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sunel0 · 2 years

Text

Something Dark Is Waiting in the Woods: Chapter 2

You can read it on AO3

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)

Relationship: Theo Raeken/Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Liam Dunbar, Mason Hewitt, Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore, Kira Yukimura, Nogitsune (Teen Wolf), Dread Doctors (Teen Wolf)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical everyone but Theo, Possession, Background Relationships, Murder, Minor Character Death, they kill the DD okay it's fine, Familiars, Human Familiars, Under-negotiated Kink, or more like not negotiated but they are both into it, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Orgasm Denial, Familiar Bond, Aged-Up Character(s), They are in university

Words: Chapter: 5995/Total: 9995

Chapters: 2/11

Huge thanks to @amatchinwater for beta-reading!

***

Stiles was woken up by a cold wet nose against his cheek. Something fluffy against his neck. That was weird. The only animal in their house was in Beacon Hills and it didn't have any fur anyway. There was also an extremely annoying ray of sun shining happily right into his face, making him scrunch up his nose but not being able to turn away because of the cold wet nose.

And then it hit him that they didn't have animals in the house.

"What the…"

And then whatever hit him the first time backed up to hit him again and he remembered finding his familiar yesterday. His eyes flew open.

And promptly closed again, because the sun was still there ready to give him the spots.

The nose nudged his cheek again.

"Okay, okay, I'm awake," he pushed the nose away, afraid the wolf would try to lick his face, which he wasn't mentally ready for yet, they didn't know each other like that yet. "I'm up." He sat up, blinking the spots away and stretching with a long, loud sigh. He could hear the wolf's claws hit the floor despite it being carpeted.

Those must be some big claws.

Stiles dragged his hands over his face, gaining the strength to stand up.

The weather cleared up a lot, but the sky was still gray and gloomy for the most part. And Stiles still somehow got sunshine in his face despite this. That sounded just like his luck.

Stiles checked his phone, yawning. 7:26 am. He slowly turned his eyes to look at his familiar indignantly. The wolf was looking in the direction of the kitchen that was clearly visible through the arch entrance between it and the living room.

"Is this going to be my life now? Waking up at dawn to walk you or something."

The wolf looked at him with its blue eyes, clearly deeply unimpressed. Then it turned around and walked in the directions of the kitchen.

Which made Stiles come to two conclusions: first, from this perspective he could tell this was a boy, and second, he didn't have any food to feed him properly. Or at least he didn't know what to feed him. Now that it was morning, he wasn't sure that he should give the wolf the ground beef he had in the fridge.

Stiles scrambled up, rubbing his eye, that was itchy for some reason. He hoped he wasn't allergic to wolf fur suddenly. That would have been kind of a big problem.

Very unfortunate indeed. Spending his whole life on allergy meds in addition to his ADHD ones. That painted a fantastic life perspective for him.

"I need to figure out your name though," he walked into the kitchen, where the wolf was smelling all the cabinets.

Well, as long as he didn't try to get onto the counter, Stiles guessed it was okay.

"Don't try anything," he said, wagging his finger at the wolf just to be glanced at and mostly ignored.

With a sigh, Stiles opened the fridge, peering into it with bleary eyes.

Wolves were terrible at being trained, weren't they? He was going to have to deal with a huge dangerous animal that would hardly listen to him? No, that couldn't be true. People dealt with them somehow. There had to be some kind of magic in place, Stiles just had to do more research about familiars.

How did it even happen if he hadn't done it before?

The meat was thawed but still cold enough, so it was probably fine. Plus it looked like somewhere during the night electricity came back up. Stiles was planning to make some burgers from scratch, and put it into the fridge from the freezer yesterday morning.

It was just some beef. He should probably Google what domestic wolves eat, since the wolf now had to be domestic, but he didn't have much choice right now.

Because it wasn't like he could get any other form of raw meat, and it was probably the closest thing he could get in general around the campus.

"Do you want some beef?"

There was a huge fluffy head sneaking to look into the fridge from under Stiles' elbow, sniffing the package in his hand with interest.

Stiles petted the head with his free hand and got an ear twitch in response.

He didn't know if this was good or bad. He didn't know anything about wolves, really. He should probably do something about it. Another subject to read up on.

Also, he should probably arrange a vet appointment sooner rather than later. What if this big boy got some parasites or something.

And buy all the things he would need for a wolf. The rules were probably close to a dog, right? How different was a domestic wolf from, let's say, a husky? A leash, a collar, a muzzle, some toys if this boy liked them, a bed, bowls, some shampoos, some clothes for when it's raining and some boots for when the asphalt is too hot…

Were there even vets that knew how to deal with wolves in town?

Was this even a wolf?

Did Stiles have money for all of that?

Stiles looked down at his familiar.

He looked back up at Stiles.

The fridge started beeping.

Stiles closed it properly and opened it again looking for he didn't know what.

This was going to be a long day.

***

"I think giving him the beef was a good call, but you should really find an actual vet. With a license and everything. The uni has to have someone who knows about wild animals, including the big ones, there are several there. And where else would they have one anyway?"

Scott had a point. Universities and a couple of big schools were kind of the centers of magical communities. It was, in a way, the easiest place to congregate around, so if there were magical vets specializing in something like big wild animals, they were most likely to be found in a university.

Stiles waved his hand with a chip in it around, anyway, dismissing Scott. He figured out he actually didn't have the money for a vet, and it wasn't that likely that the wolf would die on him, so he decided to take the risk.

"You are a real vet. Just a budget version. Exactly what a poor student needs."

The wolf was lying across Stiles' lap, like a huge heavy blanket, but breathing and with a heartbeat. And leaving black fur literally everywhere.

"I haven't even graduated yet," Scott rubbed his cheek on the other end of the phone screen.

The wolf turned around and took Stiles' chip gently into his teeth, eating it. He didn't even touch Stiles' fingers, but Stiles still didn't expect it, so he was startled a bit.

"Hey! You aren't allowed to eat this!"

"Did he eat your chip?"

"Yeah, he's being a naughty boy. You're a naughty boy, aren't you," he rubbed the wolf's neck with his free hand, smearing some grease from the chips onto the freshly washed fur, making a face at him, talking to him like to a baby.

The bath went way better than Stiles had expected, so he came to the conclusion that the wolf was most likely actually domestic, so Stiles needed to find his previous owners and tell them, maybe pay them something. Another thing on his endless list of things to do. The wolf jumped into the bath himself, waited patiently while Stiles fumbled with the water, and moved just right to help Stiles try to get all of the fur. And there was a lot to get. Stiles had to use his own shampoo, which was probably bad, but the wolf desperately needed a bath, and now neither of them had any shampoo.

Then the wolf waited patiently while Stiles got a towel and let Stiles dry him without any complaints. Even when Stiles had to resort to a blow-dryer. A very old and cheap and absolutely useless one that Mason once got for some sort of random modeling project or something and had never used since. It almost burned from the strain of trying to get through so much fur.

What didn't go well was the shedding. It was the beginning of spring, and Scott said wolves shed around this time, and, well, it seemed to be accurate, judging by the amount of black fur left literally everywhere. And the wolf had been here for less than a day.

But there was a lot of fur, both on the wolf and on everything around him, including Stiles himself, because the wolf wouldn't leave him alone even for a second. He sighed in Stiles' lap, apparently satisfied with life.

Probably leaving behind more fur.

And not even opening an eye to look at him when Stiles talked to him.

That looked to be Stiles' fate from now on. Being ignored and covered in black fur.

The fact that it was black was the worst part of it, really. There was no hiding it or from it. Nothing would cover it completely, unless his whole friend group re-qualified into Men in Black.

Maybe Stiles should collect it, weave it and then learn how to knit to make everyone clothes that would actually hide the fur attack.

Anyway, the wolf didn't even move when Stiles talked to him, seemingly fast asleep, there wasn't even an ear twitch. Despite having just stolen a chip. Stiles knew he wasn't asleep.

He nudged the wolf with his knee, but he was too heavy for Stiles to move properly.

"You should name him," Kira said from Scott's side, appearing on the screen of Stiles' phone.

"Yeah, probably. Do you want a name?" The wolf looked at him this time, lazily, his eyes barely open, and moved his head in a way that very much resembled a shake.

Was he a trained circus wolf, actually? Could he do that? Were there circus wolves? Were there still circuses with animals?

"No? But I need to call you something. I can't just call you ‘Wolf'," Stiles knew he was talking in this voice people only ever used for very little children and pets (or to be annoying), and he had already established that the wolf didn't enjoy it, but Stiles couldn't help himself.

It was an automatic response.

He still felt kind of euphoric from finding his familiar. Well, from his familiar finding him. That's how this magic worked. Your familiar would find you in the time of greatest need and shit.

Liam got his Sega when his parents were divorcing. Stiles tried not to think about what it meant for what was ahead of him in the nearest future, considering the wolf didn't come when his mother was dying and his father was slipping away with her.

The wolf turned away from him, but didn't leave completely, so Stiles counted it as a success.

"Lord Barkula! Like, you know, from that movie where he could only die from a lycanthrope's bite, but like… also Dracula…" both Kira and Stiles looked at Scott with a healthy measure of skepticism.

The wolf made a noise that vaguely resembled a laugh, and Stiles got briefly worried, but he seemed to be breathing fine and not choking on anything, so it must be okay.

"He's a wolf, not a dog."

"I know! But what do you call a wolf?"

"That's exactly what my question is."

"Is it even that different? We named both Jackson and Liam's familiars after jokes, why not mine?"

"Well, yours is way cooler…" Scott shook his head in disbelief.

"I can't believe you got a wolf though," Kira interjected.

"I know, right?! That's so cool!" Stiles ran a hand over the wolf's back.

He seemed to enjoy touching, which Stiles was very relieved about. But then again, why wouldn't his familiar enjoy touching? Magic always made a perfect match. Like soulmates or something, but with animals.

"I wonder why you would become that strong," Scott's expression was thoughtful.

And this was also a great question Stiles hadn't asked himself yet. Well, more like he actively pushed it out of his mind.

He knew some of the magic theory about how familiars worked, and according to it, a familiar was determined by how powerful the magician would ultimately become, and it made sense when you got a familiar as a child when the familiar was clearly meant for a stronger person, your magic was still growing and changing, and you would grow into your familiar. But Stiles was an adult. His magic wasn't supposed to grow anymore. That's why most people found their familiars in their twenties – their magic was finally stable. And Stiles' magic wasn't strong enough for a wolf.

The thing was, the stronger the person was, the bigger and, hypothetically, smarter their familiar was, and a wolf was very much up there. Normally people had animals like hamsters or mice, cats were a bit less common, and dogs were already super cool, but a whole wolf – this was a lot.

Of course, these things happened. Stiles had a person with a bear in his class, which was super inconvenient. There were even known cases of people having had other people as familiars. Which was way out there, there were maybe two people like that now living in the world.

Well, their familiars weren't exactly people. They were were-creatures. Which automatically put them below witches in the magical society. Closer to the non-magical population, because apparently you couldn't be both a werewolf and a witch. Same as Kira was a Kitsune and Lydia was a banshee, and neither of them were witches and couldn't have familiars and their magic was different at its core, etc. Were-creatures could probably be fine in the non-magical world, but it was harder for them to properly control their shifts without magical help. So it was weird and created dynamics that were sometimes abused, but then were-creatures who learned their control well enough could live fine without witches that treated them badly.

Luckily, it still wasn't a general trend.

Although Stiles thought that Lydia could actually have something like a familiar, but not quite and there were no guarantees she would ever get it.

Anyway, a person had to be, well, extremely powerful to get a were-creature as their familiar.

And while a wolf did boost Stiles' confidence, like, immensely, he objectively wasn't strong enough to need one. So the question was, when and how he was going to become strong enough to need a wolf as his power bank.

The thought was terrifying even without Stiles spiraling into an anxiety-induced guessing game of growing and growing horror.

Because the magic was never wrong, and there were things that could make someone stronger. And none of them were good or safe or even wanted most of the time.

Like a possession.

For a short period of time. Like a flash of power that immediately went away.

Stiles felt the presence in the back of his mind, and it was satisfied with his thinking process. It was definitely getting bigger, slowly sending its tentacles deeper into Stiles' mind, finding its rooting there. Stiles was still surprised he didn't have a nightmare last night, but he didn't expect it two nights in a row. At least the demon wasn't strong enough to get to him in the waking world yet.

Or maybe it didn't go with its plans.

The wolf turned back at him, suddenly, sniffing the air, watching him closely, as if feeling something, something that interested him.

Interested but not worried. He didn't growl or show any kind of sign of feeling threatened.

Stiles wondered if it was actually possible for the presence and the wolf to feel each other through Stiles, because he could very clearly feel both of them. Or maybe he sensed Stiles' spike in anxiety? Could it feel the demon? Smell it on Stiles? Would he understand that it was dangerous even if it was in the body of his witch?

Stiles looked at his familiar, and his familiar looked at him.

"Can I spread a possession to my familiar?"

Scott seemed to be confused about the connection, but still nodded.

"Yeah, but only if you lose yourself completely. Your familiar is kind of the last safe space for your soul in case of possession. Some people had moved their souls fully into their animals until there was a way to stop their possession."

Stiles felt horrified.

"And what if they never figured it out?"

Scott shrugged.

Stiles shook his head.

Kira pressed her hand over her mouth.

This sounded like a terrible fate. Both for the human and for the animal, and them both together. A witch loves their familiar, and to knowingly move into them, probably push them out of their own body… That's why Stiles has never even considered becoming a magical vet when getting into university. Plants didn't get possessed.

On the other hand, they also usually didn't get one possessed.

Of course, only Stiles could get into something like that. If there was a way, he would find it.

The presence stirred some more. Stiles didn't understand what triggered it to wake up suddenly.

"Have you found something about what happened to you?" Kira asked.

Stiles shook his head.

They talked about Lydia and Jackson's wedding preparations.

***

The day went by amazingly uselessly. Stiles had done literally nothing, and was trying to tell himself that he was bonding with his familiar and that took a lot of time. He wasn't just losing valuable time, not even working, getting some money for some adorable raincoats for his familiar.

And this actually was mostly what he did: first he ordered some food for both of them (after asking Scott and doing some googling instead of finding a proper vet, of course), fed both of them, took the wolf for a little walk, washed someone's huge paws that left huge prints on the carpet, talked to Scott and Kira (again), and then just mostly looked at dog stuff on his phone sprawled on his bed with his head on the wolf's side. A wolf made a great pillow, it turned out. Stiels' one was also amazingly chill for someone the magic considered a perfect match for, well, Stiles.

The wolf seemed to be content with this and happy to just cuddle while Stiles was having an existential crisis out loud about how he was having a feeling that "the wolf" was going to just stick. He couldn't even name him properly. Was he going to have to lie that the wolf's name was actually "The Wolfred Campbell Pigsley III" or was it too weird even for him and his familiar?

"Maybe I should just call you Wolfgang to have a legit reason to call you Wolfy," he asked the wolf with both of his hands wrist deep in his fur over his head.

Stiles felt already exhausted just thinking about all of it slowly falling out. On him. On the bed. On the couch. On the carpet. Into the bath darin.

The wolf made a sound so full of indignation, it was hard to understand how so much could be contained in one body, and even sat up, looking at Stiles with that doggy frown that apparently wolves had no problem using as well.

"What? You don't like 'Wolfgang'? You have something against it?" He took the wolf's face into his hands, shaking it a little, and talking in his baby voice.

The wolf huffed again, and wiggled away, only to circle himself around Stiles' back again, and Stiles felt so much eye-rolling energy emanating from him, he couldn't not chuckle. Who knew canines were capable of such specific and complicated emotions?

Also, the wolf hated to be talked to as a little cute thing, but he was so unbelievably cuddly, Stiles just couldn't contain himself. It was just so adorable. What did the wolf expect when he wouldn't leave Stiles' side for a second, constantly finding ways to put at least one part of his body on him? It was good when it was just one, because this boy was heavy, and Stiles was full of fragile human bones.

Which Stiles guessed was normal for a wolf, but he still didn't appreciate all of it pressing onto his very breakable body. He wasn't sure that much cuddling was okay, though. Maybe there was something wrong with him and he was afraid of losing Stiles so much he wouldn't let him out of his sight. Maybe he had some kind of trauma like that. Maybe he was left somewhere.

Or maybe it was just him feeling the need to bond more until the magic settled completely and then he would chill separately from Stiles.

Stiles wasn't sure which one he preferred. He couldn't afford a therapist for himself, how could he afford one for the wolf?

He slid lower against the warm fluffy side, his chin now almost pressed to his chest.

