rookie, Dante.”

“Humor me.”

Huffing, she pushes herself to her feet and moves from marker to marker, talking as she walks. “They came down from the road. There are skid marks up here, which means one of them slipped in the mud and the other probably kept them from falling. Somewhere around here,” she pauses by a cone next to a tree, “they paused for a bit. There’s a half-smoked cigarette with lipstick on it that matches the shade she’s wearing, so she was either comfortable enough to enjoy a smoke with him or nervous enough that she needed one to calm down.”

“Right.” He stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So, somewhere between the cigarette and here is where the argument started. It gets heated, probably somethin’ she says going by what the witness heard. Strangling someone carries a lot of different meanings, but . . .”

“It’s a silencing tactic,” Lir finishes.

“Mm-hm. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say, and didn’t want anyone else to hear it, either. You know how long it takes someone to die from suffocation?”

The casual way he asks the question throws her so that she can’t formulate a reply other than, “No.”

“Five minutes until brain death occurs, if consistent pressure is held.” Dante looks around. “Public park, people walkin’ their dogs, he needs her quiet so no one knows what’s goin’ on. Now, even if you know what you’re doin’, strangling someone with a scarf ain’t easy. They’re in pain, fightin’ back, scratchin’ you and themselves bloody to get you to stop. You lose pressure for a second, the screamin’ starts.”

Lir’s stomach twists, shoving acid up her throat. “He didn’t know that. That’s why, when she wouldn’t stop struggling, he used the knife.”

“That’d be my guess.”

“What a bastard.” She takes off her gloves, shoving them into her pocket. “I say we go talk to the guy Galstin and Simmons pulled in.”

Dante nods in agreement. Together, they climb the rain-slick slope back up to the road, and Lir bemusedly uses the towel he offers to clean mud from her boots before getting into his car. The station is only a few blocks away, but morning rush traffic delays them so that what should have been a ten minute trip winds up taking closer to forty, and in that time Lir’s mind stews. It flips back and forth between Sophie and their newest victim, Marie Walters. Two women, murdered by men, brutalized and terrified and left to rot. Her nails bite into her palms as bile flavors her mouth. Are they connected? Or did this new bastard just get enough courage from seeing someone else do it that he decided to take a life, too? She’s so tense by the time they arrive at the precinct that her jaw aches from being clenched, and Lir forces herself to relax as they head inside to avoid any probing from her partner.

At the back of the building, down a hallway lit with bright white fluorescents, are the interrogation rooms. The three of them sit on the left-hand side, each with two doors: one for the observation room, one for holding suspects for questioning, separated by a wall and a pane of one-way glass with recording equipment set up to capture the conversations that occur within them. Lir and Dante step into Observation 1, where they find Morrison waiting, watching the man through the window.

“His name is Jonas Miller,” Morrison tells them. “No prior arrests, lives in Hyde Park with his wife, Lucille.”

Dante makes a low noise of surprise that mirrors how Lir feels. Hyde Park is one of the more affluent neighborhoods in Red Grave City, a gated community with manicured lawns, neat hedges, and large houses that start out with six figure mortgages. “He give you anything?” she asks, stepping closer to the glass.

“No. Hasn’t even asked for a lawyer.”

“Huh.” Miller certainly looks like he could afford one without a problem. Even from here, she knows that the watch on his wrist is a Rolex, that the shoes on his feet are too nice to be anything other than genuine leather, probably Gucci. “I’ll take him.”

“You?” Dante doesn’t sound angry, just startled. “Why?”

Lir is already halfway out of the door. “Because he killed a woman. Being questioned by one is going to throw him off.”

The door shuts off his answer. She pauses for a moment outside of Interrogation 1 to put her thoughts in order and breathe deeply to fight off the anger that’s been getting sharper all morning, since she first spotted that guy in the alley where Sophie died. Then she opens the door and steps inside. 

Miller doesn’t look up as she takes the seat across from him and pulls out a notepad and a pen. His eyes remain downcast, focused on his hands, and Lir takes him in. His hair is mussed, his eyes bruised and bloodshot, and there are deep scratches in the tanned skin of his face, neck, and forearms. His shirt is too dark for her to tell if there’s blood on it, and if there was any on his hands, he’d been allowed to wash it off, a fact that makes her frown even as she takes the cap off of her pen and writes the date and time at the top of the paper. “Jonas Miller,” she says. He flinches. “Want to tell me what happened this morning?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

Her fingers tighten on her pen. “You were found in Tellula Park with the body of Marie Walters. Officers Simmons and Galstin both stated that you ran from the scene with a knife in your hand.” Miller says nothing. “If we test that knife, do you think it will match the wounds on Marie Walters?”

Slowly, seeming dazed, he shakes his head. “I didn’t touch her.”

He’s lying, a voice whispers. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end at the sound of it, furious and grieving and not at all her own, and she takes a slow breath and counts to ten until the gray at the edges of her vision recedes. “We have a witness, Mr. Miller, one who will be able to identify your voice threatening to kill someone, we have your knife, which will match Marie Walters, and, going from the state of your face, there’s going to be enough skin under her nails to crucify you in court. If you cooperate with me, there’s a chance that the D.A. will work with you. If you don’t, then whatever it is you’re hiding is going to be blasted in the news. Do you understand?”

That gets his attention. He stares at her, his eyes wild, and stammers, “My wife, I-I have to get home to my wife—”

“I’m very sure Marie Walters would have liked to go home, Mr. Miller,” she says coldly.

“My wife is—”

“Why did you kill Marie Walters, Mr. Miller?”

“I never—”

“Did she threaten you, Mr. Miller?” Lir knows she should stop, that anything she gets out of this confession is going to be shit if she goads him any further, but, fuck, he’d been Mirandized and hasn’t asked for a lawyer, and it feels good to see him squirm. “According to her license, she was five foot five and weighed one-twenty. She was half your size, a college girl, so I’m struggling to see how she could have been so dangerous that you stabbed her eighteen times and strangled her with a scarf. What did she do to piss you off, Mr. Miller? What could a girl like that have possibly—”

“She lied to me!” he shouts, slamming his hands on the table. Lir refuses to let that frighten her, because there’s a gun at her hip and a knife in her boot, and he’d be an idiot to come after a cop with all the trouble he’s already about to get himself into. “She swore that she was on the pill, that she didn’t want anything other than a-a partner, and then she called me and said she was pregnant and demanded I leave my wife or she’d tell, and I . . . I . . .” He tapers off, hiding his face in his hands. “I just wanted her to shut up. Just once. She was such a bitch, always mouthing off, I just wanted her to shut the hell up for once.”

“So you killed her,” Lir states flatly.

Whimpering, he nods. A wave of revulsion rises within her; here is a man who looks no older than forty, with a million-dollar house and a wife, wearing designer brands, a man who had decided that he wanted to get his dick wet with a girl half his age, who had killed that girl like she was gutter trash when the consequences of his actions came to fruition, and he’s snivelling like an infant. “Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Miller, that it takes two to cause a pregnancy?” Her voice is ice. “Or did you simply assume that you were too good for a condom?”

His head snaps up, his mouth agape with shock. “What—”

“This is how it reads to me, and how it will read to a jury.” She pushes back her chair and stands. “You entered into a relationship with a college student, telling who knows how many lies to your wife. Did you promise Marie Walters that you loved her? That you would leave your wife for her? And then,” she continues, ignoring his sputtering, “when she, quite naturally, got pregnant—birth control fails, Mr. Miller, all the time—you killed not only her, but her unborn child, all because you were too much of a coward to deal with your actions. You are nothing more and nothing less than a repugnant, low-life, inexcusable—”

The door slams open, and Morrison steps inside, his face passive but his eyes furious. “Thank you, Detective. We’ve gotten what we need from him. The interview is now over.” To Miller, he says, “Officer Simmons will be along to book you while the D.A. decides which charges to press. Excuse us.”

Lir follows Morrison when he leaves, knowing that she’s fucked up but too wired to care. In the hall, Dante is waiting, and he gives a little shake of his head when he catches sight of whatever expression is on her face. Don’t, he mouths. 

Morrison turns on her. “Are you out of your mind, Detective Thorne? Do you want that man to walk free? Because that is the only reason I can think of to explain why you’d behave so irresponsibly.”

“I got the confession,” she starts.

“A confession that we’ll be lucky to get admitted,” Morrison snaps. “One look at that and whatever defense attorney Miller hires will petition to get it thrown out on the basis of coercion! You didn’t question him, Thorne, you rode his ass and degraded him, and we’re lucky that he was read his rights and denied an attorney, because those are the only things that might sway a judge into keeping the confession intact.”

“He killed her!” Her voice raises despite her attempts to keep it under control, and she sees Dante wince from the corner of her eye. “It wasn’t some accident. He took a knife with him, he fucked her and then he stabbed her eighteen goddamn times! And you think I rode him too hard?”

Morrison’s mouth twists. “You might want to reconsider your tone unless you want to be working vice from now on, Thorne.”

She opens her mouth, only for Dante to step forward, his hands raised placatingly. “Chief, it’s been a long day. Hell, a long weekend. Neither of us have slept more than four hours, we lost a suspect this morning, and we’re getting nowhere with Marsons. Thorne’s a damn good detective, but even good ones have bad moments from time to time.”

Morrison cuts his eyes from Dante to Lir. “That true, Thorne?”

As much as it humiliates her to do so, she takes the lifeline Dante has given her. “Yessir.”

“Fine.” Morrison studies her a moment longer before turning away. “Even if we lose the confession, forensics will get enough to nail him. You go home and rest. I don’t want to see you for twenty-four hours, understood? I’ll need that long just to clean up this mess.”

She nods, and he glances at her over his shoulder. “I expected better from you, Thorne.”

Then he’s gone, leaving her to wallow in the unpleasant heat of chastised embarrassment, swallowing thickly against the tears that prick her eyes. A hand grips her shoulder, but she refuses to look at Dante, merely shrugging when he says, “Let me give you a lift home,” wishing, not for the first time, that her father was still around to give her advice.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dante #dante sparda #dmc oc #lirael thorne #lir #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #writing #story #myfic #wires

[mf-despair-queen]

Ski Trip - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen​

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 18,427

Summary: Stiles wants to make his senior year ski trip count - memorable. He wanted to confess his crush on his long time friend. Yet, things take a turn when she starts to see Stiles in a new light, her own long time crush coming to the surface.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Protected Sex, Oral (fingering, hand job, blow job), Shower Sex, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Public Fingering

Notes: SURPRISE. I LIVE. 

Every year, Beacon Hills High School would hold a winter trip for each of the different classes, a different destination every time.

Freshman year, the drive to Santa Monica was worth listening to the breathy snores of your best friends on either side of you. The sight of the beach, smell of the salty air, the countless unsets you watched while the boys ended up sunburnt.

Sophomore year, the tour of Alcatraz left you with a chill up your spine when you swore you saw a ghost walking up the path while staring out the window. Your pale face will never be forgotten and still, to this day, leaves you the laughing stock of many pack sleepovers.

Junior year gave the relief from the nogitsune, taking a camping trip to Catalina Island. The hiking, the swimming and the campfires with endless smores left you with the sweet feeling - sweeter than the sweet tooth the melted chocolate left you with.

That’s what led you here: Senior year. The final trip you would make in your high school years. Though, that didn’t explain why you were climbing out of a police car at six in the morning on a Friday. The school doors were chained shut - though that didn’t stop people from breaking in before - and a dozen plus buses sitting in the parking lot. Bundles of teens were gathered around, some looking as if they were about to pass out while others were running on so much coffee, they were buzzing and jittering.