He was pretty sure it was the wrong texture for wolf fur, although he had never touched a wolf. But then again, he had to use his own shampoo on the wolf. So now everything smelled like that weird specific aroma that all things for guys had because as much as Lydia loved to complain about it, this was the only shampoo that worked for Stiles.

It seemed to have gotten some stuck dirt and, more concerningly, what looked like blood (but then again, Stiles didn't know how long the wolf had to travel, even if it was domestic and could be from anywhere, he had to get food somewhere) off the fur, so it was fine for now.

Stiles groaned when he remembered that he still didn't clean up the dirty prints all over the living room and in the bathroom.

But this was tomorrow Stiles' concern now. Stiles wished him good luck.

For now, he was going to choose things to spoil his familiar with.

In reasonable borders, of course. And probably still buy none of them.

He was meaning to start with food and maybe basic meds, like humans had, but he still somehow ended first in the dog beds sections (the choice for big puppies was way too limited for his taste, why was his wolf discriminated against in the puppy community immediately), and from there, in collars and leashes.

That seemed to interest the wolf for some reason, if the fluffy ear appearing in the corner of Stiles' vision was anything to go by.

"Oh now you want to be friends again, but not when I'm trying to figure out a proper name for you. I see, I see."

The wolf huffed.

He scrolled through the big dog collars and opened one with spikes on it.

"Do you like this one?"

The wolf just turned his head to the side a bit. His level of communication skill was still concerning for Stiles. He had to be brought up with humans.

Maybe he knew what collars and leashes were the best, so he just saw a familiar picture or something, and he reacted to it.

"Okay."

Stiles went back to scrolling, slowly, looking himself and letting the wolf look.

Until the wolf nudged his hand with his head.

"What? Did you see something?" he scrolled back up a bit, even slower this time.

The wolf nudged his hand again and then tried to point at something in the screen with his nose.

"This one? Do you like this one?" The wolf nodded.

Stiles wasn't sure exactly how intelligent wolves were, but he was fairly sure dogs didn't normally communicate in what was clearly human gestures even if they were brought up with humans. Was this also familiar magic, or did he get a genius familiar?

"I'm starting to think you have been brought up by humans with kids and have never been socialized even with dogs, that's why you're so weird. I should find the family then, tell them that you're fine," Stiles could feel something very confusing and complicated through their connection.

Because now he apparently could do that. The emotions weren't that clear in general, just a vague shape if he concentrated, but it was still weird to feel it next to the presence still in his head, but it was almost like the connection pushed it a bit deeper, making it relinquish whatever territory it had gotten before.

Anyway, the connection still wasn't strong enough yet for Stiles to figure it out.

The wolf made that laughing sound again.

The presence in Stiles' head still tried to reach its little grabby metaphysical hands toward Stiles' familiar.

Stiles felt instantly alert, and this apparently stopped it somehow. Maybe it didn't like to be noticed. Maybe it could only do things when Stiles wasn't paying attention.

Maybe it was just adjusting and planning how to attack Stiles in full force later, rebuilding everything with the new player in the game, since the wolf was also in Stiles' head and could become Stiles' last hiding place from full destruction. Why a demon would want to destroy Stiles if he wasn't fighting him for the body wasn't a question that Stiles had an answer to, but that didn't matter for the ideas he had built in his mind.

He had to hurry up with his research. Instead of laying here and staring at things he couldn't afford anyway.

The wolf must have felt something, through their connection or just because he was, well, a canine, and could smell hormonal spikes and shit, but he looked at Stiles with his ears up and alert, the body behind Stiles' head tense.

Did he also get a free service dog?

"It's okay, I'm fine. I just need to find a way to get rid of it. I'm not going to let it touch you."

The wolf looked at Stiles for some time more and then bumped the phone with his nose.

"Oh yeah. Do you like this collar? It would look amazing with your eyes. Although you can't tell, you can't see color. How do you even have a preference about collars? You're so weird," Stiles glanced at the wolf with a frown, fluffing the fur somewhere on his thigh with the free hand.

The collar was simple, actually. It was just a broad soft leather band with a silver metal piece and ring on it. The dark-green color of it would actually look beautifully against the wolf's fur, not the eyes, but Stiles said what he said.

"You are into elegant stuff, aren't you? I'm pretty sure this one could pass as a pretty kinky human choker. Although the one with the spikes could too. You sure you don't want that one? That one is metal," Stiles pet the one fluffy leg he could reach comfortably in slow motions now, playing with the fur.

It was so deep, Stiles was still amazed.

So much to put everywhere, huh. Stiles should be getting used to it, with all this cuddling, He was probably going to have it with every meal and every drink from now on.

The wolf pointed at the simple collar again, as if confirming his choice.

"Okay, I'm going to get you this one. But I'm getting the leash with skulls."

Stiles thought that they would clash terribly, and he liked the idea.

The wolf turned away from him and placed his head on his front paws.

"You don't understand the art of it! Both of those are going to be here tomorrow morning."

***

The next two days went in a similar way, and Stiles was getting more and more anxious about how he should find his routine again. He hated the routine, but he had to admit he was the most productive with one, and he still had things to do for school before the break ended. Also, he should work. And the wolf would probably benefit from a structured day.

The more his anxiety grew, the deeper Stiles sank into the floor he was laying on, even despite being quite happy that the demon in his body still hadn't done anything.

But right now that wasn't what he was thinking about.

In fact, he wasn't thinking at all. He couldn't.

Right now, Stiles was having a nightmare.

He was pretty sure that was what was happening, but he couldn't wake up. He didn't know how to stop this. He couldn't get out.

The house was covered in blood. Stiles knew he did this. He didn't remember how, or who exactly was in the house, but he was sure it was him. There was blood on his shirt, on his pajama pants, on his hands, he could feel it on his drying into a solid mask on his way too hot skin.

He felt laughter bubble up in his chest as he walked the corridor from his room to the stairs into the living room, trailing a hand against the wall, leaving a long streak of red on the light-blue paint. There was someone else in the house, he didn't care who, he wanted to murder them, slowly, painfully, relishing their screams, feeling their suffering fill him up with energy.

Stiles loved this.

Stiles hated this.

He was in his element.

He wanted to get out.

He couldn't decide whether he wanted to use a knife or some glass for his next kill.

He didn't want to live in his nightmare.

Glass won.

He slowly walked into the kitchen, quietly, making sure to produce the least amount of noise possible so his little victim wouldn't know when to run. Stiles could hardly keep himself from whistling, he was so excited, more full of life than he had ever been before.

There was a loud bark behind his back, and the glass that he got out of the cupboard fell down, breaking into pieces. Well, that was according to his plan, but in his dream, there were no dogs.

His heart was beating like a rabbit's. He couldn't catch his breath, but he was pretty sure he wasn't having a panic attack, at least not yet. Which was good. It was a start. He looked down at his bare feet next to some broken glass. It was glittering prettily in what little light sneaked all the way around the house from the street to find its way through the kitchen window.

Stiles felt sick, and he was soaking wet with sweat, and he was trembling. Leaned heavily on one arm on the counter, wiping some sweat from his face with the other.

He slowly turned around, trying not to step into the glass, his back leaning against the counter now.

The wolf was sitting in the kitchen entrance, the ring on his elegant collar glittering in the same light almost as prettily as the glass, watching Stiles with what Stiles most closely identified as interest and excitement.

Still absolutely no concern. Did the wolf trust his witch that much? Didn't this clearly crazy shit bother him at all?

Stiles was probably giving him too much credit. He probably only felt Stiles' weird mood but didn't understand anything. He was a wolf, after all.

"Why are you excited, you weird ball of fluff?" His voice was hoarse, and his throat was so dry he could hardly speak.

It was like that time he ate sand.

The wolf came closer slowly, his eyes still on Stiles.

"Don't come here, there's glass, it's dangerous. It can cut your paws. It'll hurt," Stiles pointed at the glass and tried to speak clearly, like to a toddler.

Maybe the wolf knew some of these words.

Stiles slid down the counter, sitting on the amazingly cool tiled floor, despite his own warnings, but he couldn't stand right now.

The wolf sat next to him, taking Stiles' hug readily.

They just sat there for a bit, Stiles' heart slowing down, the wolf a warm calming presence. And the thing in his head was somewhere in hiding again.

"Thank you for waking me up, though" he placed a gentle kiss on the wolf's forehead. "Now that we're awake, how about a snack?"

Stiles stood back up slowly.

"It's not like you brushed your teeth before bed. Oh hell, I'll need to get you those little cleaning bones or something, don't I?"

He didn't sleepwalk normally, but he knew that sleepwalking and nightmares could be side effects of possession.

So his demon was getting more active. It hadn't done anything like that before.

Stiles had to do something about it, and fast. Like yesterday.

"Let's see what we've got here," he opened the fridge, making sure to avoid as much glass as he could, casting a little spell to get a glass out of the cupboard without even looking at it.

He turned around with a jump at the sound of breaking glass. And then another. And then another.

And then another.

All the glasses were throwing themselves out of the cupboard and onto the counter and breaking in a shower of myriad sparkly glass shards, almost like a frozen waterfall.

The wolf was looking at all of it, a bit to the side, startled. At least he was far away from the sea of glass right now, he must've jumped away or something.

"Shit, shit, shit, what the fuck, what's… stop, stop, stop," Stiles made the stop spell motion several times until he remembered the words, but it somehow worked anyway. Worked very well, throwing the doors shut so hard, they flew right back open again, gallivanting to a stop in the ringing silence that fell over the kitchen suddenly, like a snow blizzard.

Stiles couldn't pull off magic without words. He didn't have enough power. He looked at his hands, confused. This shouldn't be possible. First his simple spell took out all of the glasses instead of one, and now he stopped it without the incantation.

Stiles shouldn't be able to do this.

He shouldn't need a wolf familiar.

"What the fuck…" he muttered, still looking at his hands, moving them, bending and straightening his fingers, feeling like these hands weren't his.

By the feeling of it, the feeling of how much magic he threw out just now, he actually had to do more than close the doors, but there were magic absorbents in the wall, he hoped he didn't destroy them. The spell was way too strong. And just from an intention.

Was it possible that the demon in him was making him stronger? Was it going to have lasting effects, and was this why he got a wolf? He knew it was possible, he just didn't expect it to happen to him.

He was going to burn out soon this way. Was he going to die? Stiles suddenly was too exhausted to feel anything about it.

He really didn't want to deal with adjusting to the new power level, not right now, he felt exhausted by simply thinking, even if this level wasn't going to last long.

"Hell," said someone.

And it wasn't Stiles' voice.

That made Stiles tense up immediately. His brain flew back into panic mode again in an instant. He was home alone. He didn't recognize the voice, so it wasn't one of his neighbors. And they didn't have keys anyway, and Stiles was a cop's son, he made sure his doors were locked. So it was a stranger in his house in the middle of the night.

All of this went through his head in the second it took him to turn to the source of the voice.

Only to find a very naked guy in a very elegant dark blue collar with a silver piece and a ring kneeling where Stiles' familiar was sitting just a moment ago.

#teen wolf #steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #sdiwitw #my fandom #my writing stuff

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

invisible string

pairing: scott mccall/isaac lahey, background kira yukimura/malia tate and lydia martin/stiles stilinski

fandom: teen wolf

rating: mature

word count: 8924

warning: swearing, alcohol, past child abuse, minor character death, referenced homophobia

summary: When your soulmate gets a tattoo, the same one appears on your skin. And Scott McCall fears that they don't have one. (soulmates au, nonbinary Scott, they/them pronouns)

(hello my loves, i’ve been working on this project for @augustwritingchallenge for ages and it’s finally done! i missed scisaac and self projected on scott so yeah. thank you to my beloved Kaz for beta-reading, you’re life saver!!! i hope you all like this <3)

read on ao3

Scott McCall doesn’t have a soulmate.

They talk about it on television, in school, on the playground, in the supermarket. Scott hears their mom talk about it, and their classmates, and their teachers.

This is why they ask their mom late at night before they go to bed, at eleven years old. “How will I know who my soulmate is, mom?”

Their mother looked confused, but with her soft, familiar smile. They love her smile.

“Didn’t your teacher tell you, sweetheart?” she asks, and Scott has to concentrate, think back to every class and every word and every question. They bite their lip as they think, and their mom laughs in fondness, ruffles their hair. They push her hand away, even though it’s not that annoying, really.

“She said you get drawings on your body…” they begin, but frowns at themself, “But I don’t understand how. Will my soulmate’s name be in the drawings?”

Scott likes drawing, a lot. They don’t really understand how drawings would show them who their soulmate is, though, unless it’s their face.

Their mother chuckles again, but sits quiet for a minute. Scooby-Doo is still running on low volume on the TV, and the crickets have begun to chirp outside the window. And it’s windy, but Scott isn’t cold.

“They’re called tattoos,” she tells them, resting her head on top of their own as she hugs them, “I mean, it’s just something that happens. Your soulmate’s drawings, when they get them, you get them, too.”

Scott’s eyes widen, “Oh. Did they see what Stiles doodled on my hand in class today?”

Their mom plants a kiss on their hair before pulling away. Her eyes get all crinkled when she smiles so big, it’s very pretty. “I think so, yes.”

They chew their lip in some sort of contemplation, if they understood what that meant, yet. They can leave messages for their soulmate, then. They like that. But…

“When can I meet them?”

Scott’s mother sighs quietly, but doesn’t look angry or sad or disappointed, just tired. She turns off the TV and starts clearing up the coffee table while she replies, “Somehow you find them. Everyone finds theirs differently, different times. Their drawings tell a lot about them.”

They don’t like that answer that much. Ugh. They huff impatiently, “But I want to meet them! Now!”

And, of course, their mom is already picking them up, carrying them upstairs while chuckling quietly. The house seems bigger without their dad here. And more peaceful.

They like it much better like this. Hopefully it stays this way. Just Scott and their mom, they don’t need anyone else, they can’t even bring themself to care about where their dad might be or might be doing.

Okay, they need Stiles, though. His dad is nice, too.

“You’ll meet them, Scott,” their mother says while tucking them, “I promise you will, one day. But you have to be patient.”

They hate waiting. But their mom knows everything, she knows all the little beautiful things about the world, so Scott knows she’s right. Patience.

“Okay. Pinky promise?” they ask.

She hugs them again, for good measure. “Pinky promise.”

Scott has to be satisfied with the answer. But although their mother turns off the lights and leaves the door to their room just slightly ajar, they hide under their duvet with the sketchpad she gave them for their birthday last year.

Maybe this soulmate thing is like… a string. A string connecting them and whoever’s made for them, even though they’re miles away, at the other end of the world, even. They can’t see it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Like air.

They like that. An invisible string.

Scott draws two hands, connected by the string tied on their pinky fingers. They use the gold pen for the string.

Lately, the thought of their soulmate has moved to the back of Scott’s mind.

It rests there, because after months of worrying and thinking and crying and what they now recognize as gender dysphoria , Scott is about to tell their best friend that they’re nonbinary. They’re so fucking scared, they almost want to cry again.

They’ve already told their mom, which took them a month alone to decide on. Because what if she suddenly saw them differently? What if she didn’t love them anymore? What if she kicked them out?

It’s always been her and them, against the world. That couldn’t change.

And luckily, thank the stars and heavens above, it didn’t, and Scott’s never been so relieved in their life. They didn’t expect her to be close-minded or bigoted, they’ve always thought the highest of her, but the possibility, the fear still nagged there. They were so fucking glad to put it to rest, finally.

So here Scott is, in their bedroom on a late Wednesday afternoon, waiting for Stiles to finish his homework before he comes over to play video games, as they always do, twice a week, even though their parents eagerly want them to wait for the weekend.

Scott’s heart feels like it’ll jump out of their chest at any second.

They finally know who they are. They only assume the last puzzle piece of their whole self, of their soul to be completed by their soulmate, but the sense of peace they felt when they finally thought… this is who I am. This is who I’m meant to be .

What if Stiles doesn’t understand? No, what if he doesn’t accept them for who they are? What if his love is conditional? Fuck . Scott almost wants to scream.

Their heart is still clawing its way out of their chest when their best friend finally knocks on their window and lets himself in, a huge grin plastered on his face and carrying his own selection of games for them to compare with their own.

Stiles is always so happy. Well, not always, but he’s the rock Scott so desperately needs right now, like he’s been so many times before, and like they’ve been for him. They’ve drawn him many times before, and he always says he likes the drawings. And they let him doodle on their arm and hand when he’s anxious, because somehow they both find comfort in this.

They know the two of them aren’t soulmates, they think of each other as family rather than romantically, but they’re still meant for each other, they think. They hope. Stiles knows them better than anyone else, even their mother.