You were lucky to be in the middle: tired but awake enough to feel the excitement beginning to seep in. As you climbed from the car, Adidas covered feet placed on the asphalt and the door slammed shut behind you, you couldn’t help but smile at the bus you were going to be loaded into. Coach Finstock was having people load their luggage into the compartment underneath, yelling at students to straighten up for the trip to the mountains.

That’s right. This year’s destination? Big Bear Mountain Resort for a three-day ski trip. Despite your lack of knowledge on skiing, you were hyped to see the vast white horizons, snow being a rarity in Beacon Hills. The eight-hour drive would be painful, the chairs uncomfortable and your shoulder bound to turn into a pillow, but you knew the moment you stepped off the bus and saw the mountains before you, you would be happy you agreed to go.

“Let me out!” you heard behind you. Turning to the voice, you spotted your friend pouting through the window of the cop car you climbed out of. Stiles was stuffed in the back of the vehicle when him and his father arrived to pick you up, Noah kind enough to agree to drop you both off so Roscoe wasn’t left in the parking lot until you returned after the weekend. You had to bite you lip to hold in your snicker, catching Noah’s satisfied grin. You knew he purposefully shoved Stiles in the back, making sure he couldn’t escape on his own.

“What’s the magic word?” you toyed, seeing him pout more.

“If you let me out, I will give you the cookies I stashed away,” he said. You hummed playfully, cocking your head at him. Noah leaned against the car, trying to shield his laugh from watching you torment his son. “Y/N!”

“Y/N what?” you continued.

Stiles sighed, resting his forehead on the glass. “Please?”

You smiled, opening the door before Stiles realized what you were doing. The spastic man flailed his arms wildly, failing to catch himself before he fell to the ground, groaning in pain. You giggled happily, stepping around the stilled man to approach Noah. The sheriff was unloading your luggage, placing each suitcase on the ground before slamming the trunk shut.

“Make sure he doesn’t die,” Noah told you, extending the handle of your suitcase for you. You grinned at your second dad, giving him a hug and kiss on the cheek. He happily returned the hug, kissing you on the top of the head. “And have fun.”

“We will, Papa Stilinski,” you told him.

“Stop having a love fest without me!” Stiles whined, grabbing his suitcase. “I feel left out and unloved!”

“Your dad loves me more,” you joked, seeing Stiles pout from the corner of your eye. Breaking from the hug, you turned to your best friend. “Fine. Come here, Sti.”

You missed the way his cheeks lit up when you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your head in his chest. The man froze, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your form in return. His father, however, didn’t miss the blush that spread across his cheeks, giving his son a smirk that Stiles knew was the teasing expression he often got for having a crush on you. You were naive enough to miss the clues, leaving Stiles grateful, but his father often prodded at the boy, constantly asking when he would make a move.

“Why don’t you go save us a seat?” Stiles asked, pushing you away. “I’m just going to say bye to my dad and I will be in.”

“Alright,” you agreed. “Don’t take too long. We are supposed to leave soon and Finstock will leave you.”

“I know,” Stiles chuckled, watching you wave one last time at his father before rushing to the bus with your suitcase dragging behind you. Stiles left his lips twitch upwards, the smile on his face growing wider. The smile dropped when he spotted his father’s smile. “What?”

“When are you going to ask her out?” Noah questioned, stepping to his son’s side.

“I don’t want to ruin anything though,” Stiles murmured just loud enough for his dad to hear. “She’s my best friend and I don’t want to lose her by telling her that I’ve had a crush on her since we were ten.”

“If we can have a father-son moment for just a second,” Noah hummed, turning to Stiles. “I’d say go for it. I really don’t think she will reject you like you are thinking.”

“I don’t know…” Stiles sighed. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski,” Noah let out. “Think about it like this. This is your last trip in high school. You will be skiing together. You will have three days that you can figure something out. But, don’t let that time go to waste. Use that time and show her that you care, and you want to be with her. Use that time to get closer to her in ways you normally can’t or don’t. Don’t let this time go to waste.”

Stiles pursed his lips together, glancing at his dad. “I’ll think about it.”

Noah sighed under his breath but wrapped an arm around his son regardless. “Do what you think is right. I just want to see you both happy.” Noah gave Stiles’ shoulder a firm squeeze, seeing his son smile slightly. “Now, go have some fun with your friends. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“Oh, wait,” Noah uttered, rushing to the passenger seat of the car. Stiles quirked his head, following his dad slowly. If his blush before wasn’t bright enough, it sure was now. Noah turned back to Stiles with a box in his hand, the familiar XL label making the boy grimace to himself. “Just to be safe out there, Stiles. I don’t want grandkids right now and-”

“Alright dad! I get it!” Stiles hollered, swiping the box of condoms from his dad’s hand and stuffing it in his backpack. His face was beet red, feeling the piercing gaze of other students on his back. “I’ll be going now! I will text you when we get there so you know that we are safe.”

Stiles rushed away without another word, placing his luggage with the others underneath the bus. His footsteps were quick, the man stumbling up the steps into the bus. Honey eyes found your form quickly, your hand waving wildly at him. His pink lips curled upright, rushing to the seat you saved him beside the window. Scott and Kira were already sat behind you, hands intertwined between them. Malia and Lydia were across the aisle, Malia sleeping already while Lydia was reading a book.

Stiles slid into his seat just as Finstock was climbing into the bus, the doors closing at the wheels rolling. The man slumped into his seat with a heavy sigh, his backpack placed between his feet. You leaned forward to glance at his face, giving him a knowing smile. “So, what did you dad say? I heard you yell about something.”

Stiles’ face flushed, the thought of the condoms in his bag and you - his crush - next to him making his heart race. His thoughts wandered for a second, the image of you in bed with him, the condom package broken into before he rolled the rubber down his shaft. Your legs were spread wide while he prepared himself to slide into you, hearing you moan his name loudly-

“Stiles!” you called, waving your hand in front of his face. The man quickly shook his head, cheeks red. “You cool?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he uttered, leaning back in his seat. “I’m cool. Totally cool…”

This is going to be a long weekend, he thought to himself, staring out the window at the passing trees. The blur of green faded into darkness as his eyes drooped, head lulling to the side without warning.

~

“Stiles, can you stop drooling on my shoulder now, so we can get off the bus?”

Stiles’ nose twitched before sweet, light honey eyes fluttered open, your face blurred from drowsiness. His lips parted with a monstrous yawn, his hand coming up to wipe the trail of drool that was dried to his chin. His eyes continued to blink to focus his vision on the sight of vast white through the window outside, the people he grew up with and went to school with for his entire life running around with cheerful smiles. The trees, despite their green nature, were covered in the pristine white glow, adding to the natural beauty he wasn’t used to. The sun above reflected off the ground, making everything glisten before him.

“Wow. We’re here,” he murmured, turning back to you. His face reddened when he realized that the bus was empty besides you and him. Worse yet, there was a wet spot on your red Beacon Hills lacrosse hoodie that you stole from Stiles’ closet once, never returning the warm material. It was the evidence of his sleep - the evidence that he had, once again, fallen asleep on your shoulder and shamefully drooled on you. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m used to it,” you giggled, standing from the seat. Your arms extended above your head with a stretch, the bottom of your hoodie and shirt riding up to show a small portion of skin. The sight alone made Stiles’ face heat up, turning away as best he could; though, ultimately, he failed. He continued to stare, admiring the pleased look you had from the satisfying pop of stiff limbs, the way your chest protruded, becoming more evident through his hoodie, and the curvature of your backside in the tight jeans that hugged your form perfectly.

He had it bad.

“Well, let’s go sleepyhead. The rest of the pack went on ahead while I attempted to wake you up for the last ten minutes.”

“Sorry,” Stiles laughed, following you from the bus. A cold shiver ran up his spine from the chill of the weather, but he marveled at the mountain and the resort that you were staying on. The ski slopes were packed with people, the ski lift running with dozens of people headed up for a round of fun. The string of lodges and cabins contrasted the slopes, roofs covered in the same fluffy snow that he saw in every direction. He grinned at the sight of hot tubs, steam billowing from the hot water through the cold air, cheeks tinging a light shade of pink at the thought of what could happen with that. His heart was racing with excitement and thrill, swallowing the lump in his throat of hopes of something happening that would change his life.

Glancing around for his friends - his pack - he turned to you for answers. “Where is everyone?”

Before you could respond, a snowball was flung through the air, hitting Stiles in the back of the head. Said male flailed around obnoxiously, falling face first into the snow under him. A loud snicker floated through the air, your hand covering your mouth to shield your own laugh. Stiles’ groans were muted, his mouth full of snow. Scott was tossing another snowball in his hands, eyes flickering a crimson red that screamed werewolf-y mischief.

“That’s just rude, Scotty,” Stiles choked, flopping onto his back and sitting up in the snow.

“Well, you’re the one that kept us waiting!” Scott teased, extending a hand to help his friend up. “We’ve been waiting for you guys to join us. Finstock is getting the rooms situated right now, but they aren’t wanting us to head up the slopes until tomorrow. He said we could either explore the main lodge area since that’s where the food is and they have some games like pool or air hockey. Or, we can stay outside and play in the snow! So, we decided to stay outside and play around with each other.”

“That sounded dirty,” you laughed. Scott rolled his eyes while Stiles laughed, having to catch himself on the side of the bus in his fit of chuckles. “I think it was a great decision, Scott.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, taking your hand to pull you away. “Let’s go meet up with everyone!”

Scott gave Stiles a knowing look from behind as he watched your forms retreat away, his ears listening to the rapid heartbeat in Stiles’ chest. His grin grew, planning to talk to his girlfriend later about the matter at hand.

Your arms were thrown around the girls when you spotted them, breaking away from Stiles’ handhold to run towards them. They all laughed happily, jumping around in the snow. Boots crunches against the white ground, Stiles left to roll his eyes at your enthusiasm.

“I’m so glad we are all here, guys,” you mentioned aloud, breaking from the hug to look around at everyone. Scott stopped next to Stiles, all eyes beginning to bore into your form. “It really means a lot to me that everyone could be here. I know we’ve lost people and some of us aren’t around, but they are here with us in spirit. We’ve come a long way since Scott besides to become this badass werewolf and all.”

Scott rolled his eyes, laughing lightly. “Thanks.”

“You know I love you, Scotty,” you joked. “But, really guys. This is the last time we have together. And we’ve been through a lot to get here. After everything with Theo a few months ago, I’m just beyond grateful that we could all be here now to enjoy these days together. I want us to make every second count. This is a great chance to make memories and do some pack bonding. And who knows, maybe these memories will be the kind we will never forget. This is a once in a lifetime chance and I don’t want us to regret not doing something while we are here.”

Stiles glanced at his feet, taking in your words. In a way, they reminded him of what his dad told him. The urge to make the move, to finally put it out there how he felt, was looming strongly over him. This would be the last chance to do something like this. This was the last trip of high school. This was the last time that everyone would be together. But more important, this could be the last chance he had to confess in a romantic way before you would leave for college. If he didn’t do something, he could lose the chance forever.

Was he willing to take the chance to make a move, to not regret that he didn’t use this time to do something? He would have to think about it heavily. He didn’t want to ruin what he had, but he also wanted to make this time count no matter what.

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Malia asked, picking up a handful of snow. Her eyes glowed a familiar cobalt blue, an evil grin growing on her face. “Who’s up for a snowball fight?”

“How do you even know about snowball fights?” Lydia pondered.

“Kira told me about it,” she hummed. “All I know is I get to throw this at people and I’m down for that.”

“Oh, Malia,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Well, we can do three on three.”

“As long as it’s not all of the supernaturals on one team against us,” Stiles joked, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not in the mood to get my ass completely kicked because someone has supernatural abilities they can use against us. I’ve had it happen before while practicing lacrosse. I’m look at you, McCall.” Stiles turned to glower at his best friend who maintained an innocent face.

“Fine. How about Scott, Kira and Stiles against me, Lydia and Malia? Does that sound fair?” you offered.

“Why do Scott and Kira get to be on the same team?” Stiles whined. His lips sealed before continuing his thought, the pleading sense of wanting to be on your team on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t sure if he could throw a snowball at you reasonably.

“Because Scott and Kira won’t aim at each other if they are on separate teams.”

“Fair enough,” Stiles muttered. “Sounds good to me.” Everyone else was in agreement, splitting off to set up bundles of snow to act as forts.

Before Stiles could join the couple, you stopped him, holding out a pair of gloves. “Don’t forget your gloves, doofus. We don’t want you to get sick.” His lips remained pursed, watching you slide the gloves on his veiny hands, his skin softer than you remembered. Even with the multitude of calluses on his palm, his hands were soft, fingers tracing the veins subtly.

“Thanks,” he mumbled with a smile, your cheeks lighting up to match his. Your eyes locked, your gaze lost in his deep brown eyes. You were melting inside from the delicious honey color. He had to clear his throat to break the stare down you were having. “I-I should go join Scott and Kira.”

“Yeah. You do that,” you told him. Stiles backed away, tripping over his feet before running away, ducking behind a massive pile of snow. His quiff popped out from the top, making you laugh. He peered over to see your still form, nervously ducking away, rubbing a hand to his hair anxiously.

The snowball fight began not too long after. You had joined Lydia and Malia behind a small snow fort, making a plan of attack that was sure to win. You had Lydia after all she was the perfect strategist in this situation. You broke away from each other, hiding behind your manmade forts while balls of snow began to fly through the air. Loud bouts of laughter floated through the air, snow colliding with body parts in soft thumps for the most part. Malia tended to throw too hard, but the normally ended up hitting Scott in the face in those occurrences.

While hiding behind a fort to the side, a pile of snowballs ready for attack, you missed Stiles sneaking up on your side with a giant snowball in his hand. Your eyes were focused forward until your ears perked up, the sound of his footfalls growing louder. In a quick swoop, you grabbed a snowball from your pile, pelting at the man. Stiles attempted to dodge it, succeeding in avoiding the hit but dropping his own snowball from his tangled feet. A loud yelp hit your ears before feeling his weight sink down onto you, his body pressing against yours completely.

You closed your eyes upon impact, groaning from the slight ache you experienced from the collision. Your back rested against the snowy ground, Stiles’ arms on either side of you. Flecks of snow were laced in your hair, the beanie you had been wearing having fallen off when your bodies hit the ground, and on your face. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, meeting the embarrassed stare of Stiles.

It took a moment to realize how close you were together. Your legs ended up twisted together, chests pressed together - rising and falling in sync. Puffs of air were exposed through parted lips, his hot breath fanning over your face. His breath was minty and mixed with the natural strawberry and mint scent he exuded. Your faces were close enough that yours noses brushed together, lips nearly touching. Your heart was pounding to your chest, face flushed a beet red.

At this distance, you could clearly count the moles on his cheeks. You could admire the bright red of his lips. You could marvel at the bright color of his eyes. Your fingers itched to feel his soft locks. It was a rare chance to admire him, recognizing just how handsome he was. But this was one of the few times that you felt something inside you churn, your stomach knotted with unknown emotions.

The feeling tightened, growing more prevalent when he carefully lifted a hand, brushing his glove covered fingers through your hair and along your cheeks. “You had some snow…” he murmured, words falling off before he could finish a complete thought. His honey eyes quivered with an unreadable emotion, his hot breath fanning over your lips. One small move and your lips would connect with his…

Stiles yelped and fell to the side when a snowball connected to the side of his head, his body sinking into the soft flakes. Sitting up flustered, face bright red and hot and bits of white falling from your locks onto your lap, you turned to see Malia cheering happily, fist pumping the air. “Bullseye!”

“I’ve been hit,” Stiles called desperately, flailing his arms through the snow to make a snow angel. “I am off to heaven. See? I’m a snow angel now.”

He sent you a cheesy smirk, finding his face full of snow after a brief encounter with your unamused expression. You stood from the snow quickly, your footsteps crunching away from him. And with each step, you couldn’t explain why your heart wouldn’t stop pounding against your chest. Placing a hand over your heart, you pondered on what happened, Stiles’ face flashing on repeat through your mind.

What is going on?

~

“Here are your keys!” Finstock called as everyone gathered after dinner, people rummaging through the piles of suitcases to find their belongings. “And I will have no indecent acts while we are here! Keep your grubby little hands to yourself! And yes, that pertains to you too, Greenburg! Even though no one will want to put their hands on you.”

You slid through the group to grab the keys for the room you were sharing with Kira. You returned to the group grinning, the two keys dangling from your finger. “Ready to go? I could use a nice hot shower after all that snow earlier.”

“Yeah, about that,” she murmured, wrapping a dainty hand around your wrist. The kitsune dragged you away quickly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“Of course. What’s up?”

“Well, I was hoping you would switch with Scott for the weekend.”

You blinked at the thunder kitsune, coking your head in confusion. “Eh?”

“Well, this is our last trip and I was hoping to have some…” Her face brightened, her eyes avoiding yours. Strands of her dark hair covered her face to hide the blush she had forming. “Some quality time together. I talked it over with Scott earlier and he was going to talk to Stiles, but we thought that you two could room together so me and Scott can be together. What do you think?”

Your mouth went dry, palms growing sweaty. Nervously, you wiped them on your jeans, rubbing your lips together. “But Finstock-”

“Doesn’t have to know!” Kira quickly cut in. “Please, Y/N. It would mean so much to me. And you and Stiles are great friends anyway! So, there won’t be any awkwardness.”

Right.

You let out a heavy sigh, handing her the key to the room. “Fine. Give Scott the key and he can give it to Stiles. You owe me big time, Yukimura.”

Kira squealed, wrapping her arms around your neck before rushing towards her boyfriend who was still engaged in a conversation with his best friend. Both boys turned to look at the kitsune, yet Stiles’ eyes managed to lock with yours across the main lobby of the lodge. Your stomach churned at the awkward, lopsided smile he sent your way, taking the key from Kira.

The walk up to the rooms with the pack was oddly silent, the tension palpable between you and Stiles. It was the first time you had ever felt this sort of weight on you, and you couldn’t explain why it started. Since arriving in the mountains, it felt like things were different, and you were struggling to understand what it was and why it was happening. You couldn’t breathe looking at him.

Stiles quickly opened the door to your room, both of you rushing inside before Finstock could place his finger on the switch. Stiles clicked on the light in the room, both of you aweing at the interior. The two queen beds had red duvets neatly made with tons of fluffy while pillows at the head. The closet was large enough for both suitcases. The bathroom had a large glass shower with a rain shower that would coat your boat from above. The view showed the slopes, the moon glowing off the snow along the mountainside, and the steam from the hot tubs that resided just below your room.

“This is nice,” Stiles chuckled, flopping onto one of the beds. “I could get used to this.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, pushing aside any awkwardness. Your body crashed next to his on his bed, kicking off your boots until they thumped to the plush carpet. A brief silence filled the air between you, both of you turning to stare at each other. The second your eyes met, you could feel your cheeks heating up, subtly admiring his handsome features. Licking your lips, you broke the silence. “So, how much you want to bet Scott and Kira are gonna bang all weekend?”

“Oh, no doubt,” Stiles laughed, shaking his head but never breaking his eye contact with you. Without warning his hand rose to brush through your hair, his lips curling into a cute smile. “I’m glad we came, Y/N.”

“Yeah…” you hummed quietly. “I should go shower.”

“In a bit,” Stiles mused, rolling onto his side and wrapping an arm around your waist. Your body burned from the contact with his skin, but you didn’t fight the feeling of butterflies that fluttered inside. Stiles’ face burrowed into your shoulder, his hug on your body tightening. “Let’s just stay like this for a minute.”

You didn’t say anything, letting your eyes drift closed. Your nose nestled into his soft chocolate quiff, inhaling the waterfall mist he used as a shampoo. You relaxed in his arms, drifting off to sleep with three tiny words that lingered in your dreams, your heart aching for more.

You’re so beautiful…

You awoke in the middle of the night still locked in the same position. Your eyes widened, slowly unwinding from his embrace as Stiles slept soundly. You slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. With your back to the door, you slumped to the ground, taking heavy breaths.

“What are you doing to me, Stiles? Why are you making me feel like this?” you asked yourself under your breath. “Am I really developing a crush on you?”

~

“Who’s ready to ski?!” Scott called to everyone as you gathered your gear from the rental desk. The skis were tucked under your arm, your hands adjusting the beanie on your head. Small puffs of air left your lips as you followed the pack outside to the lifts.

“You’re one to talk, McCall,” you laughed, poking him with the ski. “You’re snowboarding!”

“Same difference!”

“No, Scotty. It’s not,” Stiles chuckled.

“Go to hell.” Scott rolled his eyes, shoving Stiles in the shoulder. Inadvertently, Stiles crashed into your side, making you halt and stare at the ground. Stiles, too, stilled, glancing back at you. Since you woke up, things felt off between you. Stiles was sad to find you curled up in your own bed instead of in his arms. For you, you were unsure of these feelings that were growing inside you, even more unsure of how to address them. Or, even if you should.

Stiles could tell something was different with you, but he tried to lighten the mood, wrapping his arm around you anyway. He felt you tense briefly, letting out a deep breath. “I’m sorry for whatever I did,” he whispered.

“What?” you questioned quickly, glancing up at him. “You didn’t-”

“I always do something. You can’t even argue that fact,” he chuckled. “I don’t want things to be awkward. I want us to have fun today!”

“Things aren’t awkward! I’m not awkward,” you denied quickly. “I-I’m just nervous…”

“Nervous?” Stiles inquired. He blinked in wonder, glancing between you and the slope that your eyes turned to. “About skiing?”

“Well, yeah,” you covered, pushing the weird vibe between you and the man you were rapidly developing feelings for over the course of the trip deep inside your pocket for later. “I’ve never really been skiing before…”

“Seriously?” he asked, honey eyes widening. “But, we went all the time when we were little before my mom died.”

“Correction. You and Scott always went. I always ended up sick or stuck to sledding. I never tried skiing.”

“Well, shit,” he huffed, pursing his lips. You watched him closely, eying the side of his face. A smile formed on your face from his silly appearance, the silly knit monkey hat on his head covering most of his hair, some strands of chocolate poking out. The braided cords down the front dangled against his speckled cheeks, swaying in the chilly breeze that blew by. His coat was thick and a matching monkey scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck, tucked into the front of the coat to keep out of the way. His gloved hand reached up to ruffle his hair, halting when it came in contact with the hat he wore, opting to toy with the free bunches that clung to his forehead. Finally, his head turned back towards you with a smile ebbed upon it, his teeth glistening in the sunlight - pearly white and as pure as the snow you stood in. “Well, one of us will just have to teach you!”

“No, no, no. It’s fine, Stiles. Maybe this is just a bad idea,” you told him. “I don’t want to waste anyone’s time by trying to help me ski. I want you guys to have fun, so maybe I should just stay here.”

“Y/N, we will have fun if you are there with us. It’s not a waste of our time to help you.”

“Stiles, I don’t know-”

“Just come on! I will let the others know what is going on and once we get up the mountain, we can get you on those skis with someone to help you learn!” he told you, beginning to run forward. He turned on his heel, taking steps backward before calling to you again. “Come on! Get on the ski lift!”

“Stiles, I don’t know,” you pouted.

“Don’t argue with me now, Y/N,” he laughed. “I want to help you. I don’t like seeing you sad. You’re too beautiful to be sad. You look more radiant when you smile and have fun with the rest of us.”

He took off, leaving your face red and burning. You stood still, covering your face with your hands. “God dammit, Stiles Stilinski. What are you doing to me?”