“You ready, Scotty?” he asks, chipper as ever, already turning on the playstation, and the nickname calms their ever painful heartbeat, just a little.

Here goes nothing.

“Yeah, uhm… Stiles?” they speak around the lump in their throat, “Can- can we talk first?”

Their best friend looks up at them from the floor, a slightly confused look on his face, but the smile intact. He returns to seat himself on the couch, not grabbing the remote. That makes Scott smile.

“Of course, Scotty. Is something wrong?”

“No. Yes. Uh, no. Shit, sorry-” they’re already stumbling over the words, fuck, but Stiles puts a hand on their shoulder, tentatively, but his precense calm and assuring.

“Don’t apologise!” his smile is crooked, and he crosses his legs before continuing, “You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean, take your time!”

Scott nods. They take a deep breath, the seconds ticking by. Closes their eyes together just for a moment. Opens again.

“Stiles, I…” they’re trying, calming their heartbeat with breathing in through their nose and out through their mouth, like their mom taught them. You can do this. “Please don’t freak out. I’m still me, like… I don’t wanna lose you.”

Their best friend frowns. “You’re not gonna lose me, Scotty.”

Scott gulps, nods. They’re trying. Really trying. “I’m nonbinary.”

They keep their eyes squeezed shut when they say it. It’s out there now. They don’t want to see his face change, if his reaction is bad, but they have to. They have to look. A beat passes. And Scott opens their eyes to find their best friend looking at them, smiling so hard his dimples are visible and nose scrunches up.

Oh, my god. That’s good, right?

“That’s great!” Stiles almost shouts, practically jumping in his seat. He does realise his volume, though, particularly since Scott’s mom is sleeping before her night shift. He clears his throat, “Scotty, oh my god. Sorry, I got excited. Thank you for telling me.”

Scott could almost fucking cry, again. But it’s happy tears this time, the nerves vanishing ever so slowly.

“You’re not… upset?”

Their best friend almost looks offended at the question, “Why in the world would I be upset?”

Scott bites their lip. God, they love Stiles so much, “I don’t know, uhm. I was scared you wouldn’t wanna be friends with me anymore. Because I’m not a boy.”

The brunette next to them goes all soft and gooey in his eyes, Scott would know that look anywhere. He also looks like he wants to jump them with hugs, but holding himself back, “Scotty, we’re ride or die, remember? I love you. You’re my best friend and that won’t change. What kind of asshole would I be to leave you like that?”

Scott laughs, Stiles is urging to hug them they can tell, like an oversized puppy.

And they’re speaking around the newly formed tears now, “I love you, Stiles. Like, so much. Thank you.”

Their best friend is grinning like an idiot. “What pronouns do you want to go by? Oh, and should I call you something else- like, not Scott?”

“I still like Scott,” they tell him, not bothering to cover the crying, because whatever. They’ve cried in front of each other plenty, “I’d like they/them pronouns, though, I think.”

Stiles nods eagerly, “Got it!” Then, “Can I hug you now?”

Scott rolls their eyes. Of course. “Yeah, come on.”

Their best friend practically tackles them in the hug, but it’s so bloody welcome, and so warm. Thank God they’re already sitting down.

“I want to be a tattoo artist,” Scott tells their friends at lunch, career day still settled in their mind from weeks ago, and the arguments roaming in their head on how to convince their mom to let them go for their first tattoo next month. It’s for their birthday.

Feels natural when they’ve always been fascinated by art as much as them. The galleries their mother took them to, they’re endlessly grateful for that, honestly.

And art summer school, and art elective, one thing leads to another. And tattooing is just art with skin as a canvas, they can’t stop thinking about it. Little works of art on your body, to carry around with you every day. It feels so special and with so much meaning - or with no meaning, they’re just as fun.

Stiles already knows - of course he does - and he’s excited about it, still, while Allison smiles as sweetly as ever, Malia’s eyes widen and she’s already convincing Scott to make her first one, and Isaac… is smirking?

It’s shy, but it’s there, they’re sure of it.

He was transferred to their high school six months ago, and frankly fits perfectly into their group, Scott thinks, even though their best friend doesn’t exactly get along with him. They’re idiots, but oh well, their idiots.

Isaac was nervous at first, they could tell. But when Scott gave him a smile in class, he gave one back, tentative, hesitant, but it couldn’t be mistaken. And once they started talking to him, questioning the red haired boy about games and lacrosse and his schedule, he opened up, slowly and surely.

Even though Scott did much of the talking at first, Isaac didn’t seem to mind. They apologised, knowing how fast and excited they can be, much like Stiles, but he still accepted the offer of having lunch with the gang, and he’s witty, and smart, and a good listener. Well, Stiles disagrees, but you know. They bicker just for the hell of it, at this point.

The two girls missing from the table quickly join them and Kira’s eager to catch up, “What are we talking about?”

Scott likes Kira, a lot. Maybe… maybe she’s their soulmate. God, they don’t know.

Her smile is very pretty, she knows so much cool stuff about astrology and is like, easily the best player on the lacrosse team, by a mile. Jackson’s always on her ass because he’s a douche, and definitely power-hungry after being named the new captain, but Kira rolls her eyes at him and brushes him off like it’s nothing. Scott admires her.

The two of them can talk for hours about music and other shit that Stiles only rolls his eyes a little bit at, but even though he calls them nerds, he also joins them way too often and unashamedly.

And he’s just acting uninterested to seem cool in front of Lydia, usually.

But at the same time, Isaac’s smile is also very pretty, and his jokes are the best. He always laughs at Scott’s jokes, too, which they really like. He keeps whispering sarcastic comments in their ear during class and rolls his eyes when the teachers aren’t looking, which makes Scott laugh.

And he’s an expert at texting in secret, always sending them pictures he took over the weekend of graffiti tags around town and puppies on the train and bumblebees, all because those reminded him of them.

Isaac’s nose gets all scrunched up when he laughs and his eyes squeeze shut.

The boy also loves zombie movies, which is a huge plus in their book, and wears big floppy sweaters that are excellent for hugs. Isaac is already a really good hugger, he’s always… warm and soft and safe.

Maybe he’s their soulmate. Stiles would be so upset if that were true, ha.

Scott’s listened to their mother, though, they know patience is a virtue, and maybe neither of them are their soulmate. None of them have found their soulmate yet, anyway, so they shouldn’t stress, right now, they should just look forward to the future.

“Scott’s gonna give me my first tattoo!” Malia exclaims excitedly, Lydia only seeming mildly surprised, “Right, Scott?”

They laugh, they love the brunette’s undying loyalty and curiosity a lot, “I gotta practice first, but yeah, of course.”

“You’ll get us all tattoos, right?” Allison winks at them, “We can be your guinea pigs.”

Lydia chimes in, “Not gonna happen.”

“Oh, come on Lydia!” Stiles gasps, “Don’t you trust my best friend?”

He’s so giving her heart eyes, right now. Scott’s used to it by now, and it’s adorable, only slightly annoying, given that his plan of asking her out has yet to be set in motion. They wonder if the redhead has noticed.

Lydia sends a crooked smile in their direction after flipping their best friend off, “I’ll trust them when they’re trained. No offense, babe.”

They shake their head, patting Stiles’ back. Love the defense of their honor, even when unneeded. “I feel the same way, Lyds.”

The support is unwavering and overwhelming with all of them, even Lydia. The most surprising and pleasant thing of the day, though, is when Isaac purses his lips as they walk to P.E., then smiles at Scott in a way they know is only meant for them, “You can practice on me, even though I’ll probably faint from the needle. Maybe I could get a turtle.”

Scott can’t hide their grin, “I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When Scott gets their first tattoo, Stiles holds their hand - before he faints, that is. He recovered quickly, it was endearing, really. They felt fine however; maybe the excitement filled up too much of their being to be worried about the pain.

Thankfully their mother approved of the tattoo and what they wanted to do with their art. She’d always been supportive, but, you know… sometimes, they worry too much. About everything.

She liked the drawing they chose, too.

Two rings around their bicep, simple black lines, but it meant a lot to them, and far, far from the last. It’s like them and their mother, they think: constant orbit with each other. She’s always protected them. They always want to protect her. Stiles called them a big old sap for it, and he’s right.

Scott planned it on their birthday, making sure to have the whole gang out for the fair, and roller skates, and showing off their tattoo with buckets of pride.

And if their stomach soared a little whenever a certain tall red haired boy smiled at them, that’s for themself to deal with. They think their best friend might be getting suspicious, given the half fond, half intensely weird looks he’s given them lately, when the whole group’s gotten together, but never said anything.

God knows if they knew what they would do about it. Scott doesn’t understand it, but… Isaac looking at them just feels right. It’s probably a little dangerous crushing on one of your close friends. Especially when you don’t know if they’re your soulmate, or who they are at all.

But apparently the universe finds it appropriate to sort this maybe or maybe not issue for them, after the fall break, when Scott finds Isaac’s seat strangely empty, and suddenly, the teacher’s shocking them to their core when she lets the class know the red haired boy’s been pulled out of the school and his family’s relocating.

In Paris. What… what the hell?

Scott doesn’t understand it. They can’t.

Isaac hasn’t said anything about this, they don’t remember, neither to them alone or to the whole group. Even Stiles looks at them with wide eyes, and Allison’s frowning from the back row.

The whole week the group doesn’t quite… work. They try to process it. Fuck. It just feels weird, unreal, not real at all.

Why would the boy just leave like that, unannounced? They would’ve hoped he would say goodbye. Scott doesn’t find themself wishing for an explanation, they just wanted to say goodbye. And ask if they did something wrong. Anything.

But the gang tries, of course, the routine returns piece by piece, even though Stiles and Lydia still argue about their possible theories on why Isaac left.

Scott just feels so, so guilty, for absolutely no reason. He seemed different after their birthday, somehow, which they’re only just thinking about now. Maybe they’re making it up, to rationalize it, somehow. They’ve got no fucking idea.

He didn’t come to school for a few days after their birthday party, that is, but… he was sick, he said. Just a fever. It was fine, he said.

Scott should get out of their own head. And Stiles says he’s the overthinker of the two.

And while their little world seems to circulate, still, Scott just feels numb, until three weeks later. Until their mother drops down on the couch while they’re watching reruns of Jeopardy and suddenly Scott has tears trickling down their cheeks, without even realising it.

Their mom seems just as confused, and upset, as themself, but she wraps her arms around them without even asking, of course she does. She tries to protect them.

But there’s nothing to protect them from, really. Just sadness. And a broken heart, maybe, one that they’re not even sure how to mend.

God, they wish Isaac was here. Guess he’s not their soulmate, after all.

Kira’s the first one of the group to find their soulmate. Actually, Kira and Malia, because it turns out they’re meant for each other.

It makes sense immediately to Scott, knowing of the brunette’s crush on the other girl, one she’s made vocal to them and Stiles since sophomore year. Wide eyes, making excuses for Kira to help her with her homework, grabbing extra dessert for her. Scott’s been rooting for them ever since they realised.

It’s just before senior year; where Malia proudly shows off the rubber duck tattoo Scott gave her on her ankle, after much discussion of how it should look.

“Like a rubber duck,” she told them, “But you know, with legs. Like a real duck. But not real.”

Scott had furrowed their brows while trying to follow, “Like a cartoon?”

And since she nodded, absolutely ecstatic, they got to work. They were so lucky to find an internship, and a mentor, and their mother looked so proud, almost near the verge of tears. She’s so dramatic sometimes, they love her for that.

Malia was a bit squeamish at first, which Scott doesn’t blame her for in any way, obviously. The ankle is a brave place for the first one, they’ll admit, but their friend insisted relentlessly, and they had to give in.

She put on a brave face soon enough, and took Stiles’ hand as much as she refused and called him a dick. And it turned out cool as hell!

Scott concentrates, hard, as they practice, and they’re still getting used to skin as opposed to paper. Softer, and they have to reangle their hands from time to time, even though they’re still stuck on smaller pieces for now.

They’ve been chewing their lip so much in concentration that it started bleeding once, a reminder to work off that habit. Maybe they should get Stiles to call them out on it. Like, do an eagle scream, or something, as he does whenever he wants to get their attention already.

Speaking of their best friend, he’s gotten a little better with it already, not afraid to look at the process now.

“It’s fascinating, I’ll admit,” he tells them on yet another one of their traditional game nights, “But way, way too painful, Scotty. How do you put yourself through several of them?”

Their own first was on the arm, of course, which isn’t too bad, and they kept the second one on their arm as well; Kermit the Frog. It’s funny. They like the Muppets. Sue them. Stiles loved it, too, so they’ve already got approval. Lydia definitely loves it, too, despite her initial skepticism.

But as Malia lifts her foot to show everyone on the bleachers, tradition as they wait for Kira to get off lacrosse practice, the very same girl nearly chokes on her water, prompting concerned looks from everyone, until Kira sits down and reveals her own ankle. The duck.

Needless to say, Malia becomes a blushing mess.

Kira, however, doesn’t look surprised at all. “I knew it was you!”

“Y-you did?” the girl stammers out, her foot still hanging in the air, probably out of sheer shock.

The dark haired girl giggles, wiping the sweat off of her forehead, before crossing her legs. She looks near bliss, Scott thinks. They’ve never seen an expression like that before. It makes them crave meeting their own even more.

The group stays in a strange, light, peaceful sort of silence until the coach calls Kira back, Malia’s face practically looking like a tomato at that point. Stiles is laughing hysterically at her, leaning on Scott’s shoulder, and she punches him several times until he hides behind them, almost using them as a shield. Almost, because Malia would never hit Scott, obviously, that’s reserved for the boy cowering behind them.

Their friends are such idiots.

The brunette freezes on the spot when her soulmate gets up, planting a kiss on her forehead before running off, saluting the group.

“We’ll meet at the ice cream stand!” she yells. Scott salutes back. Malia waves awkwardly.

“You okay, Mal?” they gotta ask, to reassure themself she hasn’t mentally shut off.

“Oh my god,” she squeaks, “Oh, yeah. Yeah!”

Stiles laughs even louder than before. Allison joins him. Malia may chase them both across the field, until the coach has to break them up, and now, the girl easily jumps into her soulmate’s embrace for protection.

Lydia shakes her head at it all. All in all an outstanding day for them, Scott thinks.

Straight out of graduation, tearful goodbyes to their friends even though they’ll see each other the week after, Scott’s got so far they’re taking clients. Their boss is proud of their progress, and they were a nervous wreck before the evaluation, but God, they feel a little proud of themself, too.

Of course, this means their friends are eager for them to practice on them and save money.

Kira’s the first in line; she wants the solar system, on a line down her spine. Scott isn’t surprised when she eagerly tells them about the planet symbolism, and she intensely stares at them drawing up the design, Malia sharing the excitement.

It’s her second, actually, the first being the one she got last year, in honor of her mom. She also seemed profusely apologetic for not going to Scott for her first, which they found adorable.

And yeah, they have to break it up in two sessions with a large piece like this, luckily the both of them are staying in town.

When Kira sees the finished result, she almost cried, they swear. “The colors are amazing, oh my God,” she tells them, already spinning around excitedly and hugging them tightly, “Thank you babeeeee. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Scott always finds themself giggling along with the girls, it’s only natural, “Don’t mention it.”

The two of them gasp, as shocked as in a Greek tragedy. “Keep mentioning it, dummy.” she tells them, and Malia adds, “You gotta book me for next week. I want a wolf!”

Allison’s the farthest away from the group, three states over; of course, they keep the promise of monthly reunions, more than once a month, even, which makes Scott feel impossibly warm every time. They still kind of wish Isaac was there. Damn.

It’s in April when Allison brings them a drawing she wants tattooed on her forearm. A portrait of a woman, with a bow and arrow, a stag at her side, and the moon looming over them both. It’s gorgeous.

“Obviously you’re a better artist than me, but this is my general idea,” she says sheepishly, as they hand her her bubble tea, “It’s Artemis.”

Greek goddess of animals and nature, that childhood obsession with mythology wasn’t for nothing. Allison’s been doing archery since she was thirteen, so it practically screams her. Scott gets seriously nervous about it, to be honest, like anxiously sweating kind of nervous, but luckily, she loves it. Thank God. They’re always scared to fuck up, especially on their friends.

But it’s way, way easier now, like they could do it asleep.

And that’s sort of put to the test, actually, because Stiles and themself decide to get drunk off their asses one Friday night, it’s been ages. And fuck it, they’re allowed to have fun. And enjoy cheap, horribly tasting beer at that.

Once they get home to Scott’s flat (taking the subway of course, even though their best friend had to be dragged away from his truck, they really dodged a bullet there, Jesus), Stiles gets to that point of his drunkenness where he starts getting philosophical and a little sad.