“Y/N!”

“I’m coming! Keep your panties on!”

Your nerves were sinking in as you sat on the ski lift with Stiles, the spazz bouncing in the seat. You had to slap his arm to keep him from moving too much, the feeling of dread resting as a lump in your gut at the thought of the lift breaking. It was swaying too much as it is. Your heart hammering against your chest added to the knot that swirled inside you when he carefully took your hand in his, his gloved thumb smoothing across the top of your hand in an attempt to give you comfort. Your face buried in your scarf to hide the blush on your face, darting your eyes to the side of his face to admire him and keep from staring at the large drop below you.

Getting off the lift was easy enough but strapping on the skis was the worst. Your butt was cold while sitting in snow at the top of the mountain. Your hands shook as the skis were strapped to your feet. Your heart dropped at the slop before you, the height of the mountain making you queasy. Everyone was bustling around with excite, Scott already making his way down the mountain on his snowboard with loud hoots and hollers. Malia and Kira weren’t far behind, leaving you to wonder how you were going to descend the snow banks without eating snow or breaking a limb.

You were already mentally preparing yourself for an injury.

Your eyes were glued to the snow when two gloved hands found their way into your sight. Lifting your eyes, you were met with the sparkling honey eyes that glowed from the winter sun overhead and a lopsided smile that matched the funky monkey hat he wore. You couldn’t help but giggle and smile, taking his hands to stand from your spot, knees concaving in to keep from sliding to your doom.

“Why are you laughing?” he pouted at you. You laughed more, shaking your head.

“I can’t believe you are wearing that hat,” you laughed. Stiles cast his eyes upwards as if he could the grey, knit material that covered his hair. One hand released yours, patting his head and feeling the red yarn ball on the top, the strings floating in all directions with the wind. You bit your lip to hold in your laugh, burrowing into your scarf to avoid his gaze - the gaze that made you hot. “That’s the gag gift I got you last Christmas.”

“You call it a gag. I call it rad.”

“That was horrible,” you teased. Stiles rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “So, what’s the plan? I thought someone was going to help me since you guys dragged me up here against my will-”

“You came willingly.”

“-and you said that you would talk to Scott about helping me learn. But big, bad alpha werewolf Scott Dickhead McCall went flying down the mountain without warning. Malia and Kira weren’t far behind him.”

“Well, um,” Stiles began, his own face burrowing in his scarf to hide his red-hot blush. The feeling of your eyes burning into his skull made him sweat, the young man clearing his throat a few times. His Adam’s Apple stealthily bobbed with each swallow he did to moisten his throat. His palms were sweaty and for once, he wasn’t more glad to be wearing gloves. Otherwise, you would pick up on his nervousness. Clearing his throat one last time, extra loudly, his eyes lifted to meet yours. “The others decided I would help.”

“What, did you draw the shortest straw?”

Stiles frowned, wanting to retort with the fact that he wanted to nominate himself at first even if he wasn’t the best at skiing himself. He was mixed since he wanted you to have fun and he was most likely to fall on his face, yet he wanted to spend time with you. When the others suggested he should do it, he knew he wouldn’t have to push for either side. He knew arguing wouldn’t get him out of the task because once Scott named Stiles your ski instructor for the day, the others would back him. Part of him was happy that the others agreed on him, but the other half knew he was being set up to be close to his crush.

Scott’s evil glint gave it away.

“I’m offended,” Stiles huffed jokingly to cover up his slight disappointment. “Naw, the others just thought I would be the best to help you. Us humans have to stick together in the pack, you know!”

“Everyone thought that you, Stiles Stilinski, the clumsiest one amongst us, was right to teach me how to not fall face first into the snow or break my leg while skiing down a very tall mountain?” You laughed. Stiles nodded with a large smile. “That makes no sense, Sti.”

“Exactly. It’s all about misdirection.” His hands flew wildly around him cutely.

“You confuse me, Stilinski,” you huffed, trying to straighten your body. Two hands found your waist when you wobbled on the skis, a sigh of relief leaving your lips when you didn’t fall. “You know, for someone as clumsy as you, you’re surprisingly very steady on those skis.”

Stiles smiled down at you, chuckling deeply. The sound of his husky voice escaping from deep inside his throat made you quiver in his hold. “Don’t let me fool you. This is all a facade. My legs are shaking so bad and I’m surprising myself that I’m even standing up straight right now. I’m pretty sure if I try to back away and ski own this mountain right now, I will end up with snow in places that it doesn’t belong.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help,” you teased. Stiles flushed a bright pink, your cheeks mirroring his immediately after. His fingers seemed to curl into your sides tighter, making your body burn. “So, how about teaching me to ski?”

“Right,” he laughed.

The second he attempted to back away from you, your feet, strapped to the skis, slid under your weight, the support you had before no long present. A squeak left your lips, bracing yourself to fall forward into the snow as your feet slid out from under you. Luckily, the two hands of Stiles found your waist once more, the cold touch of his gloves hitting your skin when your jacket rode up. Your face hit Stiles’ broad chest, your savior stumbling and sliding back in the snow. The skis didn’t stop you from falling sending you both to the ground - you on your knees and Stiles on his ass. You were resting between his legs, pressed close to his body.

His deep groan rang in your ears, your hands gripping at his jacket. Your eyes squeezed shut, nose flaring before even attempting to lift your face to look at him. A wave of heat rained over you when you realized how close you were once again, a repeat of the prior day playing in your mind. Your noses brushed together, his warm, minty breath fanned over your face, his hands held your sides. A shiver ran up your spine - and not from the snow that made your jeans wet.

“S-sorry,” you uttered lowly.

Stiles didn’t respond. He seemed to be daydreaming, his eyes glued to your face. His lips pursed together and parted slightly, his tongue darting out to wet them. Golden orbs flickered between your eyes and your red lips, his fingers gripping your sides harder every time they met your awkward smile. Under your palm, you could feel his rapidly pounding heart slamming into his rib cage at an uneven pace.

His hand rose from the ground where he was keeping himself upright. You thought you had a loose strand of hair he was going to push back, but nothing was free from the beanie you had on. The frozen tips of his fingers grazed the side of your cheek, pulling you closer to him. Each inch his fingers slid across, your body shook more, wishing it was his soft skin that was brushing against your skin. Your stomach was churning with a range of emotions, hormones running on high. Your body was burning from the unexplainable feelings and your mind was screaming at you to do something - anything - to release the pent-up emotion.

He was inching forward, lips parting. His low voice escaped, your ears barely recognizing his words. “Why must you do this to me?” he murmured to himself, not expecting you to hear him at all. “You drive me crazy.”

“Stiles,” you mumbled, meeting his eye. He leaned closer to you, you leaned closer to him. You didn’t know what he was doing, but your mind kept repeating the same thing: kiss him. You were desperate to feel his pink, cupid shaped lips on yours, wanting to feel how soft they were. You had dreamt about the feeling all night, ever since these weird feelings started. You kept picturing that his lips were as soft as his skin and as warm as his heart, and you wanted to find out for sure.

“Y/N,” he started. His lips were nearly upon yours. They were so close that all you would have to do is lean forward. You hesitated, not knowing if he would want to kiss you back - and you wanted him to make the first move. A puff of hot hair hit your lips as he exhaled, slightly panting. “I-”

“COWABUNGA!”

A mound of snow hit the side of your head, your body - and Stiles’ - falling into the snow. You huffed out a growl, sitting up in the snow. Stiles coughed, wiggling uncomfortably where he sat. In the time you were trying to keep your balance with Stiles, not even beginning your lesson, Scott had managed to make his way down the mountain, onto the ski lift, and back up to the spot you were at now. When he slid to a stop, the snow went flying straight onto your forms, ruining the moment you were sharing.

“Seriously Scott?” you glowered, bundling the snow in your hands and chucking it at him. Scott laughed, his werewolf instincts kicking in to swipe the snowball away before it nailed him. “You’re such an ass!”

“You guys are slow! What are you still doing up here?” Scott asked. Your glare on the wolf narrowed, your rage seething out.

“Stiles is trying to teach me to ski! Excuse me for not being a skilled wolf like you. I went to move and fell, taking Stiles down with me. Then you just had to come around and splatter us with snow.”

Scott grinned. “Well, excuse me. Sorry that you guys are slow and falling over each other,” he joked. “Though, I’m surprised you fell first. I figured it would have been Stiles.”

Stiles glared at his friend, the underlying teasing tone about his best friend’s crush too obvious. “You’re an ass.”

“You guys love me.”

“I don’t know. We fell over, you covered us with snow and now I have snow down my pants. I didn’t need a cold dick and ass, McCall,” Stiles grumbled. “I am questioning this friendship.”

Stiles stood carefully, almost falling on his face again before helping you up. He helped to brush the snow off your body, fixing your beanie on your head and the scarf around your neck. Returning the favor, you swiped at the wads of snow that clung to him, Stiles chuckling when you played with the monkey hat more than necessary. Scott watched the entire time, his evil grin growing.

“Well, I’m going to have some more fun. Try not to fall for each other even more than you already have,” Scott mused, eying your close stature.

Stiles glared at his friend. “Scott!” he called as the werewolf took off down the slope. Stiles broke from your hold, preparing to go after his friend, stumbling in the snow to start. He left you unsteady, unsure what to do to get down the mountain. You were sliding through the snow after Stiles, your feet and skis turning inwards. The handles were still resting in the snow, unable to be used to help you stop. You were beginning to rocket towards Stiles’ back.

“Stiles!”

He turned to look at you when he heard you call his name, your body hitting his. You were sent tumbling into the snow again, legs tangled with each other. His mouth was full of snow and your forehead hit the back of his head. Every inch of your body was pressed against his, your face flaring up. Scott was laughing as he disappeared down the slope, leaving you with the man you were developing a crush on.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, rolling off of him into the snow. Stiles pushed himself up on his hands, coughing from the snow he had swallowed from the forceful impact. You were lying next to him, staring at the side of his face. Slowly, he looked over at you, making your cheeks heat up. He still felt so close, but your nerves were wracked from the ruined moment. You weren’t sure where you stood and if you should try to resume what was once started.

“It’s fine,” he said, standing from the snow once more. His gloved hand extended towards you, ready to help you up. His lips curled upwards into a smile, your own smile impossible to keep down. Even with the anxiety he gave you, the dawning feelings that seemed to be surfacing from inside you, you loved this moment. Your hand slid into his, fitting perfectly in his larger grasp. He lifted you to your feet, hand on your waist so you didn’t fall again.

A silence filled the air between you until you cleared your throat, the staring contest that started when you were placed to your feet ending. You had been focused on the golden glint in his eye, marveling his handsome features. Your cheeks were hot when you blinked, looking away from him. “S-so, um,” you choked out. “How about that ski lesson?”

“Y-yeah,” he breathed shakily, shaking off the nerves that were creeping in. “R-right. Skiing. Now. Let’s teach you without me dying.”

You giggled, Stiles smiling at the sound. “That’s not possible.”

“A guy can hope,” he quipped, shuffling away to grab the poles. “So, let’s get you skiing.”

“Yeah.”

When did I start feeling this way for you, Stiles?

~

The steam escaped the bathroom as you shuffled into the room. The sun had long set, dinner was done and gone, and it was technically quiet time. Which ultimately meant that it was time for people to gather in their rooms to hang out, some hanging out in the lobby playing pool and foosball. You had agreed to meet the girls in Lydia and Malia’s room to hang out. Malia had brought an entire suitcase of snacks, so you were planning to have a girl’s gossip night that was long overdue. After dinner, you rushed back to your room to shower and change before spending hours with the girls.

You froze when you spied Stiles sitting on his bed, surprised he was still around. “Hey,” you spoke lowly, catching his attention. “What are you doing here? I figured you’d be hanging out with Scott or something.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. His voice shook slightly, your head cocking to the side. You could feel his anxiousness seeping out of him. “I mean no. I wasn’t planning to hang out with him tonight. He said he was going to crash early because he didn’t sleep much last night.”

“That’s way too much information from Scott.”

“That’s what I said,” Stiles chuckled for a second before losing his smile. “I was thinking about maybe hitting the hot tub for a while. It’s not something we get to do very often and I thought it’d be a nice way to relax. I was thinking, um…” he paused, rubbing his lips together. “I was thinking maybe you’d like to come with? Just as a way to get out of the room, relax in some hot water. It’s in an indoor garden area too so it’s a nice setting. I scoped it out earlier.”

“Well, I would love to but,” you told him, your heart dropping when he frowned sadly. “I already made plans with the girls.”

“O-Oh. Yeah. That’s fine. I completely understand. Well, um, if you get bored of girl talk, you’re free to join me I guess. I’d love it if you did. I’ll wait for you if you want.”

“Stiles-”

“It’s fine. I swear,” he cut you off, grabbing his towel. You noticed that he was wearing his swim trunks and a hoodie, ready to head out. “Go and have fun. I will see you later.”

He rushed for the door before you could say anything more, the door slamming shut behind him. You let out a sigh, dropping your towel on the bed. You felt horrible for bailing on him, not wanting him to be alone, but you had made plans. But his offer replayed over and over, making the butterflies rampage inside you. The thought of Stiles in a hot tub - you were flustered.

Shaking off the thought, you brushed out your hair quickly, grabbed your room key and ran out of the room, straight to Malia and Lydia’s room. The girls were waiting for you, letting you get settled before the talking started. The conversations ranged from school, home life, relationships. You name it. For the most part, you stayed silent, listening to the girls’ rant and rave with each other while Lydia did their nails. You were snacking on potato chips, letting your mind wander back to the man that had been on your mind since your stepped foot on the mountain.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Lydia called, snapping her freshly painted nail in your face. You blinked, turning to look at her.

“What?”

“You’re staring off into space,” she said.

“And you’ve been quiet this entire time,” Kira added.

“And you reek,” Malia huffed. The others glanced at her in confusion. “What? She smells like anxiety. And something else that I only ever smell from Stiles when he’s around her. I don’t know what it is.”

“I’m fine guys. Sorry to be spacing on you.”

“You aren’t getting away from this,” Lydia mused. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Ah. So, you’re thinking about him.”

“Him?” you asked.

“Stiles,” all three girls said in unison. Your face lit up, beet red to the max.

“W-what? No, I’m not!”

“Oh girl. You’re lying to yourself badly,” Lydia hummed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told them. “I’m not thinking about him. Stiles is just my friend. Nothing else is going on between us.”

“Do you really not see it?” Kira asked. You blinked at her, the girl shaking her head. “The way he looks at you, as if you are his whole world? The way he smiles when you are around? The way he talks about you like you are an angel?”

“The way you smile when he makes you laugh? The way your eyes light up when he is mentioned?” Lydia continued.

“The erection he gets by staring at you?” Malia blatantly said. You all looked at her, seeing her shrug. “What? Am I wrong?”

“Not the point,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “The point is that He likes you, Y/N. He always has. He has liked you for so long.”

“No. No, no, no. He has a crush on you, Lyds. Not me. He told me himself.”

“Do you really think he would tell you to your face that he likes you?” Kira pointed out. Your eyes fell to your lap, avoiding their looks.

“He’s had a crush on you for like… forever,” Lydia said. “And you like him back.”

“Do I?” you asked, fiddling with your fingers. “I don’t get it though. How did I start crushing on him all of a sudden? I don’t understand how these feelings hit me so hard, so fast.”

“You’ve always liked him,” Malia said. You turned to look at the coyote, waiting for her to continue. “I may not be the best when it comes to these human relationships, but even I can see that you have always liked him and he has always liked you. When we dated, he always talked about you. He would say your name in his sleep. He would smell different when you were around. And you would always brighten up when he walked into the room. You would talk to him every day. He was the first person you would call when something happens. You would always start a conversation with something like ‘Well Stiles said this’.”

“Let me ask you this. Does he make you smile all the time? Do you think about him all the time? Do you crave being by his side, knowing that he is safe and happy? Do you want what is best for him?” Lydia asked.

You thought about him - about your entire relationship with him. He was the only person to always make you smile. He always was there for you. He was able to cheer you up when no one else could. You loved spending every second of the day with him. He made your heart flutter, making you feel special. You craved his happiness - he deserved the world. And you wanted to be the one to give it to him.

“I…” you started, hugging your knees. “Have I always liked him?”

“Yup,” Lydia said, popping the p for emphasis. “You probably buried the feelings because you didn’t want to ruin anything with him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Y/N, you like Stiles. And until now, you have ignored those feelings. You are only beginning to see it now I think because Stiles stopped hiding his feelings back. He’s been very obvious this entire trip,” Lydia pointed out.

“I…” you began to say again before collapsing on Malia’s bed. “Fuck. How could this happen? How have I been so stupid? How could I overlook such an obvious crush?” your body began to thrash against the bed, whining loudly. “He means everything to me. He makes me smile, he makes me happy. He’s smart, handsome, funny, caring. He’s everything I could ever ask for. And I’ve ignored the funny feelings around him because he was my friend. He’s Stiles - my best friend.”

“Girl, you have it bad,” Kira laughed.

“Don’t point it out!” you bellowed, throwing a pillow at the girl’s head. She laughed, catching the pillow and hugging it to her chest. “Now that you say it out loud like this, it hurts to realize how much I like him. God, I’m pathetic. I can’t even pick up on my own feelings for a guy. No wonder I’ve only ever had one boyfriend.”

“Eric was hot though,” Malia hummed.

“He was a dick.”

“A hot dick.”

“Well, now that you actually admit that you do like him like we all knew, why are you here? You could be hanging out with him right now,” Lydia mused, glancing at her freshly painted nails.

“Well, I promised to hang out with you guys-”

“Then you were distracted with your thoughts.”

“-Because I was confused!” you squeaked, flushing a bright red. “I kept thinking about him. He’s been running through my mind since we got here. All of these things just kind of hit at once.”

“Back to the point,” Lydia pushed.

“I told him I couldn’t hang out because I was here with you guys. And he was going to hang out at the jacuzzi for a bit anyway.” The three girls around you stayed silent, leaving you to blink in confusion. “What?”

“You left him to hang out in the hot tub. Alone?” they asked.

“Well… yes?”

“Do you understand what you are saying?” Kira asked.

“...No?”

“You’re hopeless,” Lydia sighed. “That boy is hopelessly in love with you and probably thinking he hopelessly fell in love with a girl who will never return her feelings. He is out there waiting for you in that hot tub while you sit up here asking questions. He wanted to spend some time with you alone in a, need I say it like this, but a very hot way.”

“No. That’s not true. I’m sure there are others out there. Right?” you asked.

“I’m pretty sure everyone is inside. I heard Greenberg say something about drinks in the lobby on the other end of the building,” Malia bluntly said.

Pushing yourself into a sitting position, your eyes fell to your lap. Your mind went to the saddened face of Stiles before he bolted from the room, his offer for you to join him whenever on repeat. You recalled every second of your lives together, the caring, loving look he would cast upon you when he stared at you from across the room - or even next to you. The way he put you first, taking hits to protect you from the supernatural, made your heart race. Your ears rang with the sound of his uneven heartbeat when your arms would wrap around his waist, your head rest on his chest. His strong arms would wrap around your petite frame, his body make you seem small no matter what, giving you warmth.

But the familiar sadness you saw not even an hour ago in his golden eyes cast a shadow on all of those happy thoughts.

“Do you really think he’s waiting for me in the hot tub?” you spoke lowly, daring to glance at the girls. All three shared a look before speaking in unison.

“Hell yeah.”

Your lips pursed together, hands curling into tight fists. Resolution made your stomach churn, skin beginning to burn. Your eyes squeezed shut before you stood from the bed you once laid upon, rummaging through the room to find your flip flops. The girls didn’t seem to mind as they resumed a conversation, the only knowing expression being the sly smiles on their faces. You didn’t bother to grab anything more than your room key before making your way to the door.

“I’m sorry to leave so early guys. I just… I have some loose ends to tie up. I’ll see you girls in the morning for breakfast.”

The door slammed shut behind you with a loud bang. With your presence gone, the three girls shared a high five, bursting out laughing that their plans had finally succeeded.

“The ship is sailing finally. It’s only been too long in the making.”

~

The sky was dark and filled with stars, bright lights twinkling through the glass roof above your head. The patio door shut behind you quietly, your hand used to keep it from slamming and alerting someone of your arrival. A small chill ran up your spine, the winter air seeping through the glass windows the encased the garden, but it was warmer than you could have ever imagined. Flowers bloomed amongst the greenery, a shimmering blue light in the distance seeping through the leaves of the plants. Your feet moved slowly along the smooth gravel path, hands stuffed in your pockets.

There he sat - alone - in the bubbling hot warmer. Steam billowed in the chilled air, wrapping around his form to make him look mystical. The lights from within the hot tub make the water glow - giving his body a saint-like aura. He wasn’t aware of you standing there staring at him, his eyes staring at the water while his hand threaded through it, waves rippling outwards from the strokes of his long fingers. He looks like a god. He looked handsomely beautiful. He looked amazing. And your heart wouldn’t stop slamming into your chest with nerves, anxiety, unexplained emotion and unreleased, rampaging hormones for the man that you had always liked without realizing it.

His head finally rose when you stepped closer into his line of sight, your voice picking up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he murmured unsurely. A dead air formed, his tongue passing over his lips in thought. “What are you doing here? I thought you were with the girls.”

“Well, what are you doing here alone?” you asked. He gave no response, making you sigh. “Stiles, don’t ignore me please.”

“I’m not,” he abruptly denied.

“That’s why you are avoiding looking at me?” you pushed. He stayed silent, making you shake your head. You made your way around the hot tub to the steps, feet slipping from your flip flops before taking tentative steps up to the water. The water was warm when you dipped them into the water, bubbles tickling the bottoms as they popped o the surface. Your arms wrapped around yourself, hugging your body tighter to keep arm from the shivers that ran through you. “Do I have to apologize?”

“Why would you apologize for something you didn’t so?” he asked, eyes flickering up to you.

“Because it is my fault,” you told him.

Stiles chuckled, shaking his head. His arms, dripping with water, leaned back against the hot tub, his body sinking a bit into the warmth. His eyes were glued to you at this point, waiting for you to continue. “Pray tell, Y/N. What is your fault?”

You kicked your feet through the water, debating on telling him. But your mouth parted and your words flowed before you could stop them. “Because I didn’t realize how you felt until now.”

His arms dropped into the water, his brows raised in shock and his jaw slack. “W-wha-”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a crush on me?” you asked. His eyes dropped to the water. “Stiles.”

“What was I supposed to say?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t want to ruin it. I didn’t want to ruin us.”

“It wouldn’t have ruined us.”

Stiles chuckled, looking up at you. “You say that now. But what would you have said if I came out and said that that I like you, Y/N? What does it mean to you when I say that I like you.”

You paused, giving a cheeky smile. “That I am obviously the most awesome girl in your life and you are glad to have me as your friend?”

Stiles scoffed playfully, splashing water at you before leaning back again. “You’re impossible.”

“I know I am,” you told him. ‘That’s why I never realized how I felt back.”

This caused Stiles’ brow to knit together, his forehead crunching together with a mound of wrinkles that looked adorable on his. He looked like a lost puppy, confused why you wouldn’t give him a treat. “I’m confused,” he admitted under his breath.