“What if I never meet them, Scotty,” he whines, in reference to his soulmate, that is. Scott themself gets extremely jumpy and bubbly under the influence, without failure, but they still know that frustration all too well.

“You will, honey,” they tell him.

“You promise?!”

“Prooooomise.”

They both contemplate his soulmate’s tattoos for a while. A flock of birds on his ribcage, a Sylvia Plath quote by his shoulder, a tree with its roots circling his wrist.

Neither of them has anyone they know in mind, but anything is possible! Scott still hasn’t spotted any of their soulmate’s tattoos. They’ve been thinking about it for some time now, and well. It’s disappointing, but they have plenty of time. They’ll get plenty more tattoos themself to their already growing sleeve, so they try not to worry about it too much.

Their best friend suggests they play Mario Kart, which can only end in disaster, but then, “You should tattoo my ass, Scotty.”

Scott blinks twice, the statement shocking their drunk brain just a bit, “What?

“My ass!” he exclaims, now happier than ever, yearning for his soulmate forgotten in a split second, “Babe, pleaseee. Wait. Wait, wait, draw Harrison Ford.”

They can’t even process the request before their best friend pulls a headshot of said actor up, and starts clearing the sofa, “Indiana Jones is his best role, like… like… yeah.”

Scott laughs long and hard, this is insane. Of course, their judgement is clouded by the alcohol, right now, so what the fuck, why not.

This is why Stiles ends up lying on his stomach with his jeans halfway down, Scott sitting by his feet, the light of the iPhone glaring both their eyes at 4am.

“Ow!” he yells, like, thirty times, each time they have to laugh and then shush him, because they really can’t deal with noise complaints as sleep deprived as they are right now.

“Stop moving!” they tell him.

“But I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Stiles drags out the two-letter word to the greatest extent, “Nooooo.”

“Yes,” they laugh again, “I believe in you.”

“Love you, Scotty,” their best friend proclaims, still yelling a bit, but finally lying relatively still.

Scott rolls their eyes, “Love you too, idiot. Won’t be long now.”

“Make sure you capture his eyes right, babe! It’s extremely important!”

“I know, I know.”

To Scott’s great surprise, the tattoo turns out incredibly detailed.

In fact, it might be some of their best work yet. They’re not quite sure if they should be proud that they can work while intoxicated, or ashamed that their best work is, well… when they’re not sober.

Stiles laughs for almost two hours straight, then gushes over it.

“I’m sorry, man,” they had to say, “It was stupid.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” he tells them from where he’s admiring his own ass in the mirror, “This is incredible. Holy fuck. You captured his DILF-yness perfectly.”

Scott rubs their eyes, they have slept till 2pm, and the sunlight still isn’t doing wonders for them, “His what?”

Their best friend returns to their bed and burrows his face in the pillow. “He’s a DILF! Dad I’d like to fuck!”

That’s definitely an explanation that wakes Scott right up. They’ve never heard of that acronym, but fair enough. They’re also rather speechless, which the boy next to them senses, when Stiles looks up and shakes his head, “Scotty, Scotty. Aren’t you lucky you have such an insightful best friend as myself?”

The morning ends in a pillow fight, naturally.

It’s no more than a day after their night out that Scott finally, finally convinces Stiles to call Lydia and ask her on a date.

He’s sworn to his ten-year plan for ages now, with little to no action on his part, so this is major progress. Their best friend spills all his worries to them, but honestly? Scott isn’t all that worried.

They can’t say for sure what the outcome will be, but judging by Stiles’ retellings of the late night text conversations and smiles the red haired girl shoots in the boy’s direction when she probably didn’t realise people were looking, Scott’s got some sort of feeling that their friend might feel the same.

Okay, they haven’t talked to Lydia about it, admittedly. They swore secrecy to their best friend, and they intend to keep that promise.

But Scott recognizes that gleam in her eyes. It’s much like Malia’s looking at her soulmate, they think. Or maybe they’re completely in the wrong. They probably shouldn’t doubt it, or Stiles will only doubt himself more.

“She’s way out of my league, Scotty!” he exclaims for the fifth time on their FaceTime, as he’s listed pros and cons to the proposition.

They smile at the boy on their phone screen, trying to look as assuring as possible, “Lydia’s awesome, I know. But you shouldn’t put yourself down as much as you do, you know that, right?”

Stiles huffs, “I know.”

“You do?”

“I do!” he almost whines.

Scott nods, “Alright. Babe, the worst thing that could happen is that she says no. You won’t know unless you try.”

“But what if it ruins everything?” their best friend worries again, “Maybe she won’t… want to be friends, then. I don’t wanna upset her-”

“Stiles,” they feel the need to interrupt, readjusting themself on the couch, “She likes you, I know it, even if it’s just as friends. If she says no, then you’ll know and you can get over her. I don’t think she’d cut you off completely. She cares about you.”

Stiles sighs, deeply and dramatically, but the look on his face tells Scott that he knows they’re right.

“If you say so.”

And not even an hour later, their best friend calls them up again, flimsy camera and nearly screaming, because Lydia Martin said yes. Stiles looked like he was near tears.

Later that night, Lydia texted them, asking if he would find a picnic in the park too boring for a first date - clearly, she was nervous, and Scott’s never seen, or heard her nervous before. They think the two of them will be just fine.

Granted, neither of them know who their soulmates are, but when they’ve liked each other for as long as they have, to hell with it, right?

Scott spends the night and next morning thinking about it. Less about their friends, who already arranged the date today, as much as they’re excited for them. They just… now there’s two couples in their friend group. They’re so happy for their friends, they really are, but this soulmate thing is looking a bit frustrating, sometimes.

When Allison came out to the group as aromantic and asexual in the beginning of junior year (and after Scott hugged their friend so she nearly feel over on the grass, the nerves disappearing from her laugh much the same way that they had felt when they came out to Stiles, and the rest of the group) Malia blurted out a question, “Do you have any soulmate tattoos?”

“Mal!” Lydia gave her a pointed look, but the dark haired girl chuckled.

“It’s fine,” she told her best friend, and all of them, “I don’t. Either the universe knows what’s up and hasn’t given me one, or whoever it is just doesn’t have tattoos. Fucked if I know how it all works.”

Scott hates the fact that it created a nagging little thought in the back of their mind. It’s still tiny, but still living there, showing its ugly head late at night when their anxiety gets at them.

Maybe they don’t have a soulmate at all.

Shit.

Fuck.

What if?

They don’t have much time to worry about it that evening, though, when some stubborn knocks sound on their door, and they open it up to reveal Lydia and Stiles. They’re holding hands, Scott can’t help but grin.

Stiles has much the same expression on his face. Lydia looks a bit furious.

“Did you tattoo Harrison Ford on his ass?” she asks, voice impatient.

Their eyes widen, and look back and forth between them, but their best friend just looks lovestruck and a little confused.

“You showed her?” they ask, and the redhead sighs, “No. I’m asking because I have a picture of Harrison Ford on my ass.”

The shock takes the both of them aback.

Lydia’s upset about the tattoo, not them being soulmates, thank God, because Scott was rooting for them a lot. She rolls her eyes hard as they explain their drunken mishap, crossing her arms, but they’d know the fond smile anywhere. She doesn’t hide it anymore.

“Sorry,” Stiles says over and over.

Needless to say, the boy freezes on the spot when Lydia rises and shuts him up with a kiss, “You’re an idiot, you know.”

He nods eagerly, “I know.”

“Yet I love you,” she states, and Stiles looks like he’s about to faint.

“You-you do?!”

Lydia looks content, and takes his hand again. She also ruffles Scott’s hair with her other hand, commending them for bringing them together, evidently, “Obviously.”

It’s the first day of December, a little after midnight, that Scott comes to a conclusion.

They’ve been lying awake in bed for two hours now, tossing and turning, and since they can’t sleep their brain starts going into overdrive.

The group is gonna have a get together before they return home to their mom. Stiles constantly gushes about Lydia, of course. Kira called them on Malia’s birthday and confessed that she’s thinking about proposing to her girlfriend on New Year’s Eve.

They… are happy for them. So very much. They’re not lying in any way.

But why the fuck do they feel so lonely?

They’ve been paying more attention to their skin, desperately keeping their eyes out for tattoos that aren’t their own. Maybe they could’ve missed if it blended into their now fully closed sleeve. Or… or maybe it’s in a place they didn’t think of before.

But days have been going on and on, and Scott has been counting every single one of their pieces, and every single one they recognize.

The lavenders and forget-me-nots, the Millennium Falcon, the pac-man, their mother’s favorite song, the idiot #2 tramp stamp that matches Stiles’ idiot #1 .

Nothing unfamiliar, nothing’s out of place.

This is why the thing that’s been worrying them sick ever since that day their tall, red haired friend had mysteriously dropped out, and almost vanished into thin air, finally sneaks out of its hiding place and hits them with full force.

It must be the only liable explanation.

Scott probably won’t get any sleep tonight. Scott’s also pretty sure they don’t have a soulmate.

They’ve been living with the fact that they don’t have a soulmate for, hm, well - almost two years now. And it’s fine, really. They’re slowly getting used to it, anyway.

Scott told their mother after Christmas when they realised, and she almost worries out of her skin, but they were a bit too embarrassed to cry in front of her then. Hopeless romantic and all.

Stiles also reacted to the conclusion by cuddling them for a whole weekend, letting them win every video game they played and buying them so many snacks it’s shocking neither of them passed out from that heavy of an amount of sugar.

All their friends shared their frustration, and sadness, in their own way, and so they never felt alone about it. Always and endlessly supported. They love them so much.

But yeah, they just had to carry on with life. What else is there to do?

And although they still think about it in both good and bad moments, they’ve distanced themself just a little bit from it all, worrying just an inch less, working hard and spending time with their best friend and gang whenever possible.

It’s getting easier, more peaceful.

Scott’s set up an Instagram dedicated to their portfolio, and clearly their friends got the word spread back to Beacon Hills, and around it. And lots of other places. Kira and Malia became their unofficial promoters last summer, when the couple went on a road trip around Europe, to celebrate the engagement.

The wedding is this summer, also, which Scott cannot possibly contain their excitement about. They love those girls.

Their best friend is joint best man, of course, Allison joint maid of honor, and the reception playlist is already piled upon with Dolly Parton and Megan Thee Stallion. They love their friends’ music taste, for real.

So all in all, they’re doing pretty great. Well, February is filled with a bit too much of the Valentine’s Day ads and hype for their taste, but they’ll come to not mind it eventually. Hopefully.

And right now, Scott’s headed for the tattoo parlor (they got a permanent position, holy fuck) to draw up some designs and check out the bookings for next week. It’s a quiet afternoon, after the weekly morning call with their mother, and the group chat is ever so chaotic as always.

They’ve already got, like, sixty missed messages since they left the flat, Jesus.

And so they’re stood on the train station, train arriving in five minutes, checks their phone and then-

Then. Holy fuck.

Is this real life?

Are they imagining things?

Or is it… is it him?

On the opposite side of the tracks, Scott spots a tall figure, with curly red hair and dressed in a green turtleneck and black jeans. They must be confusing them.

Except the person turns around, and, oh my God.

It’s Isaac. It’s Isaac Lahey.

And Scott doesn’t know what to fucking do, except their jaw drops like an idiot, staring until the boy-uh, man on the other side widens his blue eyes, looking directly into their own brown. This is real.

About twenty agonizing seconds pass by as they both process what’s happening before the redhead waves, a small, hesitant one. So naturally, Scott waves back.

That’s that. Then Isaac points in the direction of the exits. They nod immediately.

He leaves. They leave. Oh God, oh god, oh god.

When Scott ascends the stairs out onto the bustling streets, it seems like they’ve been waiting forever. Their brain is such a drama queen.

And there the red headed man stands- he’s tall, still, half a head taller than them. When he spots them going in his direction, a smile forms on his lips, and it’s soft and shy and all too familiar.

This could easily have Scott in tears, but they hold it in.

When they’re finally face to face with their old friend, they can’t help returning the smile. Isaac keeps moving his gaze from their eyes to the ground, back and ground, like he’s scared to look at them too long. Scott swallows around the lump in their throat, unsure of what to do.

They never, ever, in a million years expected this to happen. They never thought they would see him again. Yet, here he is.

Scott clears their throat in an attempt to sound cool and collected, although they fail horrendously, “Hey.”

“Hi,” the taller man answers.

Well, that’s a start, right?

Yet again they’re processing, thinking, they can almost see the cogs in Isaac’s brain turning, until their mouth decides to speak before their brain can decide on the words, “Can I buy you a coffee?”

Thank their lucky stars, Isaac nods instantly.

And it’s when they’ve gone to the nearest café, Scott nursing a café latte while Isaac settles with his iced coffee, that they start talking. And talking. And talking.

The conversation flows immediately, and so easily, almost like they were never apart.

It’s surprising, yet safe. Scott has to ask what they could only wonder about all these years.

“Why did you… why did you leave?” they get out, before they can lose their courage. And when their old friend’s mouth twists into a frown, and his eyes fill with something like a pained memory instead of nostalgia, they instantly regret the question.

Isaac speaks before they can apologise, though, “I’m sorry.”

“I was about to say the same, I didn’t mean to-”

“Scott, no,” he interrupts, with a small sigh, “I want to tell you. It’s, uhm… maybe it’s easier if I show you.”

They find themself furrowing their brows in confusion, “Show me?”

The man nods and takes a sip from his coffee before he rolls up the sleeve of his hoodie. And then… there’s a Kermit, there, on his wrist. The lavender branches travelling up his arm, right up to the two black bands, encircling his bicep.

Scott feels like the world is moving in slow-motion. It’s just Isaac, in front of them. And he’s got all their tattoos.

They realise they’ve been quiet when the man in front of him starts looking worried, and so they say the first thing they can think of, “You’re my soulmate?”

He nods again.

Scott has a soulmate. They’ve got a soulmate and… he’s right in front of them.

The boy they’ve been harboring feelings for since they first became friends. The tall, clumsy stranger who’s overly critical of zombie lore and talked in his sleep whenever he stayed over at their house, and… the boy who hugged them in the queue to the go-karts, just because he could.

Holy shit.

Scott doesn’t even realise the tears falling from their eyes before Isaac’s confusion intensifies, and they try to wipe at their cheek, a little embarrassed. But fuck that. “Sorry. Oh my God. Isaac, I thought- I thought I didn’t have one. Shit, I was terrified. I never got any tattoos… that weren’t my own.”

And so, the redhead’s smile starts getting a little teary as well. He chuckles, his voice breaks, but he looks so happy. They’ve missed that smile beyond belief.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “Still not good with needles.”

They smile at each other in the silence for a moment. Scott doesn’t want to keep questioning if Isaac doesn’t want to tell them, so they just… look at him for a moment. He still is just as pretty as last time they saw him, but he’s grown his hair a bit longer, his arms more defined, he’s wearing tighter jeans than he used to.

The bustle of the other residents and the baristas busy behind the counter goes on for a beat, before Isaac speaks again, “I didn’t leave by choice. I-I would’ve said goodbye. If it was my decision.” Scott nods. They know.

“It’s my dad,” the redhead continues, “Uhm… ever since my mom died, he… became violent. He beat me. And when he didn’t, he, uh, locked me in the basement. Those were my sick days.”

The man in front of him winces, wipes at his eye in defiance and Scott does, too.

Fuck. Fuck . And they never fucking knew.

“Isaac… I’m so, so sorry. Fuck,” they feel they still have tears threatening their way, and they don’t know how to stop them, struggling with their words. “I should’ve been there for you, I should-”

“Don’t,” he tells them, “You didn’t know, Scott. None of you knew.”

“But I should’ve known-”

“It’s not your fault. Please believe me when I say that.”

They nod again. Isaac still has that timid smile on his face, as teary as it is, as their smile probably is as well. The thought of their friend being abused, and… going through it alone , not being able to reach out for help, that no one fucking stepped in, it pains Scott in an unspeakable way, right now.

The redhead swallows before speaking again, “After your birthday, after your tattoo, well, I got it as well. And it didn’t take long for him to piece together that it was you. He monitored my phone. And he was a fucking bigot, so his reaction wasn’t exactly positive.”

Scott feels the urge to hold Isaac’s hand, and in fact, before their brain can stop it their hand already touches his on the table.

When they realise, they take it back, “Sorry, I didn’t-”, but Isaac grabs their hand back again, his lying on top of their own. He sniffles, wipes at his eyes again, but the warmth radiating from him is immediate.

“So he forced me to France, cut me off from everyone, and we stayed there, and I cried myself to sleep every night,” he tells, his frown deepening, “Until Camden was discharged.”