Rolling your eyes, you stood from your seat on the edge of the hot tub. Stiles’ honey eyes followed you, growing wider by the second when you stripped the hoodie you had worn over your head. His breathing faltered, caught in his chest at your appearance. The camisole you wore was sheer, almost see through under his piercing gaze. It was also his favorite color - a lovely shade of blue that matched your skin. Your shorts hugged your thighs, leaving your silky legs bare for him to admire. You carefully folded the hoodie, placing it away from the water so it wouldn’t get wet.

He was shocked when you stepped further into the water, submerged to the waist by the heat. The camisole began to stick to your skin, showing patches of skin through the material where the water hit it. But you didn’t stop there. His throat clogged, his Adam’s Apple bobbing, when your legs perched on either side of him, your body straddling his waist. He tried to will himself to stay calm, but the chances that he was growing harder under the weight of your pelvis to his was one hundred percent. Your eyes had a certain gaze that he hadn’t seen before, confidence and arousal swirling in your irises. Dainty hands were placed to his broad shoulders, feeling the tense muscles under the tips of your fingers while holding yourself upright. His arms stayed on the edge of the hot tub, afraid to move.

“What are you doing?” he croaked lowly, words near impossible to hear.

“What I should have done a long time ago,” you told him. “I’m sorry that I never realized before, Sti. I overlooked it until now and I don’t know how I did it. It was so obvious and I wish you had said something before because it wouldn’t have changed who we are It would have made us stronger. Nothing can break us apart and I want to give this a chance if you are willing.”

Stiles’ mouth opened and closed, unable to produce the words he was thinking. “What are you saying?” he eventually uttered.

“I’m saying I like you too, you dork.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. His face grew red, and it wasn’t from the heat of the water he sat in. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His arms dropped into the water, hands hitting your thighs. His heart was beating out of his chest.

“Your silence is not a good sign, Stilinski.”

He broke from his trance, shaking his head. Your laugh hit his ears, making them redden in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s not every day that you hear something like that.”

“I get that.”

“When did this come up?” he asked, moving his hands up to your hips. “I mean, I’m not complaining but… I’ve pined over you for so long and I thought… I thought I’d never have a chance. I had fallen in love with a girl that would never notice my feelings. I’ve been trying too hard to show you this entire trip but it felt so hopeless. Now, here we are, sitting in a hot tub with you-” he choked a bit on his words, “-straddling my waist, saying that you like me too. I’m so confused.”

“I think I always liked you too,” you told him wholeheartedly. “But I never wanted to admit it. I didn’t think I’d see you as more than Stiles - my best friend for life. But, this entire trip, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. All I could think about was you and I would get flustered because of it. I couldn’t understand why I kept seeing you in this new light, realizing how handsome you are. How attractive you are. I couldn’t stop thinking about how happy you make me. And the girls finally pointed out that I like you as more than a friend. And I feel stupid that I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“So, that’s why you are here now?” he asked, tilting his head.

“That’s why I’m here now,” you confirmed. “I couldn’t sit around and wait knowing that you would be here waiting for me.”

His face lit up. “I-I wasn’t waiting.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Sti,” you giggled. “But, I came here to tell you that I like you, Stiles Stilinski. As more than a friend. And I’m sorry it took me this long to see that.”

“I like you too,” he spat without hesitation. His hand rose from the water, pushing some hair from your face, fingers sliding down your cheek. Your eyes locked together, staring deep into his golden orbs that screamed the loving emotion he was trying to portray for so long. No more was it hidden behind a wall of fear. His lips curled into a smile, the bottom lip tugged between his teeth nervously. “Can I kiss you finally?”

“You know, it’s more romantic if you just do it.”

Stiles chuckled, tilting his head upwards while pulling you forward. Lips smashed together in a soft connection at first, his lips tender pillows that molded against yours perfectly. They were smooth, the cold not having chapped them like he feared prior to leaving Beacon Hills. Your eyes fluttered closed, feeling the sparks flying the second his lips pressed down on yours. Fireworks were flying, popping in your ears in an array of explosions. His thumb ran across your cheek, helping you to relax.

The first kiss was short, almost like he was testing the waters. He broke away for a small burst of air before pulling you back in for a deeper, more intense kiss. Your hands moved around his neck from his shoulders, tugging his closer. Your chest pressed against his, the gap between your bodies nearly nonexistent. His head tilted to the side to give him better access to your mouth, noses not bumping as bad. His plump lips would drag down against yours, enveloping them in his warmth. The kiss seemed to suck he life from the, the puckering of his lips and harsh sucking making them swell and turn beet red.

Your moan was lost when his tongue tapped to your lips, asking for entrance. You had gladly parted them, allowing him to roam your mouth with the wet article without interference. His mouth and tongue were skillful, eliciting a loud moan that was lost to his throat. The tip of his tongue traced the outline of your mouth, along your cheeks as he memorized every inch. He toyed with your tongue, making them playfully circle each other before he continued on his merry way. The intense feeling made your hands curl through his hair, tugging at the chocolate locks shamelessly. His hands returned to your waist, drawing circles through the thin camisole.

The heated make out didn’t stop there. He continued to assault you with multiple open mouth kisses, peppering your forehead, cheek and neck with kisses. A shiver trailed down his bare spine the first time he kissed your neck, a loud moan directed into his ear. He grew harder at the sound, not caring that his erection was pressing up into you. He was too enthralled by the fact that he was finally kissing you. He had his crush in the palm of his hand and he wasn’t planning to let you go anytime soon. He would cradle this moment - and every moment going forward - not letting you get hurt for as long as he lived.

His lips continued south, kissing along the hem of the camisole. He paused for a second, tilting his head to look up at you. No words were needed. You nodded and he proceeded. The front of the camisole was tugged down, your breasts exposed to the garden air. The chill had made your nipples harden, the lack of bra under your sleepwear only making Stiles happier. His mouth was wet but dry, eyes wide at the beauty of your chest. He leaned forward, tongue darting out to flick at the nipple carefully. He was testing your reaction, unsure how far to go to start.

“More,” you urged with a whine.

Stiles obliged, wrapping his lips around the nipple completely this time. Your moan wasn’t silent. It filled the garden, the feeling of his mouth on your chest unexplainable. He sucked as much skin between his cheeks as he could, tongue playing with the hard peak the entire time. He kissed at your chest without remorse, tugging at the nipple until a loud pop was heard. The kisses on your chest were marvelous, wet and hot on your skin. He loved kissing around your breast, proudly loving your nipple. His wet hand played with the opposite breast, the pad of his thumb circling the nipple, pressing it into your skin. He eventually swapped between your breasts, repeating the actions he had previously done.

You wondered how he was this good when he only had one girlfriend before.

His lips returned to your mouth, fixing your camisole as he did. Not that it helped in the end - the material was wet and clung to your chest, showing the taunt peaks that he made even harder and more boisterous from his tender loving care. He turned to his side as he kissed you, placing you to the seat beside him. Your leg stayed draped around his waist and his hand stayed on your hip, but the angle for the kisses and cuddles made you heat up. The only mistake with the new spot was that you became more aware of his erection, the bulge pressed against your inner thigh.

His breath hitched and the kiss broke when your hand ghosted over the bulge, tugging the string undone in passing. Your hand ended up on his, pushing it down your body towards your throbbing heat. Since the kisses started, your body was aching for more. Your pussy was screaming for attention, trembling with desire. You didn’t know if you were going too fast, but you knew you wanted to be touched by him - and only him.

“Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly, his lips skimming yours as he talked. You nodded, giving him a smile for reassurance. Stiles gave a bright smile in return, returning to kissing you. Long fingers toyed with the front of your shorts before slipping passed the band of them and your panties, connecting with the heated core. They touched your swollen clit first, a wave rushing through you. The closer they inched to your core, the more ready you became.

His middle finger slid inside of you, a prolonged moan leaving your lips. Your arms hugged him close, the finger sliding in and out of you slowly at first. It slowly sped up, curling at the tip for added effect. His trimmed nail scratched at the inner linings of your pussy, the sensitive feeling spiked from the scraping sensation. He was able to reach a depth you weren’t used to, finding a spot that made you quiver with happiness. Your face buried into his neck to keep from moaning too loudly, not wanting to be caught.

By the time he was adding a second finger, your hand was at the band of his swim trunks, tugging the Velcro undone. Your breath hitched at the size of him, his cock fully erect under the tips of your fingers that dipped into his shorts. He was long and girthy - he was frankly rather huge. The twitched against your grip, pulsating under your fingers. Your fingers traced along the throbbing veins, your mouth watering at the feeling. Your hand wrapped around him completely, stroking him as best as you could in his bottoms. Skin was tugged up and over the head before it was released to return to its original position.

Together, you continued to please each other, moaning together. His moans were sexy when they started up after you touched him. There was a gruff husk in the tone, his throat vibrating with the sounds he made. The deep noise reverberated around you, resonating in your ear. It made you grip him harder, jerking him faster just so you could hear it more. His response was to press his thumb to your clit as he pumped his fingers inside of you, urging you to your high.

“You know,” he breathed, fingers halting. Your hand stopped, pulling away from his neck to look at him in confusion. “We shouldn’t do this here.”

“What?”

Stiles smiled, pulling his fingers out of you. He worked your hand from his bottoms, fixing them before standing from the water. You were extremely confused, unsure what he was doing. He grabbed the towel he brought with him, drying off as he stepped out of the water. The man turned, a hand held out for you to help you out, which you willingly took. The man dried you down, tenderly patting the fluffy towel to your limbs. You smiled at him, watching him closely. He helped you pulled the hoodie over your head, his towel wrapped around his neck. Two arms circled your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“How about we head back to the room for the night?”

Your heart pounded, fingers laced with Stiles as he led you back to the room. Your cheeks hurt from the smile that was plastered to your face, holding his hand tightly. The happiness was pouring out of you, not questioning why he stopped the heated session in the hot tub until you got back to the room.

Never in your wildest dreams did you think that you would realize your feelings for your best friend and confess them to him in the same day as getting the best orgasm in your life once you arrived back to your shared room, his fingers resuming what was started before. The two of you fell asleep cuddled together in his bed with large smiles on your faces, left to dream about everything that happened.

~

The following day seemed to be better than ever - the best day in your eighteen years of living.

You had woken up to Stiles’ sleeping face buried in the pillow next to you, mouth slightly parted with soft snores slipping out. His chin was wet with drool. His lashes were splayed across his cheek beautifully. His hair was ruffled and sticking up in different directions against the pillow. He was pleasantly surprised when you awoke him with a kiss, not arguing as he pulled you against him to ignite a hot make out session to start the morning.

No one seemed fazed by your locked hands when you arrived at breakfast. Though unspoken, it went without words that you were an item at this point. It wasn’t how you expected to be called Stiles’ girlfriend, and vice versa for him, but after the heated night you had, it would be odd to think you were something else. Scott just threw his hands into the air, screaming a vehement ‘finally’ that made everyone look at him.

He wasn’t fond of the water you tossed on his face to cool him down.

You spent the morning hours in the main rec room playing games with the pack, Stiles’ arms always finding a way to slither around your waist when you were playing against someone other than him. You weren’t arguing, though it always seemed to cost you the game because you found yourself sinking into his touch, the game of foosball against Scott an afterthought. Kira pulled out a deck of cards, the entire pack settling down to have cocoa as you played intense games of BS and five-way war. The morning was everything you wanted on this trip and more, spiced up by the occasional kiss from your new, unspoken boyfriend.

Stiles successfully got you to ski down the mountain once the afternoon struck, though it took a while since he kept getting distracted whenever he looked at you, his cheeks a bright red and the same monkey hat tugged over his eyes. You were proud of yourself for not crash as you slid across the snow towards the bottom of the mountain where Stiles was awaiting, throwing your arms up in victory. Until you crashed into his body, his broad form cushioning the blow. Your bodies were covered in snow, bodies tangled together, causing you to laugh in unison, a tender kiss shared before the others began making fun of you.