His older brother, Scott remembers. He signed up for the army.

“He lived with us for three days before my dad threw a glass at me over the dinner table, right in front of him. My brother knocked him out on the spot. We got the hell out of there.”

Isaac smiles again, breathing a little easier. Scott feels the same.

“I’m glad,” they say and squeezes his hand. Their heart flutters when their friend squeezes it back.

“So…” Isaac starts again, a sigh escaping his lips, “Now I’m here. That was two years ago, and, uh, yeah. We roamed around for a while, too scared he’d try to find us. Camden got us a place out of town, though, it’s too… loud in here sometimes.”

He runs his free hand through his curls and takes another sip of the coffee. Scott’s practically forgotten about their drink by now, it must be cold.

“And a therapist,” the redhead says, “I got a therapist. I need one.”

His smile grows, little by little. It’s still the shy one, just like Scott remembers, screwed up by tears and the rain. He looks happy in their company. They hope so, at least. They hope he’ll be okay, that he gets to be happier. They want him to be happy.

“I’m so happy you’re out of there, I…” their voice breaks halfway, and they both chuckle at it, “I worried myself sick about where you were. I just want you to be okay.”

Isaac bites his lip in the smile, “I will be.”

“Good.” A thought hits Scott, though, “Your dad, he doesn’t know you’re back, right? If that fucker finds you-” “He’s dead.”

“Oh.”

Isaac nods, “Neighbours in Paris called my brother about four months ago. It feels morbid to say, but honestly… Camden bought champagne.”

“I would’ve done the same,” Scott says, with zero hesitation. The redhead’s peacefulness has an effect on them, like a warm embrace. However, when a customer in the queue yells at the barista, Isaac flinches, and they’re just about ready to take him by the hand and get out.

They’re still wondering about their friend’s feelings towards them, because… they’re soulmates. But people don’t always stay together. People don’t always get together.

Scott knows they’re just as much in love with Isaac as they were back then. It’s come back in full force, and the longer they look at the man, it just makes them want to wake up to the sight of him, every single morning. Listen to him rant about zombies for two hours straight and eat McDonalds at 3am and kiss in front of Stiles until he tells them to get a room.

Their best friend probably already knows about their feelings towards the red haired man. They never told him, but he’s scarily knowledgeable sometimes.

“Isaac,” they start, trying to figure out how to ask, Isaac still grazing their hand with his thumb, “About the tattoos. I’m in love with you. I hope that’s not too blunt, but… I’ve liked you since we met, I think. If you don’t feel the same, I understand-”

“I love you,” he states, immediately, and surely. He squeezes their hand again as both their smiles almost turn to grins, “Sorry. I could yell it at the top of my lungs, if you want. Soulmate.”

This might just be the best day of their fucking life.

“Want to get out of here, soulmate?”

In the little parlour at the corner, the gang’s all crowded up, even though the shop’s supposed to be closed. They closed two hours ago.

Yet, Scott’s friends have formed a small circle around the chair, where their soulmate’s taken his shirt off to allow them to tattoo his collarbone. Masterpiece , the piece says, but it’s mirrored, so he’ll be able to read whenever he looks in the mirror.

Isaac’s facetiming his brother, too, who’s already given Scott the big brother talk; secretly, he loves them, the redhead told them so.

“You ready?” they ask him, planting a kiss on their soulmate’s hand, and he nods.

“Ready.”

“Tell me if you need a break, okay?”

“I will, baby,” he says with a chuckle, but Scott needs to be sure.

“Seriously, whenever-”

“I know,” Isaac laughs, and kisses their cheek, which never fails to make them blush, despite the many, many kisses they’ve had until now. In all places. And more than kisses. Their soulmate is the most incredible person they know (sorry, Stiles), and they just want to keep learning, discovering everything about him.

He still talks in his sleep. He found a much better therapist than the first one, and he has fewer nightmares now. Sometimes he wants to talk about them, sometimes he just wants Scott to hold him. He likes to be the big spoon. He hates the smell of coffee and eats excessive amounts of bacon. He likes to wake Scott by tracing their tattoos with his hands in the morning, and if that doesn’t work, he’ll steal the comforter and jump in the bed. He’s still such a nerd.

Every moment with him is unbelievably peaceful.

Their soulmate takes a deep breath, nods and so Scott gets started on the tattoo.

“Want me to hold your hand?” Stiles asks with a laugh, but they’re pretty sure the offer is genuine. Those two have been taking a liking to each other, after all, no matter how much they deny it.

“Absolutely not,” Isaac fires back, and the brunette gasps, making their soulmate smirk, “Lydia can hold it.”

She does, no matter how grumpy her soulmate looks. Malia’s nearly on the floor laughing.

This is safe. This is home. They’re all soulmates in a way, meant to be tied together, no matter where in the world they might be. And they’re so bloody happy to have him, and them, in their life.

Scott McCall has a soulmate.

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jazziwritesthings · 4 years

Text

We Were - Derek Hale

Inspired by We Were by Keith Urban

Lyrics in Bold

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader

Word Count: 2082

Warnings: Cancer, Death, maybe swears

A/N: I’m Sorry.

*******

We were just a couple years short of the age By my name on a fake ID And still 'bout a hundred away from the day Your daddy said you could run with me We were a couple of line steppers Who just couldn't wait to step over the line

Derek met you when you were both 17. You tried so hard to try to get him to trust you. He wasn’t about to let himself get invested in someone again. Not after Paige. It had only been a few years and Derek was still broken about it, but that was something that would never leave him. He knew he couldn’t make that mistake again. No, he wouldn’t, or so he thought. After almost a year you had worn him down and got him to open up a bit. He liked being around you. You made him feel like a normal teenager. Then the fire happened. You got a call from an unknown number, it was Derek at the sheriff station. He asked if you could pick him up. You borrowed your dad’s car and definitely went over the speed limit trying to reach him as fast as possible. You ran into the sheriff's station and saw him just sitting on a bench. You walked over and stood in front of him. Without warning he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his head into your stomach. You could feel his shaking and eventually you heard his sobs. You just stood there playing with his hair telling him you loved him, all while trying to keep the sound of your sobbing controlled.

We were gonna make it, weren't we, baby? Had it all laid out in our mind By the time we knew time was runnin' out We done run out of time

He had to leave Beacon Hills. He had no choice, he was a minor and now Laura was his guardian, and she couldn’t stay here. You understood why but you didn’t want to be separated from your best friend. The day they left was one of the toughest days of your life. You and Derek had spent the night in your room. Your dad wasn’t around much since your mom passed, so it was always just you and him. That night was the night when you both admitted you loved each other, more than just friends. That was the night you gave him everything and he gave everything to you. The next morning was rough. The car was already packed and Laura was just waiting for Derek. You stood in front of the garage with your hands on his chest and his on your waist with your foreheads touching. “I love you so much. Promise you won’t forget me?” He let out a slight laugh/sigh and pressed one last kiss to your lips, “ I promise.”

And we were leather jackets hangin' onto a Harley Two heartbeats in the moonlight

The first year he was gone he had tried to keep in contact with you. It wasn’t easy, he didn’t have a phone and could only reach you by pay phone. Laura said it wasn’t a good idea to keep that kind of stuff because it meant that hunters could track them easier. Derek would never tell you that part. As far as you knew, he was normal. His whole family was normal and the fire was an accident. Eventually it got hard for him to keep contacting you. Every time he heard your voice or you told him things that were happening around Beacon Hills he became so homesick and it reminded him too much of his family. It hurt too much for him to continue. He didn’t mean for it to happen how it did. He just quit calling and writing and before he knew it, six years had gone by. Laura had told him she had some business to attend to and that she would be back in a few weeks. When she didn’t call Derek at all the first week he started to worry. He finally went through Laura’s things and found where she had gone and why. She had gone home. He packed what little they had and raced back to Beacon Hills.

He arrived and it seemed like nothing had changed. Everything looked the same and honestly he felt homesick all over again. He didn’t know where to go so he went to the only place he knew he could. Walking up the front steps of his childhood home brought up a lot of pleasant memories. Most of them were his mom sitting on those stairs giving some of the best advice she could offer. He looked around the porch and noticed there were bouquets everywhere. Some were very dead and others looked semi-fresh. He’d been there about a day when he heard someone pull up in a car. He secretly watched out of the upstairs window. As soon as she got out of the car Derek knew who it was immediately. He could smell her all the way up the stairs and she still smelled the same. He got brave and quietly went down the stairs. He watched as she turned and walked back to her car. He walked out onto the porch, “ Y/n?” You froze at the sound of your name. In all the years you were coming here no one had even stepped foot on the property. You turned around and were surprised to see a man standing there staring at you, “ I’m sorry. Do I know you?” He walked off the porch and when the sunlight lit up his features she took a step back, “ Derek?” He looked at you with a huge smile on his face, “Yeah.” You looked at him for only a moment before your mind was made up. You walked over to him and grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss. The butterflies and the fire were still there. You had had other boyfriends before, but none of them ever measured up to Derek. No matter how hard you tried nobody could compare to him. It wasn’t that long before he disappeared on you again. You shouldn’t have been surprised but you were, and it still hurt just as much as the first time.

At least there's a little bit of sweet in the bitter Though a part of me is always gonna miss her I am who I am, I just miss who I was when we were

You had always remembered your time with Derek fondly. He was your first, for just about everything. You had tried to get into contact with him through the teenagers he had here. They periodically checked up on you and you assumed they reported back to him. Eventually they stopped coming around. So when you got sick, there was no way to tell Derek. Your doctors told you it wasn't a great chance. The surgery could work or it could make it worse, you may not even make it out. You had done what felt like hundreds of rounds of chemo and nothing was working to get the tumor to shrink. It was in a place that was very hard to operate. It was in your brain. There was a chance that if they were able to get it that the cancer wouldn’t return. You knew the risk of surgery was dying, but if you didn’t try you were going to die anyway. Before you went in for surgery you wrote a letter and mailed it to the McCall house, addressed to Derek.

Friends say, "Oh well, let that ship sail" "You gotta let go of her" "Just wasn't meant to be" But somewhere down deep I still believe That we were

When Derek finally returned to Beacon Hills he went to Scott’s house first. The boy had said he had something important for Derek. Derek knocked and waited before Scott opened the door. “Hey man! We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for like a year!” Derek nodded, “ Yeah I was busy, what do you have for me?” Scott picked an envelope off the coffee table and handed it to him. He read the return address and when he saw your name he froze a bit. “Okay.” He left Scott’s house without another word. He walked to your old house and saw that there was a different family living there. He decided to just walk while he read.

Dear Derek,

Hey. You know I was never any good at this sort of thing, but I figured this would get to you eventually. I want you to know that you are my best friend. I can tell you that I would not have survived my teenage years if it wasn’t for you. I know I wouldn’t have made it through the time after my mom died without you. I need you to know that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. Even though you did ignore me for most of our 20s. You need to know that no matter what I love you. Always. I don’t care how many bad things happen, you are and forever will be my person. I couldn’t have lived this life without you. So thank you.

Derek quit walking and chose to sit down on the sidewalk. This felt like a goodbye.

I know I know. I’m getting all sappy and you hate that sorta stuff. Deal with it. What I’m about to say is going to make you angry. I kept a secret from you. I got sick. I know we all thought it wasn’t a genetic thing and that I would be okay, but I’m not. I’m sick and I’m going to die. I’ve had so many rounds of chemo that I can’t even tell you how many. So many failed attempts at remission. The tumor is in my brain. I’m opting to have a surgery to try and remove it. If the surgery works then I should be cancer free. If the surgery doesn’t work, well that would mean I would die. So either way I’m pretty screwed, the chances of survival with the surgery are about 5%. So either way I guess. I don’t want you to be angry. I know you're not mad at me, you’re going to be so angry at yourself for leaving me but Derek it’s what had to happen. I’m glad you haven’t seen me lately. I don’t feel or even look like myself. Remember me how I was that night. You know the one. So I guess this is a goodbye. I never thought we would have to do this. I’m sorry Derek. Please keep living for me. I love you. Y/n

By the time he finished reading he felt completely numb. You were gone. He would never hear your voice again. He would never kiss you or hold you again. He stood up and ran. He ended up at a spot that you and him had been so many times. He walked over and his gut was right. Where there had been one stone for so many years, there were now two. He walked over and sat down in front of it. He ran his hand over the words, Y/n L/n The light of everyone’s life. The date was from over a year before. You had been gone a year and he didn’t even know it. The love of his life was gone and there was nothing he could do to bring her back. He all of a sudden couldn’t breathe. He was a mess of tears and sobs. He put his head in his hands. If he would’ve known he could’ve done something. He could’ve gotten you turned. As soon as that thought crossed his mind he got angry. He couldn’t have saved you. If you had known about him and the supernatural, you wouldn’t have wanted the bite. You wouldn’t want it because it would’ve changed everything. He was pacing now. His anger and grief got the best of him as he let out a very loud roar. He knew all of Beacon Hills probably heard it, but at the moment he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was gone and never coming back. He looked down at the head stone before kissing his fingers and placing them gently on the top, “ I love you too.”

127 notes · View notes

justauthoring · 5 years

Text

No Reason To (5/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”

It has come to my attention that by adding links to my posts, it stops that post from being seen in the tags tagged. So, sadly, I will no longer be able to link previous parts of NRT on new chapters. BUT all part can be found easily on my “No Reason To Series MasterList!” found in my bio.

A/N: Once again, I am just absolutely blown away by the positive feedback i’ve received. I struggled a bit with the last chapter, but I felt more like myself writing this one so I hope you all enjoy it!! I can’t wait to delve deeper into this series!

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 01x08 and 01x09

Tag List: @potterheadbbc - @sunsetblake - @mythicalamphitrite - @loverofwaytoomanythings618 - @creamychickenuggets - @mnk - @gazebros- @colie87 - @quilliamfears - @quellum - @pessimisticbullshite - @desired-love-@thinkwritexpress-official - @kaylinfayezink - @maiabiovillage - @tr1chst3r - @arkcangel - @quirkytwinkles - @thegirlwhoimagined - @noones-girl1980 - @illumminated - @fairchild345 - @all-will-be-well-love - @animemes-trash - @starryrevelations - @literallyhelpme - @theskytraveler - @jinandtion1c - @ilovemymoose - @bibliophilesquared - @stilessarcasmqueen - @mersuperwholocked-lowlife - @newtsshelbys - @wyattgoleft - @pancakefancake - @saturno-in-the-night - @pizzamelon7384 - @riskregretting - @mdgrdians - @ravenclawnerdfromnarnia - @franchisefan14 - @lovingpeterparker If you’d like to be tagged, just let me know! Any in italics are those Tumblr won’t let me tag!

“Are you sure?”

Sighing, you continue to pull your shirt over your head, turning to your mother once it’s on. “Yup,” you exaggerate, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

Melissa frowns in response, shaking her head with her arms across her chest. You feel slightly guilty at being lippy with her, considering she was just concerned for you. So quickly, you walk across your room, grabbing your backpack and jacket, pulling the latter over your shoulders. “Honestly, mom,” you smile, “i’ll be okay.”

“It’s just... after everything that’s happened to you and your brother, for the past few days.” She lets out a huff, pausing. “I can’t help but worry.”

“I know,” you smile softly, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Stepping forward, you set your hands on her shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. “But i’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve already missed enough school.”

She nods, and once you’re sure she’s content, you let go of her shoulders, stepping back to brush your hair into a high ponytail.

“You’re, uh, still not talking to your brother?”

Her words cause you to frown, body pausing. You hadn’t spoken to, or even really looked at your brother, since that night at the school. After the first few days of you ignoring him, Scott had given up trying to talk to you. But that didn’t mean he didn’t constantly send you glances, hoping that if he did it enough, you’d finally reply to him.

It never worked.

“Nope.”

“But, you guys are siblings. Twins...” Melissa stresses, and you can practically feel the desperation radiating off of her. She sounds so hopeless, voice laced with concern and confusion. You don’t blame her. You feel the same.

Not to mention, since this all begun, you’ve never really stopped to think about what it’s doing to Melissa. How worried she must be. Things are obviously different, anyone with eyes can see that, but you and Scott have always been close. It must be so weird and strange for her for the two of you to not be talking.

“How long?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you continue to shove things into your backpack. “Depends.”

“On what?” She huffs, “I still don’t even know why you won’t talk to him.”

Zipping your bag up, you shake your head, turning around and walking past your mother. You stop halfway though, pressing a kiss against her cheek, before opening up your door and heading out. “See you tomorrow.”

You know your words have done nothing to ease your mother. And you wish you could say more. But she wouldn’t understand it. Any of it. And if anyone should tell Melissa what has happened to Scott, it should be him.

“See you tomorrow.”

“It’s just weird.”

Picking up your head, you turn your attention on Allison, stepping past a few people to fall next to her side. Lydia is on the other side of her, and the both of you are intently listening to what the girl has to say. “Everybody’s talking about what happened the other night, and nobody knows it was us.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” you comment, pulling their gazes on you. “I mean, i’d liked to not to be the center of attention.”

Lydia scoffs, “thank you, for the protection of minors.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at Lydia’s snark, shaking your head with a soft smile. Your smile, though, fades when you hear Allison sigh loudly, throwing her head back; “do you guys think I made the wrong decision?”

Before you can reply yourself, you notice Lydia eye Allison; “about that jacket with that dress?” She teases, “absolutely.”

“With Scott,” you smile her way, raising a brow. Lydia only rolls her eyes in response, shrugging her shoulders. Though, you and her both know you’re only teasing one another.

“Y/N?” Allison calls, causing you to blink. “Do you think I made a mistake?”

You want to say no. You should say no. It’s obvious, plain as day, that Scott is really hurting because of Allison’s decision, and it seems she’s not even sure if she made the right decision herself. They’re both not happy, clearly. But you can’t just erase all he’s done. You can’t just agree for the sake that he’s your brother.

He hasn’t really been acting like a brother after all...

With a frown, you glance down at your feet; “no,” you say, voice small. It takes you a moment, but eventually you gather the courage, raising your head and meeting Allison’s eyes without a doubt of uncertainty. “No, I don’t think you made the wrong decision.”

Allison still seems unsure, and maybe even a little stunned that you’d say that, before she turns to Lydia. “Lydia?”

“Hello?” Lydia sighs, “Scott locked us in a classroom and left us for dead. He’s lucky we’re not pressing charges or making him pay our therapy bills.”

Circling another answer on your test, you try to stay focused on the task at hand. It’s a little more harder than it seems, given that you’re surrounded by the exact people who keep distracting you.

You need to do this test. You need to pretend that for once, everything’s still normal. That werewolf’s don’t exist, and your brother isn’t one. You need to pretend like you hadn’t just been hunted by an alpha werewolf a few nights ago, in this very school. You need to pretend that your life is normal. That you’re just a teenage girl, trying to get good grades and maybe a boyfriend. Who knows?

You need to at least try.

But of course, things don’t go the way you planned. A few minutes after starting the test, Scott suddenly stands up, practically bolting out of the classroom. It catches the attention of everyone, of course, including you. You raise your head, eyes wide with concern as he ignores the teacher calling after him and just continues to run.

Stiles follows after him a moment later. “Mr. Stilinski!”

You hesitate, unsure. Then, before you know it, you’re on your feet, racing out of the classroom. “Ms. McCall!”

You halt to a stop though once you’re outside of the classroom, nearly running into Stiles. He turns to you with wide eyes, gasping; “what are you doing, Y/N?”

Shrugging, you gesture forwards; “same thing as you.”

You turn to look in the direction Scott had run, finding his backpack laying in the middle of the hallway, Scott nowhere to be seen. You send a confused glance Stiles’s way, both seemingly agreeing to step forward. The moment you reach the backpack, Stiles crouches down, picking up Scott’s backpack. “Scott?”

“Here,” you say, “i’ll call him.”

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull your phone out, swiping it on and going to your contacts. You press Scott’s name, pressing your phone up against your ear, only to hear his ringtone echo out in the hallway. It seems to be coming from somewhere near, in front of you and Stiles.

Nodding at the boy, you both follow after the noise, turning the corner once you reach the boys locker room. You had picked up your pace, but quickly pause in front of the entrance of the boys locker room, unsure. You can hear the faint sound of the shower running and that is something you definitely don’t need to see.

“Y/N,” Stiles calls, turning to look at you. “Come on.”

“Stiles,” you snap, “I can’t go in there!”

“Y/N-”

“It sounds like he’s showering. I can’t-”

You’re interrupted by Stiles reaching forward, grabbing the wrist of the hand holding the phone, and tugging you forward. You stumble forward slightly, quickly catching your footing and glancing around the room, biting your lip.

The sound of the shower grows louder, and you and Stiles both pause when there’s only a set of lockers blocking you from sight of Scott. You meet Stiles eyes, turning your phone off and shoving it back into your pocket. You shuffle behind Stiles slightly, both scared of what you’ll find and not really needing to see that part of your brother.

It isn’t until your past the set of lockers, do you find yourself relieved. Scott looks perfectly normal, and he’s wearing a pair of pants.

“Scott?”

He turns slightly, wet hair in his eyes as he breathes rapidly. “I can’t...”

“What happening?” You ask, eyes wide.

“Are you changing?” Stiles adds, holding his hands out before him, bracing himself.

“No,” Scott pants, “I can’t.... I can’t breathe.” He wheezes after he finishes speaking, and quickly, you turn to Stiles, helping him pull Scott’s backpack forward to search for Scott’s inhaler.

He’s having an panic attack. You’ve seen it before.

Reaching forward, you open the smallest pocket, allowing Stiles to reach in and grab the inhaler you knew was in there. He extends it towards Scott, who only stares back at it in confusion. “Here. Use this.”

Scott only continues to stare at it.

“Scott,” you snap, “do it.”

Taking it, Scott hesitates a moment longer before pressing it against his lips, and pressing the button. The moment he does, Scott sets his hands on his thighs, taking a few deep breaths before catching his breath. The moment he’s okay, he shakes his head; “I was having an asthma attack?”

“No,” Stiles sighs, “you were having a panic attack. But thinking you were having an asthma attack actually stopped the panic attack. Irony.”

Breathing heavily, Scott stares back at Stiles in confusion. “How’d you know how to do that?”

“I used to get them after my mom died,” Stiles explains, “not fun, huh?”

Huffing, Stiles shakes his head; “I looked at her, and it was like someone hit me in the ribs with a hammer.”

Sighing, you glance down at your feet. Seeing Scott now, and how hurt he is by Allison breaking up with him... you can’t believe you told Allison earlier she hadn’t made a mistake. What was wrong with you? What kind of sister does that?

“Yeah,” you sighs, “it’s called heartbreak. About two billion songs written about it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Well, you could think about this,” Stiles offers, “her dad’s a werewolf hunter, and you’re a werewolf, so it was bound to become an issue.”

“Stiles,” you snapped, sending the boy a glare.

“That wasn’t helpful,” Stiles mumbles, “okay, dude, yeah, you got dumped, it’s supposed to suck.”

“No,” Scott denies, shaking his head. “That’s not it. It was like I could feel everything in the room, everyone else’s emotions.”

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

“I think we need to do a lot more than lock me in my room.”

“Because if you get out, you’d be caught by hunters?” You ask, confused.

“No,” Scott breathes, stepping forward towards the both of you. “Because if I get out... I think I might kill someone.”

Running in behind Lydia, you feel your eyes widen at the sight of Danny on the ground, his nose all bloody.

“Is he okay?” You question, looking up to glance at Jackson.

“Yeah,” he nods, slowly turning his head to look at you and Lydia. “It looks like he just has a bloody nose--.” He meets your eyes first, before slowly drifting off to meet Lydia’s. You would’ve turned your attention back on Danny, if you hadn’t noticed the way Jackson suddenly halted in his speech, attention caught by something from Lydia.

“What?” She questions, not oblivious to Jackson staring.

“Your lipstick,” Jackson explains, and you tilt your head around, noticing the smudged lipstick on her lower lip.

Pulling a compact mirror out of her purse, Lydia opens it, eyes widening when she realizes what Jackson was referring to. “Oh,” she laughs lightly, raising her hand to wipe away the lipstick. “Oh, wonder how that happened.”

“Yeah. I wonder.”

Furrowing your brows, you look away from the two of them, obviously realizing it wasn’t any of your business. But as you look forwards, you catch sight of Stiles who’s staring at the two of them, lips parted in bafflement. He slowly turns, and following his direction, your eyes widen when they land on Scott.

It takes you a moment, glancing back and forth between Lydia, Stiles and Scott before putting the pieces together.

Stepping forward, you bite your lip; “Stiles,” you call, unsure. He keeps his back to you, and with a frown, you set your hand on his shoulder. “Stiles.”

Normally, you would’ve been hurt. Not that you had any real reason to. But it always seemed like Lydia was the only thing on Stiles mind, instead of you. Yet, in the moment, if your suspicions are correct, you don’t necessarily blame Stiles for being upset.

What your brother did... or what you think he did...

“I’m sorry...”

“He just doesn’t talk to me anymore... not as much as he use to... neither of them do.”

You halt to a stop, just barely halfway down the stairs as your mothers words register in your mind. It’s obvious she’s talking to Stiles, given that he’s the only one that would come here this late at night, and it’s also clear you missed a large chunk of this conversation but you can’t help the guilt that floods through you.

All of this. All that’s happened. You’ve never stopped to think about what kind of affect it’s having on your mom.

“Well,” you hear Stiles reply, “he’s had a bit of a rough week. And Y/N. Y/N too.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Melissa stammers, “yeah, um... okay, uh... Be careful tonight.”

“You, too.”

“Full moon.”

You pause, head jerking back in surprise, causing you to lose your footing. You end up slipping, just barely managing to catch yourself before you fall on your ass just as Stiles blurts out; “what?”

“There’s a full moon tonight,” you hear Melissa mumble, and you feel your entire body tense. Please, don’t let her have heard you. Please- “Y/N, is that you?”

Godamnit.

You take a step, slowly, hesitantly, peeking your head around the corner of the wall blocking you from view. “Uh, yeah,” you laugh, raising your hand in a wave. “Just... uh, thought i’d come and say goodbye.”

“Oh, well, goodbye,” she smiles, and you nod before she turns back to Stiles. “Speaking of that full moon, you should see what it does to the E.R. Brings out all the nut jobs.”

You laugh weakly, so does Stiles; “yeah.”

“You know,” your mother continues, heading towards the front door. “It’s, um, actually where they came up with the word ‘lunatic’.” She steps forward, opening the door as you call one final goodbye. You wait until the door is completely shut behind her before turning to Stiles, wide-eyed.

“What was that?” You screech, walking until you’re before him.

“I don’t know! It just... happened!”

“Oh, my god!”

Jumping, you whip around, looking at the back of Stiles’s head with narrowed eyes, prepared to yell at him for scaring you to death like that. But then you catch sight of Scott, and the way he’s positioned on the chair in front of you both, and you don’t really blame Stiles all that much anymore.

“Dude,” Stiles sighs, “you scared the hell out of me.”

“And me,” you grumble, stepping out past Stiles. “What the hell are you doing, Scott? Mom said you weren’t home yet.”

“I came in through the window.”

“Okay,” Stiles says slowly, a little on nerve, and you don’t blame him. Scott has yet to move, at all, and he’s looking at the two of you with lidded eyes. It creeps you out. A lot. “Uh, well, let’s get this set up. I want you to see what I bought.”

Crouching down next to Stiles, you peek into the bag; “how do you guys do this anyway?”

“Oh, well-”

“I’m fine.”

You blink, glancing up at Scott in confusion.

“I’m just gonna lock the door,” he clarifies. “And go to bed early tonight.”

Meeting Stiles’s eyes, something tells you that that is not the best course of action.

“You sure about that?” Stiles questions, “cause you’ve got this kind of serial killer look going on in your eyes, and i’m hoping it’s the full moon taking effect, cause it’s really starting to freak me out.”

“I second that,” you mumble, looking up at your brother worriedly.

“I’m fine,” Scott repeats, voice emotionless. “You should go now. The both of you.”

“Okay, well,” you start, “I live here, so that’s not happening.”

“Nope, nope,” Stiles shakes his head, grabbing your wrist. “We’re leaving.”

You reel to him, “Stiles-”

“Would you just at least look in the bag and see what I bought?” Stiles interrupts you, raising his voice a little. “You know, maybe you use it, maybe you don’t. Sound good?”

You narrow your eyes, baffled. What is Stiles doing? You can’t just leave Scott alone. He said it himself, he’ll kill someone.

A moment passes, and you can’t help but practically feel your heart plummet when Scott suddenly leans forward, slowly pushing himself out of his seat and standing tall before the two of you. You shuffle back slightly, Stiles guiding you as Scott nears the both of you. For a moment, you’re not sure what he’s gonna do, but then he’s crouching down before the both of you, looking through the bag, chains jiggling in response.

He picks up a hand full of said chains, looking at Stiles through narrowed eyes. “You think i’m gonna let you put these on and chain me up like a dog?” Setting the chains back down, Scott scoffs.

“Actually, no,” Stiles says, and you blink. Then, he’s lunging forward, pulling a pair of cuffs out of the bag, tightening it around Scott’s wrist before connect the other end to the heater in his room. Your eyes widen, stunned, and then Stiles spinning around, grabbing your wrist in the process and practically dragging you up to your feet, pausing by the door.

“What the hell are you doing!”

You glance back at Scott, eyes wide. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. This angry. You’ve seen it almost happen countless of times, but you didn’t know it could get this bad, and you’re guessing worse.

“Protecting you from yourself,” Stiles answers, straightening his shoulders. “And giving you some payback... for making out with Lydia.”

Leaning against Scott’s bedroom wall, making sure to stay as far away from him as possible, you bite your lip. You can’t help but stare down at him with narrow eyes.

After Stiles had finished explaining why he was doing this to Scott, he’d gone off to get him water, leaving you on watch. You didn’t mind. It meant you could glare at him longer without an audience. Because not only were you mad at him for being a dick to you, you were also mad at him for being a complete asshat to Stiles. Whether you were jealous of Lydia or not, it was clear how much Stiles liked her. For your brother to kiss her...

The sound of Stiles’s footsteps pulls you from your thoughts, causing you to peer over the wall slightly, meeting Stiles eyes just as he walks into the room. He only glances at you for a moment before looking down at Scott. “I brought you some water.” He calls, holding up the water bottle.

You managed to catch sight of pet dish in his other hand before he raises it, a chuckle leaving your lips before you can stop yourself. Holding your hand against your mouth, you try not to burst out in laughter as Stiles raises the food dish meant for dogs, the name Scott on the front of it.

Even though Stiles’s back is turned to you, you can already tell he’s enjoying this as he pours the water into the dish, setting it down before Scott.

Just as Stiles turned to walk out of the room, you moving to follow him, the bowl meant for Scott clatters, water splashing. “I’m gonna kill you!”

Whipping around to face Scott, you glare down at him. “Scott!”

“No, i’m gonna kill him!”

“You kissed her, Scott, okay?” Stiles suddenly bellows before you have the chance to say anything, whipping around to face your brother. “You kissed Lydia. That’s, like, the one girl that I ev-”

Frowning, you glance down at your feet. You shouldn’t be getting jealous. Shouldn’t be upset. This isn’t about you. But you can’t help but hear those three words; the one girl... over and over again.

“And, you know,” Stiles continues, voice still raised in frustration and hurt. “The past three hours, I've been thinking, it’s probably just the full moon, you know, he doesn’t even know what he’s doing, and tomorrow, he’ll be totally back to normal. He probably won’t even remember what a complete dumbass he’s been.”

Stiles pauses, and you can’t help but look at him in pity, your feelings pushed aside.

“A son of a bitch, a freaking unbelievable piece of crap friend.” Stiles pauses once more, and you step forward, hoping to dissipate the tension, but he continues. “And brother. Terrible, terrible brother.”

You gasp, eyes wide. Stiles doesn’t glance back at you, and you’re not sure why, but you would’ve never... You never knew he cared enough to notice.

A moment of silence passes, before Scott speaks. “She kissed me.”

It almost felt like your jaw could fall off in disbelief. He did not just say that.

“What?”

“I didn’t kiss her,” Scott clarifies, shifting slightly so he can look at Stiles better. The son of a bitch is actually smirking. “She kissed me.”

“Stiles,” you call, putting your hand on his shoulder, pulling him towards yourself. “Let’s just go. You don’t need to hear this-”

“She would have done a lot more, too.”

“Okay,” you huff, glaring at your brother. “That’s enough. Just stop-”

“You should have seen the way she had her hands all over me. She would have done anything I wanted.”

“Scott!”

“And you,” Scott suddenly says, turning his eyes on you. “What kind of sister are you?”

You pause, lips parted in surprise.

“You don’t help. You can’t do anything to help. You’re useless.”

“Scott-”

Stiles grabs your hand, pulling your gaze on him. He only shakes his head, pulling you out of the room. You easily follow him, but not without glancing back at your brother once more in disbelief.

“Useless!”

Laying your head back against the wall, you keep your arms crossed over your chest, trying your best to ignore the cries and grunts of your brother as he tries to escape his confines.