As the sun set, you waddled back to your room with Stiles in tow, snow packed down your pants and shirt from the impromptu snowball fight the true alpha decided was the best way to end your trip - the werewolf stuffing a handful of snow down the back of your jacket before running away from his death wish. You spent nearly an hour rolling around in the snow as the sun disappeared behind the mountain, enjoying the time with your friends. Stiles teased you as you rushed back into the hotel when Finstock commanded it, your legs carrying you towards you room for a hot shower.

“I’m freezing!” you called, Stiles left to shut the door behind you. He was still snickering, locking the door before continuing into the room. The man leaned against the wall near the entrance to the room, golden eyes tearing you apart from behind. His animal-like stare was hungry, admiring you as you shrugged off the jacket, throwing you hat, scarf and gloves onto your bed. He was glad that he had gotten you, though not officially in his head. And after the day, he wanted to change that. He wanted to make you his - in every way possible.

“Stiles?” you asked.

The human male glanced up, meeting your puzzled gaze. You stopped to look at him, noticing that he was still near the door with his eyes on your body. His eyes were swirling with a million emotions, his body unmoving. Wordlessly, he strut forward, tossing off his scarf, hat and gloves on his way. His strong arms wrapped around you, his forehead resting on yours. His breath was hot against your cheeks and lips, the snow melting from the heat your body was no producing.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked abruptly. You blinked at him for a second before a fit of laughter broke free. The man holding you pouted, giving you a sorrowful glance. “What’s with the laughter? I’m being serious here!”

“I know. I don’t mean to laugh,” you managed to tell him through your laughs. “I just figured that after last night, we kind of already were. You’ve been all clingy today and kissy and you still have to ask?”

“I thought it’d be only right to make it official,” he claimed, dimples showing up when he smiled. “I’ve waited for so long for this to happen and I want to do it right. And I want to make you mine, Y/N. You are the one girl I have liked for longer than I could ever imagine and I am here to ask you right here, right now to be my girlfriend.”

“Wow, Stilinski. Who knew you could be so smooth? Where is my klutz of a friend?”

“Hey!”

“I’m kidding,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers threaded through his messy locks, nails scratching against his scalp. A happy sigh left his lips, the man obviously enjoying the feeling. “Yes, Mieczyslaw Stiles Stilinski. I will be your girlfriend.”

“Really?” he asked, disbelieving. “You’re sure I haven’t just dreamt all of this?”

“I will walk away right now.”

“No!” he hollered, lifting you of the ground. A sweet squeal left your lips in joy, laughter befalling his ears. The man spun you around with ease, hugging you as close as possible. Your bodies eventually fell to his bed with your boyfriend hovering over you, arms on either side of you. Sparkling orbs met yours, your body melting into a pot of honey he offered with a simple look. His plump, pink lips moved forward, locking to yours in a tender embrace.

They moved against each other in loving grace and extreme haste, speeding up as passion intensified. Open mouth kisses were shared, tongues dancing together between parted lips, hands roaming every inch of the opposite’s body. Lips were swelling from the numerous kisses, Stiles’ lips sucking and tugging joyously at yours. His jacket was shrugged off mid kiss, your fingers softly traveling up and down his arms where countless veins were protruding. It was a turn on you never thought you’d have.

He rolled over so you were straddling him, your arms on either side of his head to support your weight. You were sat up, kiss broken with lips lingering against each other, long enough for him to strip the shirt over your head. Your arms were extended over your head, a smile on your face when he pulled the shirt up, tossing it away. His following immediately after, your bodies falling backwards against the bed.

Your pants were kicked off mid kiss, the only thing separating your bodies being thin pieces of damp underwear - bra and panties for you and the checkered boxers on him. The kisses you shared were heated, your bodies beginning to stick together from sweat that poured out. Your hips rocked instinctively against his, grinding against his pelvis along the defined v-lines that were indented in his skin. Throating groans and breathy moans spilled from his lips when you parted, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

They sped up, bodied rolling aimless around on the bed to alternate who was in control. Not once did he make an attempt to remove the intruding material of your undergarments, opting to suffer with the dry humping that had ensued with the ever-rampant kisses. He was hard, his cock twitching and bulging against his boxers, trying to reach your center. His breathing was unsteady, the warmth of your pussy pressing against his clothed region making it hard to keep calm.

He lost control from the simplest touch. Your kisses were running along his cheek and jaw until you got to his neck. A simple bite and suck mixed with the jerk of your hips into his and he lost everything. His moan was louder, the gruff crackle of his voice becoming music in your ears. His fingers pressed harder into your sides, pushing up into you as hard as he could. His hips sputtered slightly. Honey eyes were sealed tight, his head falling back into the pillows. He relished in the feeling of your hands running along his barren torso, shivering from the touch to his sensitive nipples.

Your body, hovering over his, stopped moving, feeling the discomfort under you. “Stiles,” you started, voice uneasy but playful. “Did you just cum in your boxers?”

“What? No,” he said, drawing out the final word unconvincingly. His eyes cracked open, sighing when he spied the unamused expression from his failed lie. “Fine. Yes, I did. If you dare laugh, I will kick you out of this bed right now.”

Your smirk grew, leaning down to kiss him. “I didn’t know I had that effect on you.”

He sighed into the short kiss, a lazy smile showing up on his face. “You should know you do. It wasn’t what I intended to happen, but it definitely felt good.” The man squirmed following his words before continuing. “Now, this is kind of uncomfortable. I have a cream load in my pants right now and you being on top of me isn’t helping.”

“Well, I guess we should go shower then,” you mused, crawling off of him. Stiles’ forehead crinkled.

“We?”

“I’m a bit cold from all of that snow,” you told him, not glancing back until you reached the door to the bathroom. You cast him a sexy look over your shoulder, flipping your hair so you could see him. “So, are you going to come join me, Stilinski? We should get you washed up.”

You didn’t wait for him to move, but the thump in the bedroom told you that he crashed to the floor in his attempt to follow you. Heavy footsteps thumped across the room, shadowed only by the water flowing in the glass shower. The slam of the door behind you was an indication of his presence, and the warmth of his body pressed to your back confirmed his eagerness. As the bathroom began to fog up, the hot water steaming the enclosed area quickly, you were turned to meet his lips.

His hands roamed your body, skillfully unhooking the bra that was still on your body. It slid across the ground, tossed away carelessly with your panties following. His boxers, wet with his arousal, joined them immediately after, your nude bodies ready for the shower. Stiles broke the kiss, ushering you into the glass shower with a slap to the ass that made you squeal, the man turning to grab two towels before joining.

He didn’t jump straight into anything intimate. The time was taken to wash up, Stiles rubbing shampoo through your hair before himself. He ran the wash cloth along your body carefully, cleaning your skin until it was pristine. He hugged you close, sharing multiple short kisses as a way to warm you up from the cold day in the snow.

Only then did the kisses speed up, his hands began to trace your body. Your hands clawed at his arms and chest, craving more from him as the kisses got deeper - needier. His erection pressed to your thigh, your core aching for even more. Lips traveled along your neck, head tilted to give him access to the region he desired. You were backed into the wall, the cold tile pressed flesh to your shoulder blades, making you tense. Yet, the heat of the water and the warmth of his leanly muscular body seeping into you from the tenderest touches helped you relax, sinking into his hold entirely.

His hips ground against yours, his erect cock trapped between your stomachs. A dribble of precum was seeping from the tip, the wet patch stringing from the dark happy trail of hair that traveled down Stiles’ navel to your stomach, your insides boiling under the smoldering fire that was hormones. The shaft slid between your bodies, twitching every so often as it grew harder. He was ready for more.

Before he could make a move, you had slipped from his grasp, sinking to your knees in front of him. The water pooled around your knees, rippling outwards around your body. Water rained over your form, cascading down your body in pearls of pristine, clear light. Stiles watched you through hazy eyes, your body glistening in the light of the bathroom that glowed above the shower. Your eyes met his, twinkling with unread mischief that matched his name. Yet, he found them beautiful - from the color to the size to the way they made his heart race from a simple glance.

Your hand wrapped around his shaft, a deep breath muffled by the thudding water against the floor. Your eyes closed, lips pressed to the length of his cock, the large appendage hardening and pulsing from contact. A low, breathy moan slid from the man’s lips, eyes fluttering closed from the bliss. He waited for the overwhelming feeling to embrace him like a hug, your lips wrapped around him like he always dreamt of.

The feeling was beyond his belief - better than he ever thought. Your mouth was warm and wet, hollowed for the feeling was tight. You heard his sharp intake of air, feeling his hand weave through your wet locks to keep your hair out of your face as well as having something to hold onto, knowing that he was enjoying it. Your head bobbed along his length, trying not to gag at his large size when he filled your cheeks until you looked like a squirrel. Your hand pumped what couldn’t fit in your mouth, your hand and head moving in sync.

His groans got louder, one veiny hand pressed against the wall to keep him from falling. Your tongue ran along the underside of his shaft, the tip tracing the pulsating vein that protruded from his skin, running along the entire length. You backed away from him slightly, focusing on the tip just as you had the rest of his erection, sucking at it until he was moaning your name. Your tongue lapped at the rough patch that made him quiver, toying with the head like it was a tootsie pop. He was sweet on your tongue, his golden nectar making your taste buds tingle. Your mouth watered, ready to taste every drop of his essence poured into your mouth, sliding down your throat like a waterfall of honey.

He pushed you away, earning him a dazed and confused pout. His hand, tangled in your locks, pushed your head back, a string of saliva draped between swollen lips and the red tip of his cock. He poked straight out towards you, bouncing with never ending twitches, eager for what he had in mind. A hand was extended to you, your fitting in it perfectly. His touch sent sparks through your body, goosebumps popping up along your arms. He helped you stand, your back pressed back to the wall. Your leg was hiked up, his arm under your knee. His lips ghosted against yours, hips bucking forward.

“Please,” he pleaded. “I know we just started dating, but I can’t wait. I love you, Y/N, and I need you. My horny, teenage mind can’t stop thinking about you. I need you. I want you. I want to feel every inch of you. I want to be inside of you. I want to show you how much you mean to me. Please, baby.”

“Stiles, we can’t-”

He backed away with a deep frown. “O-oh. Right! Obviously. I’m not going to push you if you aren’t ready. I completely understand-”

“Stiles!” you called, slapping his chest. He winced playfully, placing a hand to where you hit. “I’m not saying no to sex. I’m not a virgin and a girl has needs to. And you have no idea how much my pussy aches for you. But I’m also not keen on getting pregnant.”

He blinked in confusion before his golden eyes widened, jaw going slack. “Oh,” he mumbled once, the word growing louder the second he uttered, “Oh! Wait! I can fix that!”

He ran from you, the glass door sliding open with a thump against the wall. He didn’t bother shutting it, nor did he mind the trail of water that dripped from his skin as he rushed from the bathroom. His loud curses from the cold air outside the bathroom made you laugh. You could see clothes being thrown around in the main room. You were left to wait for whatever he had.

“Ah ha!” he called, ripping the box of condoms his dad had forced upon him prior to leaving on the trip. The square foil packages piled onto your bed, his hands fumbling to open one as he walked back to the bathroom. He nearly slipped on his own wet path, barely managing to make it back to the shower without crashing to the floor. He was sliding the condom down his length when he stepped in, pinching the end so there was a spot for his sperm to gather when he came again.

You squealed from shock and surprise, Stiles lifting you from the ground. You were pressed into the wall harder than before, legs winding around his waist instinctively. His hands supported you, yours resting on his shoulders. You bit at your lip, his length pressed against your core. Even covered by the rubbed, he was warm.