“Stiles,” he cries, “Y/N, please let me out.”

Shaking your head, you keep your gaze on the ceiling above, trying to ignore him. Part of you is still angry, still hurt. Mainly angry, though. But a part of you, no matter how small, feels pity for your brother. Wants to help him.

“It’s the full moon,” he continues, voice pleading. “I swear. You know I wouldn’t do any of this on purpose.” There’s a moment of silence, the only thing that can be heard is the slight noise of Scott’s handcuffs jangling and his heavy breathing. Then, “please, let me out. It’s starting to hurt.”

Biting your lip, you try to block out Scott’s voice.

“Y/N, please,” he pleads, and inhale deeply. “Stiles, it’s not like the first time. It’s the full moon. It’s Allison breaking up with me. I know... that it’s not just taking a break. She broke up with me.”

You finally look down, watching as Stiles rolls his head to the side, face tense with struggle.

“And it’s killing me,” Scott adds, and you huff. “I feel completely hopeless. Just, please, let me out.”

You don’t say anything. Maybe it’s selfish of you, and this may be your brother, but it’s Stiles who’s been hurt by him. You have too, but in a different way. This is something Stiles has to do, no matter how badly you want to let him out. Or at least help Scott.

“I can’t,” Stiles sighs, voice small.

A few moments of silence pass, and the wrong part of you relishes in it. When Scott isn’t begging to be let out, it’s a lot easier. But it only lasts a certain amount of time before you hear Scott crying out; “no, no, no! Aah! No! No!” The jangling of his cuffs grow louder, and you straighten out in alert. “No! No! No!”

The screaming grows louder, almost inhumane. You feel your heart pounding madly against your chest, wondering if you should go in there and help, but one look at Stiles, and you’re bewildered. He only presses his hands against his ears, shutting his eyes, and leans his head back.

Your lips part, Scott’s screaming piercing your ears.

Then, suddenly, the screaming stops.

“Scott, you okay?”

“Stiles,” you call, “what’s happening?”

He only shakes his head at you, calling out Scott’s name once more before standing up. He opens the door, and you inch forwards until you’re behind him. You tense your entire body, afraid of what you’ll find, but then, he isn’t there. His handcuffs, broken, lay on the floor with splatters of blood.

Scott’s nowhere to be found.

“Oh, my God...”

The words slip past your lips before you can stop them, the red and blue lights of police and ambulance sirens reflecting in your eyes. You don’t have to glance at Stiles to know he’s seen the same thing, and is just as panicked about it as you.

He pulls up to the police scene, and just as Stiles’s presses down on the breaks, a body is being wheeled into the ambulance. You climb out of the passengers seat, walking around the front of Stiles jeep until you’re beside him. “Dad!” Stiles calls, voice filled with panic.

He breaks into a run, running towards one of the police men, grabbing his shoulder and whipping him around. “Dad?” He calls, stumbling back when he realizes that person isn’t his father. “Has anyone seen my dad?”

You bite your lip, glancing around the crime scene with fear.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Stiles walking up to the dead body, and almost immediately you run up beside him. “Stiles, don-”

“Stiles!”

You turn your head around, eyes widening with relief when you see Stiles’s father step forward, eyes narrowed in confusion at the sight of you two. “And Y/N. What are you two doing here?”

Stiles only steps forward, wrapping his arms around his father in a tight hug. You step back in respect, glancing down at your feet with a small, pitiful smile.

You have no idea where Scott is, but for some reason, in that moment, you’re not too worried. You know how much Stiles’s dad means to Stiles, just like Melissa means the world to you.

“Get in!”

Moving over to the right side of the back seat, you give Stiles some room, watching Derek crawls into the passenger seat behind him. Almost immediately Scott starts driving again.

“What point of laying low do you not understand?” Scott bellows, keeping his eyes before him on the road.

Derek only slams his hand against the car, “damn it, I had him!”

“Who, the alpha?” Stiles questions, popping his head up to the front. You scoff, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him back so you can see as well. He only rolls his eyes at you as you shift forward yourself, the both of you hitting each others shoulders as you squish forwards.

“Yes!” Derek snaps at Stiles, “he was right in front of me, and the friggin’ police showed up.”

“Woah,” Stiles argues, “they’re just doing their jobs...”

At the look Derek sends Stiles, you don’t necessarily blame the boy from backing up lightly, face scrunched up in mild fear. You’re just glad it’s not directed at you.

“Honestly,” you speak, pulling the attention on you. “It’s technically your guys fault that the police are even after Derek. I mean, it was Scott who decided to make him the most wanted fugitive in the entire state.”

“Thank you!” Derek huffs.

“Can we seriously get past that?” Scott pleads, voice rough with shame. “I made a dumbass mistake. I get it.”

“Alright!” Stiles cuts off, unnecessarily loud. You press your palm against your ear, sending the boy a glare. “How did you find him?”

Derek looks back at Stiles for a moment, before scoffing. Clearly, he doesn’t want to tell you three.

“Can you try to trust us for at least half a second?”

“Yeah, all of us.”

“If there’s anyone I trust in this car besides myself, it’s her.” Your eyes widen when he points at you. “She’s only the one here who hasn’t turned the police on me.”

“Really?” You question, surprised, as a small smile falls on your lips. “Thanks.”

Scott huffs, pulling your attention back on him as he narrows his eyes. “Derek,” he calls, voice stern.

Derek sighs, shaking his head; “look, the last time I talked to my sister, she was close to figuring something out. She found two things. The first was a guy named Harris.”

Once again, Stiles shoves his way to the front; “our chemistry teacher?”

“Why him?”

“I don’t know yet,” Derek snaps.

“Well,” you speak up, once again shoving Stiles back to give yourself room. “What’s the second?”

Pulling a small folded piece of paper out of his pocket, Derek unfolds it, revealing some sort of picture. “Some kind of symbol,” he concludes, before Scott suddenly flinches, as if he recognizes the symbol causing your attention to fall on him. “What? You know what this is?”

“I’ve seen it on a necklace,” Scott sighs, shaking his head and instantly you know who he’s referring to.

“Allison’s...” You mumble, eyes wide.

Gasping, you stumble back the moment you feel yourself slam into a chest. It takes a moment to realize just who you’ve stumbled into, and you feel your eyes widen when you find Jackson staring down at you, a smirk plastered on his lips.

“Oh, Jackson,” you mumble, unsure. You haven’t really talked to him since everything that happened that night in the school, and if you’re being honest, you have no idea what to say to him. “I-I’m sorry,” you smile softly, cheeks a little red. “I didn’t see you-”

“No,” Jackson smiles, cutting you off. “It’s all good. It’s my fault.”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Agree to mutual faults?”

Jackson laughs but nonetheless nods his head, pulling his backpack higher on his shoulder as he smirks down at you. A smirk on Jackson’s lip isn’t an odd thing, the guy practically oozes cockiness, but there’s something about the way he’s smirking down at you. Like he knows everything. But of what, you don’t know.

“Hey,” Jackson suddenly cause, pulling you from your thoughts. “Why don’t I walk you to class?”

“Oh, you... you don’t have to-”

“It’s no problem, your class is on the way to mine anyway.”

...How does he know that?

“Well, I was actually about to meet up with Scott and Stiles,” you explain, coming up with an excuse. “You’re welcome to-”

Jackson shakes his head, offering you a small smile. “Best I don’t,” he laughs, you mimicking him, albeit a little more feigned, “but i’ll see you around?”

“For sure,” you mumble, nodding slowly. Jackson sends you one more smirk and a wave before walking off past you. You mean to move, really, but you find yourself stuck in the hallway, head turned past your shoulder, watching his back grow farther and farther away from you.

“Y/N.”

Flinching, you spin around, wide eyes falling on Stiles. Almost immediately, you let out a breath of relief, holding your hand against your chest.

“Everything okay?” Stiles questions, obviously noticing your odd behavior and frazzled attitude.

You hesitate before answering, glancing behind yourself once more. “Yeah,” you whisper, “the weirdest thing just happened though. Jackson-”

“Jackson knows i’m a werewolf.”

Blinking, you turn your head to the side, finding Scott before you. He seems more frazzled and shaken up than you did a moment ago, cheeks flushed, signalling he’d ran over here to find the both of you.

“What?” You blurt, confused.

“Jackson,” Scott repeats, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Knows i’m a werewolf.”

You take a step forward, Scott and Stiles following your step as the latter speaks up; “how the hell did he find out?”

“I have no idea,” Scott breathes.

“Did he say it out loud-- the word?”

“What word?”

Scoffing, you shake your head at your brother, “werewolf,” you clarify. “Did he say, ‘I know you’re a werewolf’?” If he did, if he does know, could that be the explanation to his odd behavior before?

“No,” Scott answers, “but he implied it pretty freaking clearly.”

Taking a deep breath, Stiles tries to think optimistically. “Okay, maybe it’s not as bad as it seems.”

“How?” You deadpan.

“I mean,” Stiles continues, sending you a glare that read: not helping. “He doesn’t have any proof, right?” Scott shrugs in response. “And if he wanted to tell someone, who’s gonna believe him anyway?”

“How about Allison’s father?”

“Okay, it’s bad.”

“Who’s not being helpful now,” you mumble under your breath.

“I need a cure,” Scott says before Stiles can retaliate, “right now.”

“Does he know about Allison’s father?”

Sighing, Scott throws his hands up in the air; “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” you continue, trying not to panic. “Where’s Derek?”

“Hiding,” Scott answers, “like we told him to. Why?”

“Well, I have another idea,” Stiles answers for you, and you let out a breath of relief. You had no idea what to do. “But it’s gonna take a little time to finesse, though.”

“We have that game tonight,” Scott reminds, stammering and turns to Scott. “It’s quarterfinals. And it’s your first game.”

“Wait,” you call, holding up your hands and meeting Stiles’s eyes. “I didn’t know you were playing tonight.”

“Oh,” Stiles mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, it is.”

You nod, unable to stop the small smile that falls on you lips.

“Guys!” Scott whines, returning the attention on him and his current situation.

“Okay, I know,” Stiles nods, “do you have a plan for Allison yet?”

Shrugging, Scott nods hesitantly, “she’s in my next class.”

“Get the necklace.”

“Wait,” you call once more, “shouldn’t I just get the necklace from Allison? No offence Scott, but you two aren’t really friends right now...”

“No,” Scott shakes his head, “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.”

Sending him a skeptical look, you shrug your shoulders. Maybe he just wants an excuse to talk to her. “Okay.”

You drift off from the conversation between Allison and Lydia, the bright smile on your lips dissipating slightly when you see Jackson turned towards your brother and Stiles.

It’s clear by the expressions on Stiles’s and Scott’s faces what Jackson is doing, and you find yourself narrowing your eyes slightly at the side of his head.

“Don’t you agree, Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You blink, turning your head back towards Lydia and Allison. They’re both smiling at you, but you watch as their smiles fade much like yours did a few moments ago the moment they realize you weren’t listening. “Sorry,” you smile slightly, “my mind fell on other things.”

“Oh, I see,” Lydia smirks, “you were looking at Stiles.”

You blink again, cheeks inflaming almost instantly in embarrassment. “What?” You blurt, trying not to overreact. Stay calm, you told yourself, stay calm. “I wasn’t-... no, I, I wasn’t.”

Allison smiles slightly, giggling at you as you stutter as Lydia nods. “Yes, you were!” She continues to grin, smiling madly. “You totally were looking at him.”

“No,” you repeat, “I was not.”

“Do you like him?” Allison grins over at you, eyes wide with excitement.

You shake your head, repeatedly, trying to figure out a way how to get out of this conversation without further embarrassing yourself. What Lydia and Allison are saying may be true, but there’s no way you’d tell them that. Especially Lydia. Knowing her, she’d try to set the two of you up and that would just end... horribly.

As you’re trying to come up with excuses, quickly, you notice Jackson gone from the corner of your eye, causing you to stand up in panic.

“Y/N?”

Glancing around, you notice Stiles and Scott from afar, looking just as tensed up and panicked as before, but you can’t seem to find Jackson anywhere. Turning to Lydia and Allison, you shake your head; “did you guys see where Jackson went?”

Allison purses her lips, looking around; “no...”

“Who cares?” Lydia shrugs, grinning up at you; “stop trying to change the subject!”

Before you can reply, there’s a loud snap and suddenly everyone’s eyes are on Scott. His lunch tray having been cracked in half, and his face is read. With anger.

You quickly look around, the lunchroom now silent, finally able to spot Jackson. He’s over by the vending machines, so, quickly excusing yourself from Lydia and Allison’s sides, them barely paying attention now after the display Scott just gave them, you rush over to Jackson. Reaching forward, you grab his wrist, smiling sweetly up at him.

“Can I take you up on that walk now?”

His eyes slowly slide from your brother to you, the smirk on his lips only faltering for a moment before it brightens. It’s clear he hopes he can anger Scott more by messing with you, if his smirk is anything to go by, but as Jackson slides his hand in yours, leading you off to class, you turn your head in Scott and Stiles’s direction, sending them a nod, letting them know what you’re trying to do.

“Where’s Stiles?”

Sighing, Scott shakes his head; “he says he’ll be here soon.”

Clasping your hands before yourself, you nod, glancing around the field nervously. It may be pathetic, but you can’t help but worry about Stiles. This is his first game, and you don’t want him to miss it.

It takes you a moment to remember you’re still awkwardly standing in front of your brother. Said brother who you haven't really had a normal conversation with in a very long time. Glancing up at the bleachers, you see Lydia sitting there by herself, looking both angry and hurt.

“Well, I should-”

“Y/N,” Scott interrupts, causing you to blink up at him. “I want to apologize-”

“Not now,” you cut off, shaking your head with a small smile. “Just, I should get back to Lydia.” Leaning forward, you lower your voice to a whisper; “don’t let Jackson get to you,” before pulling back, smiling brightly at him. “Good luck, okay?”

Scott nods, and you move to step away, before a shadow falls next to you, blocking your path.

It’s Jackson.

“No good luck for me?” He smirks down at you, glancing over at Scott before meeting your eyes.

Swallowing thickly, you plaster a smile on your lips, a tight, very feigned smile, trying your best to ignore Scott. You can feel his anger practically oozing from him as Jackson grins down at you, barely an inch away from you.

Biting your lip, you clench your fist; “good luck, Jackson.”

You know arguing will only make it worse, and it’s best to just leave before Jackson tries to make Scott more angry, knowing he’ll be doing plenty of that on his own during the game. Sending the two of them a final smile, you head up the bleachers, taking the empty seat next to Lydia.

“I don’t know why you dragged me here,” she grumbles, hugging herself. “There’s no way I wanna support that asshole.”

“You’re doing it for me,” you remind, smiling reassuring her way. “And to prove to him you’re better than him. Because you are.”

Lydia’s frown softens slightly, and she sends you a smile in return, bumping her shoulder into yours lightly. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Anything for you, Lydia.”

Silence falls over the two of you, and as you wait for the game to start, you can’t but glance back, hoping to see Stiles appear. He never does.

“Looking for Stiles?”

“Hmm?” You mumble, turning your attention back on Lydia. “Oh, uh, no... Just noticed he wasn’t here.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here,” she smiles, “after all, he’s got you to impress.”

“Lydia!”

let me know what you thought? remember, reblogging always helps!

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 6 years

Text

submission:

I just want to get this off my chest:

Sometimes I feel some uber “woke” SJW (not using it in a pejorative manner, I just don’t know what other terms to use) are very overly aggressive/defensive.

I know I can be very “ignorant” as in uninformed about other minorities issues, and that’s why I ask around internet. I’m asking, truly because I’m curious & want to know more, not because I’m mocking/loving my ignorance/playing dumb. And I ask around internet because in real life, people are less open / care less about issues like this.

I was talking about ATLA reboot with another tumblr user. She was really a passionate person when it comes to social justice, I really want to know her opinions about the ATLA reboot & how the original producers of the animation promised that the series will be culturally appropriate & without a whitewashed cast.

We agreed that the first movie was horrible & we were both skeptical of their promises. She was a Canadian (I am a Malaysian), so she knows more about the indigenous American races. She said she doubted that they would really cast an Inuit actor for the Water tribe. Until this point, we were very civil.

And then I asked:

“Does it count as racial erasure if they, let’s say, also cast other indigenous people of America (Inuit, Eskimo, Native Americans, etc), instead of all Inuit?”

I thought it was not a big deal, because I’ve seen Cumberbatch played Strange (British playing American), or Hugh Jackman playing Wolverine (Australian playing Canadian), Armie Hammer playing Illya Kuryakin (American playing Russian), Don Cheadle playing Basher Tarr (American playing British), or Arden Cho playing Kira Yukimura (Korean playing Japanese).