He glanced at you for silent approval, only moving forward when you nodded at him. He shifted you against him so he could adjust himself at your entrance, sliding into you slowly. It wasn’t the first time you were having sex - a bad one-night stand at one of Lydia’s parties not the best reference when thinking about such an activity - but instantly, he was the best. Stiles filled you to the brim, easing into you to keep from hurting you. The tip rested against your g-spot when he was fully seated between your walls, making it hard to relax with the countless fireworks that were going off. He held you tenderly, allowing you to adjust before beginning to thrust.

Yup. Mark was definitely nothing compared to Stiles.

You moaned his name loudly from the start, Stiles bouncing you slow at first against his hips before speeding up. Crescent shaped nail marks were ebbed into his shoulders, your eyes clenched at the overwhelming sensation. Wet hips clapped together loudly, his slick, covered length sliding in and out of you without remorse. The once slow thrusts didn’t last long, the man slamming into you quickly, reaching deep into your core.

He only stopped when his feet slid under him, nearly dropping you. His thrusts had been too quick for the clumsy man, the water that was gathering around his feet finally too much for him. His head rested on your chest, stilled inside of you. His chest rose and fell, let out a laugh that was contagious. You began to laugh with him, hugging him close. He was pulsing inside you, stretching your walls and strengthening your desire for him to pound you senseless, but not when he was bound to slip.

“Maybe this isn’t the best position,” he uttered, placing you down.

You whimpered lowly when he left you empty, only to be pushed forward - away from the wall. Your hands caught on the glass, breasts pressed to the fogged door. Your mouth parted with a loud moan that added to the fog, Stiles buried inside you once more from behind. Without having to support your weight, he could focus on his actions, his hips crashing against your behind in an array of powerful thrusts.

Your cheeks jiggled, turning red from the constant collision of his body against yours, your pussy tight around him. His cock pistoned in and out of you without remorse, the tip hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. His hand occasionally would slap at your butt, low, dirty words urging you on. You never would have guessed that Stiles liked such rough sex, but you weren’t complaining. He made you feel wonderful.

Your breasts were taut to the glass, your forehead pressed against it as you panted - moaned. The angle made you constrict around him, Stiles able to reach deep into you. His words consisted of one thing: your name. A hand tangled through your hair as he pounded into you from behind, tugging your head backwards. Everything he did was magical and you didn’t want it to stop until you were pouring out around him, clinging to him like your life depended on it.

You were saddened when he sputtered to a stop, choking on the warm, wet air. You had nearly been at your peak when he came to an abrupt halt, cock twitching into your walls with intense vigor. He spilled his seed into the air pocket left in the condom, his orgasm crashing over him without warning. The knot inside of him had coiled and burned in a matter of moments, a prolonged grunt of your name heard.

“Really, Sti?” you asked, glancing back at him over your shoulder. He pulled out, pulling you back against his chest. His hands cupped your breasts, fondling them at you waddled together to the shower knob. You laughed, biting your lip to cover your moan. “Don't try to get out of this! I’m mad at you. You came again and I haven't even finished!”

“I’m sorry, babe,” he hummed. Your face flushed at the new pet name. “But, that’s why we aren’t done yet.”

“Wait, what?”

Stiles discarded the condom before lifting you from the ground, carrying you to the room - still wet. You laughed at him, squeaking when you were thrown onto the bed. You giggled at the pile of condoms on your bed across the way, the man you were now dating grabbing a second packet to slide down his length just as before.

Instead of crawling on top of you, he tackled you from the side, rolling your bodies so you were on top. Your hips ground together, a few heated kisses shared before you found yourself sliding down his length. Propped up on the balls of your feet, hands on his chest for support, you bounced against him. Your head was thrown back, letting yourself go to enjoy the ecstasy of his cock inside of you. His hands were on your waist to help guide your motions, bucking his hips up to meet your pace.

You were a moaning mess. Your nails clawed on his toned chest, playing slightly with the hairs between his pecs. Your hips were clapping together noisily, his cock digging deep inside you every time you crash down against him. Stiles didn’t know where to keep his eyes - they darted between your face, watching you moan his name loudly with your eyes clenched shut, and his cock sliding in and out of you quickly, the condom soaked with your juices. He loved the way your face contorted with pleasure, but he was aroused by the sight of his cock disappearing into your tight pussy.

“Fuck,” he groaned, shifting against the bed. Your sloppy bounces made his gaze hazy, his tongue passing over his lips sexily. “You’re so fucking hot. You’re so fucking tight. God, where have you been all my life? Why did I wait this long to tell you how I felt? This is amazing, Y/N.” His eyes glued to your breasts bouncing up and down with every collision of your hips, the man grunting. “God, I love your tits. I want to suck on them while you cum. And I love your tight, little pussy. You were made for me, baby. Only for me.”

“Only you, Stiles,” you repeated breathlessly, unable to focus. You were seeing stars and his dirty talk was only making it worse. You had to reply on his thrusts up into you to finally pant out at him, nearing your peak. “I’m cumming, Stiles. I’m cumming.”

He sped up, urging you with his husky voice to cum. He pushed to meet your high with his own, straining to orgasm as well. He knew he would regret it later when his cock ached and his legs were sore from tensing, but the idea of spilling his load into another condom at the same time you coated it with your juices, walls closing around him in a hug, was worth the pain.

With a loud moan, you were undone, clenching around his cock as you spilled everything you had. The wet warmth you emitted was more than enough to break him for a third time, the man filling the condom with shot after shot of his thick, white load. He closed his eyes, relishing in your moans, imagining that he was filling your pussy with his cum. He wanted to see your folds dripping with the white liquid, your fingers smoothing over it sexily to show him what he did, just like he saw in his porns. But he had to settle with the air pocket filled with his sweet nectar, strings of cum milked by your tight core.

You collapsed to his chest, Stiles placing your bare, wet body to the bed, the sheets clung to him as he rolled out of the bed, tossing the used condom while fetching the towels. He dried you off - himself included - crawling into the bed next to you. You were weary from your activities, more than willing to cuddle into Stiles’ side after the send sunk from his weight. His lips pressed to your forehead, kissing it lovingly.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I know it’s too soon, but I do.”

“I love you too,” you yawned at him. You knew he was smiling. You could feel it. It made you smile too. Your arms hugged him close, the man pulling the blankets around your bodies. “Thank you for the best night ever.”

“Thank you for the best trip ever.”

“Thank you for being the best man ever.”

Stiles chuckled. “Thank you for everything.”

It was silent for a moment.

“I can’t beat that. Asshole.”

“Ha!”

A fit of laughter filled the room, like nothing had changed.

You were always meant to be with this man.

~

“Did you guys have a good night?” Scott teased as you piled onto the bus the following morning. You cast him a glare, the morning not agreeing with you. The alpha werewolf raised his hands innocently, plopping into his seat. “Was just a question.”

“Be nice,” Stiles laughed, pushing you into the seat by the window. He draped your Harry Potter fleece blanket that was stowed in your bag for emergencies over your lap before taking his seat, his fingers lacing with yours. “You know YN isn’t a morning person when she hasn’t had her coffee.”

“It’s not my fault that their coffee machine broke today of all days.”

“Scott McCall, I swear I will punch you in the fucking nuts if you don’t shut up,” you growled. “See if you have little werewolf babies when I’m done with you.”

Scott sunk into his seat silently, Stiles laughing at your threat. The bus bumped as it began to travel down the road, your head resting on the window. Stiles adjusted the blanket over both of your laps, watching you with a small smile.

“I can’t sleep knowing you are watching me.”

“I can’t help it,” he chuckled, leaning over to kiss your cheek. You turned to look at him, lips upturning slightly. “You’re too cute.”

“I’m also very tired and irritable.”

Stiles hummed in response before leaning over, a sly smirk on his lips. “I can help with the irritability,” he whispered into your ear.

“What?

He gestured to stay silent, his hand slithering under the blanket. You sent him a look, but he grinned. “We’re in for a long ride, baby. So, better get comfortable.”

His fingers dipped into your jeans and panties, your legs parting to feel his fingers at you core. You adjusted your position to lean on his shoulder, trying to get closer to him. Two slender digits slid into your folds, pumping in and out of you mercilessly. You bit your lip to keep quietly, returning his gesture by palming his groin through his pants.

He was right. It would be a very long drive when he was driving you crazy with his fingers burrowed inside you, giving you multiple orgasms that made sitting in your seat rather uncomfortable. But the feeling of his fingers finding the spots that made you quake, drawing shapes and the letters of his name to your clit, was worth the agony of the public pleasing. He would get it later when you could be alone, but for now, you would enjoy what he had to offer on the lengthy drive home.

Your mood was considerably brightened when you arrived back in Beacon Hills. There was a pep in your step that Scott didn’t dare question, leading Kira towards his mom’s car. The multiple orgasms you were given had done wonders to your mood and you were excited to be home. Stiles was grabbing your bags as you rushed to the sheriff, wrapping your second dad in a hug.

“Welcome back, Y/N,” he said, returning your hug with his own. Stiles dramatically threw his arms in the air when he joined you both, the bags at his side. “Did you guys have fun?”

You backed away from Noah’s hug, sharing a glance with Stiles. Your smiles grew, knowing what had happened between you both the entire trip - notably the bus ride home at the moment. His hand reached out for yours, giving it a tender, reassuring squeeze.

“You have no idea,” you both spoke in unison.

“Well, let’s head home then. We can order some pizza and wings for an early dinner and watch a movie,” Noah claimed.

“Sounds great!” you cheered. “I’ll get the bags put away.”

You trudged off with the bags, ready to hassle stuffing them into the police cruiser trunk, out of range from the two Stilinski men. Noah turned to his son, an eyebrow raised and a knowing smirk.

“What?’ Stiles asked.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that little hand hold just now,” he jabbed at his son. Stiles’ face turned a bright red. “Glad to know that the condoms came in handy then.”

“Dad!”

“Am I wrong?” Noah pushed.

“Wha- I mean no! But still!” Stiles yelped, flustered to the brim.

“Calm down, Stiles,” Noah laughed. “I’m happy for you. It’s about time you got the girl of your dreams. And I know that she will make you happy. That’s all I ever want for you - your happiness.”

Stiles smiled softly, hugging his dad. “Thanks, dad.”

Noah hugged the young man back tightly, the rare family moment something he would cherish forever.

“But seriously. I’m not ready to be a grandpa.”

“Dad!”

“No need to worry, Papa Stilinski,” you broke in, causing stiles to jump a mile from his dad. You grinned at the men, hands behind your back to feign innocence. “If he didn’t have any on him, I did. My mom always has me carry some just in case. I am always prepared, just in case.”

You turned without another words, climbing into the back of the police car. Stiles was speechless, gaping at you the entire time. His face and neck were red, his jaw was slack and his heart was hammering. But he oddly found it attractive what just happened and he was left praying that he wouldn’t have a tent in his jeans from what he just heard.

“I like her,” Noah spoke up, glancing at his son. “She’s a keeper.”

Stiles blushed brighter, but smiled nonetheless. “I know she is,” Stiles uttered to his dad. He couldn’t be happier with how things turned out. He had finally gotten the girl. “I’m glad I went on this trip, dad.”

Noah smiled, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “I’m glad. Make sure to take care of her.”

“I will.”

“Let’s go, guys!” you called through a crack in the door. “I’m starving!”

The Stilinski duo laughed, running towards the car where you awaited. Stiles climbed into the back next to you, hugging you to his side. His dad was in the driver’s seat, glancing at the young couple in the back seat. Noah couldn’t be more proud of this outcome; you both were happy, just as it was always meant to be.

And Stiles?

He would never forget his senior year ski trip.

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