And here where she started to be “aggressive”, she answered:

E*kimo is actually just a more offensive way of referring to the Inuit and Yupik people, though I know most people aren’t aware of that.

What do you think, nonny? Is it erasure when a role is written for a Korean character, and someone Chinese is cast instead, because it’s ‘close enough’? Please, don’t ask me questions you can very easily parse the answer to yourself with a little thought and common sense.

She also added tags:

#like it’s a step in the right direction when compared to hollywood whitewashing #but in a very #one step forward two steps back way

I seriously didn’t know that it was a pejorative way to call Inuit and Yupik people. The term is used in children’s books in here and I thought that was a term for a group of people who lives in Northern America (along with Inuit people). And I really didn’t know that it is that wrong to cast people from different nation and even after asking, I still don’t know. And tbh, I definitely don’t think that it’s worse than whitewashing (one steps forward, two steps back way).

And then I told her that I thought it’s okay since there are British actors playing American roles, etc, and she replied:

“I hope for your own sake you’re just an ass, and not that dumb”

Maybe I just had a really bad day, but I felt really sad, like I want to cry? I really didn’t mean to offend anyone. I really wanted to learn and when you want to learn because you don’t know something, and someone calls you dumb / an ass because you don’t know, it’s just disheartening for me and I feel really stupid.

I ask a lot of things to you and you’ve never been angry / replied in a condescending manner. I don’t know. I just had a bad day probably and wanted to get things off my chest. Sorry.

DW: You an always feel free to vent here!

And look, I’ve talked before about how social media isn’t just largely western--it’s largely American. I think we all remember that time I was told my “Scott McCall deals ketamine because he has motives, means, and opportunity, and if you say Stiles does it then Ic and ay Scott does it” was racist because that’s apparently a stereotype in the US. Well, guess what, Americans? It’s not a stereotype everywhere. Sometimes people actually just don’t know.

And honestly, why would I know every American stereotype? Do they know all the ways Australians stereotype people? Fucking doubtful. And why would you know that a certain (common) word for the Inuit people is considered pejorative? Do they know anything at all about Malaysia? Fucking doubtful.

I will say that in the case of your Native American casting hypothetical that race is very different to nationality -- like Hugh Jackman is always gonna be a white guy, you know, so it doesn’t matter if he plays an Aussie or an American in that respect, but that if you cast him as a different race then there would be issues!

But also, I don’t know enough about the racial politics between Native American peoples. Like, I can see why casting a Navajo actor as an Inuit character might be an issue, but what about casting a Navajo actor as an Apache character? Would that be okay?

And I don’t know. I don’t know where the line gets drawn there. I don’t know who gets to even draw the line.

Also, the Water Tribe aren’t Inuit anyway, are they? I know that their design is based very much on Inuit culture, but they’re not canonically Inuit. Inuit people don’t exist in that universe, just like Japanese people don’t, or British people don't. So to me it seems odd to claim that the part must go to an Inuit actor, because the Water Tribe are the Water Tribe, not Inuit.

I would love it if they cast Inuit actors, but there are no Inuit characters int hat universe.

And you should never feel dumb for asking questions you legitimately don’t know the answer to. You only mistake here was getting between someone standing on a soapbox and their purity wank.

#representation #submission

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symphonyofmars · 6 years

Text

Redemption Part 10

(This is an AU that starts after season 4)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15 , Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

MASTERLIST

Smut and feelings.

Word count: 5,251

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: Deucalion, OC (Woman), OC (Man), OC (Woman), OCs (background), Scot McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Kira Yukimura, Malia Tate, Lydia Martin, Liam Dunbar, Mason Hewitt, Corey Bryant, Sheriff Stilinski, Alan Deaton

Pairings: Deucalion/Original Woman Character, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Mason Hewitt/Corey Bryant

Warnings/other: Season 5 AU, goofiness, fluff, smut (of Deuc/OC), violence, some gore, (the sex is more graphic than the violence though)

Deucalion felt the mattress shift under him and woke to Val climbing out of the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, I was trying not to wake you."

"You did a terrible job," he said and chuckled softly.

She smiled, "I was just going to take a shower. Would you like to join me?"

Deucalion stretched languidly as he thought about the prospect, pushing most of the covers off of his nude, muscular frame as he did so. He glanced over to Val to see if she was enjoying the view and laughed at her expression; arms folded and smiling at him wryly with a brow raised.

"Mmm, we could soak in the tub instead."

"You actually use it as a tub?"

"Not really. Not when there's no one to soak with, certainly. But I'm sure it works just fine."

"I do have a thing for claw foot tubs..." she said, impersonating someone who was undecided.

He responded by rolling over to her and pulling her back onto the bed, letting her fall against his body. He peppered her neck with kisses as she laughed.

After some minor scrubbing, the tub was ready and filled with piping hot water. Deucalion went to climb in first, but was stopped by Val. She climbed in and leaned back, motioning for him to lean against her. Once in the tub, Deucalion was amused by his knees sticking out of the water but found himself quite comfortable leaning against her chest.

"I could fall back to sleep like this," he said as he closed his eyes.

"Don't, I'll never be able to get out."

Deucalion smiled.

Val traced the contours of the muscles in his arm with her fingers, provoking a contented sigh.

"That's nice."

Val smiled.

"Val, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"When do you plan on leaving?"

"Why?"

"I'm just wondering. Are you staying here for weeks? Months? Are you just never going to go back?"

"It's nothing I've made any real decisions about. Are you asking because of last night?"

"Partially. I like having you around, we have a lot of fun together. And..." Deucalion trailed off as he tried to think of the right words.

"And?"

"I have very strong feelings for you."

"Oh, so you 'like' like me."

He laughed loudly, "I was trying for something more romantic and less... 'American high schooler' but sure, I 'like' like you."

"Well, we must keep up with the times so as to blend in more easily."

"If you ask me to wear a snapback, I'm getting out of this tub."

Val laughed a short laugh, but then her expression became serious. "You seem to have fallen quite quickly for me."

"Have I?"

"The Freudian slip, the book, now… it sure seems that way."

"Maybe I am," he conceded as he popped some bubbles. "I knew you were stunning even when I first saw you, in that hole you dug for yourself, covered in earth."

"Liar."

"I swear I'm not."

"I was absolutely covered in dirt, how could I have possibly looked pretty?"

"Excuse me? I believe I said 'stunning'."

Val laughed, "Even more unbelievable."

Deucalion turned around to face her.

"You're getting water everywhere," she protested.

"Why is that so unbelievable?"

"I don't know. I was covered in dirt? I had a worm just hanging out on my leg?"

"That doesn't mean I couldn't see you for what you really were."

"What's that?"

"Beautiful. Then later I learned that you were also intelligent, strong, willing to accept help, funny, amazingly sexy--"

'That's why you 'like' like me?"

"Stop saying it like that, you sound like a kid."

"I like it, it's silly."

Deucalion closed the distance between them, sloshing even more water onto the floor. He pressed his body into hers as he kissed her, pulling away so he could look into her eyes

“That was such a serious kiss,” Val said with a laugh.

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

Val averted her eyes for a moment. "That's such a strange thing to say. 'In love with you' implies both people are in love."

"Are you not?"

Her jaw flapped uselessly and she sighed. "I'm not sure."

Deucalion leaned back in the other side of the tub and viewed her with a concerned look.

Val returned the look. "I like you a great deal, you're interesting, you show that you can change, you want to make yourself better, you're fun to spend time with--"

"Nothing physical?"

Val sighed, "You're on the mind-numbingly attractive side, yes. I realized it when I first saw you too. There, you've dragged it out of me."

Deucalion chuckled, "I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Well I'm not used to saying it. I've found it best to not let others know what's going on inside my head."

Deucalion sat up, "You can let me know. I want to be the person that you can tell anything to."

"I've told you basically everything about me in the two weeks we've known each other."

"But not everything?"

Val looked away, "There are some things that... even after so many years, I'm still not ready to tell anyone."

Deucalion watched the soapy water as it washed over Val's breasts and splashed up against the craggy scar that covered her heart. He had a feeling he knew what she was referring to. "I'm fine with that."

Val looked at him incredulously.

"Tell me or don't tell me anything you want, as long as you don't lie to me I'm fine."

Val smiled, "Where do you get off being so understanding?"

"How do you think I've held packs together over the years?"

Val smiled again.

"So why are you not sure?"

"... I don't know. Maybe it's just because we haven't known each other very long."

They were both quiet. Val was almost certain this was going to lead to him no longer being in love with her. She swished her hand through the water as she waited for him to say something.

Deucalion caught her hand. "That's understandable."

"It is?"

"Yes. When you've been around as long as we have, and you're more than twice my age, knowing someone for a few days... it's nothing compared to how long you really can know someone. And knowing someone for a long time brings a kind of natural trust and affection that you just feel from being around that person for so long. I understand." He leaned back again and rested his arms on the sides of the tub.

"You've put it into better words than I could have."

"You're welcome."

"Eloquence. That's another thing I like about you."

"Oh, so you can think of things that you like about me."

"I never said I couldn't."

"What else do you like?"

"Don't push it, buddy."

Deucalion chuckled and slid down into the tub, splashing water out again.

"You better hope you don't rot this floor through."

"Should be fine. This place doesn't have a basement so it's not like we'll fall through into anything." He stood, water cascading down his body.

Fuck, Val thought as the water dripped off his muscular frame.

"What say we dry off, hmm?"

It had been almost a month and a half since Deucalion invited her into his home, and almost a month since they had sex the first time. Val wondered if there was something to be said for the lost finding each other, but as soon as she had the thought she tried to purge it from her mind.

She had no idea what could happen in the days or weeks to come, but she knew she couldn't hide there forever.

She still refused to go outside the cabin, however. As much as part of her wanted to see her band – who she figured must collectively be mad at her at this point – she also didn't want to chance running into Scott, who she was sure hated her. She wasn't sure if Scott and his friends blamed themselves or if they blamed her, but she didn't care either way. She wanted to be alone. Or rather, alone with one other person. She would have already left the state or the country if it weren't for Deucalion who, as much as he didn't want her to leave, still tried to convince her that Scott would be forgiving.

Deucalion, who did the shopping and didn't mind that she never went with him, even though he told her multiple times that he went to a different town and that the odds of running into Scott were low. Deucalion, who had resolved - after a particularly long conversation in which he finally got Val to admit she was bored of her self-imposed hermitage and that she just might be beginning to get cabin fever - to attempt to bring things into the cabin in order to give them more things to do.

The first time it was hot chocolate, and at night they set a fire in the fireplace and curled up next to it in a blanket. That led to sex.

The second time it was art supplies, in which they took turns posing for each other and decided who was the better artist. The winner was never decreed because that also led to sex.

The third time he looked up the rules for poker and challenged Val to a game of strip poker. And if he tried to convince anyone that sex wasn't his primary motive, he would have failed miserably.

Most things he thought of to occupy their time and give them a change of scenery inevitably led to sex, which gave him cause to wonder if they would become bored of that too if they kept relying on it as a fun thing to do.

One night, as they lounged in bed after a tiring afternoon of lovemaking, he decided to ask what hobbies she had prior to her time with him.

"Hobbies?" Val asked, confused.

"Yeah. What did you do with your free time?"

"Nothing much different than now. Although there is much more sex involved now."

Deucalion laughed quietly. "So what, you just sat there?"

"No... You're going to think it's stupid."

"Why would I think it's stupid?"

"Most people think it's stupid."

"In case you haven't noticed, I am not most people. So, tell me what it is, I won't laugh."

"I didn't say you'd laugh, I said you'd think it's stupid."

"Val, I won't think it's stupid, just tell me!"

Val laughed at his persistence. "I used to knit."

"What?"

"Kniting. And crochet. Like, hats and scarves and gloves and stuff. Also weaving and embroidery. Basically, all the soft crafts.”

"Why would I think that's stupid? I mean, it seems a little out of character, but that doesn't make it stupid."

"Most people call me a grandma when they find out. And then I have to stop from saying, 'No, I've never had kids, but yes, I am old enough to have birthed a bloodline several times over!'" Val gestured as she used a mocking voice to impersonate people who annoyed her.

Deucalion sighed, "That's so silly. So you like to knit, so what?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Trying to find things for us to do."

The next day he bought some yarn and needles at a craft store close to where he always bought food, having to ask an employee for help because he had no idea what he was looking for. When he brought everything back Val roared with delighted laughter and offered to show him how to make something. And – after several hours – all he made was a huge, tangled knot.

Dejected by his own lack of skills, he immediately moved to throw it out, but Val stopped him. She surveyed the woolen mass he accidentally birthed into existence, taking a crochet hook she took new yarn and wove it into a sphere. In the span of an hour, her deft hands had turned it into something with four limbs, and after another half hour, it had a head. Deucalion was amazed by how quickly she worked and how little effort it took her to turn his mess into something with purpose and form.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It's a little wolf," She said and held it aloft. "Well, if a wolf were bipedal."

"So it's me?" He joked, taking it in his hands and turning it over.

Val's face took on the appearance of a giddy child who was, in fact, too excited. "Oh my god! It is! It's a tiny you!" She laughed uproariously but suddenly stopped. "Wait!" She dug into the bag of yarn, "Didn't you buy blue? I'm giving it eyes!"

Deucalion held his eyeless, miniature self and laughed boisterously at her reaction.

Val seized the wolf from his hands and quickly stitched blue eyes onto its face, and a wry smile to accompany it.

"I don't smile like that."

"You always smile like that, shush."

"Do I?"

"Yeah, when you're amused by something you smile sort of... crooked. It's cute."

Deucalion smiled the same smile to himself genuinely, but also to secretly check if he really did smile as she described it.

He looked at the toy again. Tiny stitches, made from a mistake he made and corrected by her. So different from their relationship, but he wouldn't have wanted to be fixed by her, he was glad he could save himself. He wouldn't have wanted to meet her as an incomplete person that she couldn't help. He was glad they met when they did. He was confused, though, as to why she made something for him when he bought the yarn for her. But when he looked into her smiling eyes, he knew that the thing itself wasn't important, it was the gesture. To him, the tiny, complex stitches and the wordless dedication and focus that created them felt like... Love? he thought to himself. Is this her Freudian slip? Or is it just the moment? Maybe she does love me, somewhere in there. Maybe this gift is betraying her need to not say it, because she thinks that if she does, something bad will happen to me... I'm keeping it for forever.

The wolf found a home on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

But now he had this nagging feeling deep in the back of his brain like they were uneven. She had given him this small piece of her, but what did he have to give in return? He ruminated on the subject for a few days and came up with nothing. He had some old objects from his younger days, but those weren't anything he collected with her in mind. He wasn't even sure he could make anything. Knitting was clearly a bust, and he hadn't done any woodworking in a long time. He didn't have anything to give her that was just for her, from him. He didn't know what he should do.

"Duke, I think it's time I went back to my apartment," Val said abruptly over breakfast one morning.

"What? Why?"

"I'm sure the band is mad at me at this point, and I need to at least check on the place. I am paying for it."

"Will you come back?"

"I don't know. I'll probably end up running into Scott and his pals and I don't know how they feel about me at the moment."

It hit Deucalion now that he didn't want her to leave. He had always known he didn't, but back then it was like a sickening undercurrent to the entirety of their time together, the background radiation of a budding relationship. Now it felt like his organs were being pulled out. "Does this mean we're over?"

"Do... you want us to be over?"

"Not at all," he was hoping he didn't sound too needy but he was sure his voice betrayed him. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away, but he desperately didn't want her to leave.

Val laughed, "I'm not going to do a film noir 'see you in the funny papers' and never see you again."

Deucalion was sure he was blushing like a schoolboy.

Val stood and walked to his side of the table.

Confused, Deucalion stood, his expression was pained as he waited to see what she would do.

Val kissed him, hugging him tightly as she did so, and pulled away to look at his now relaxed

features.

"Why don't you walk me back? Then you'll know where it is."

"I could do that."

"You could."

"And then..." he enrobed her in his arms. "Maybe I could visit you?"

"You could," she responded coyly.

Deucalion's voice lowered as he stepped closer. "And you can show me around your place."

Val giggled, "And what would I show you?"

Deucalion lifted his head away and feigned deep thought. "Oh... I don't know. The kitchen?"

"It's there when you walk in."

"The living room?"

"Can also be seen from the foyer."

"Oh, so you have a foyer?"

She laughed, "Not really."

"Hmm," Deucalion mused. "The bedroom?"

"I had a feeling that was the place you wanted to see."

"Oh, did you?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure why, I must have ESP or something. I seem to just have predicted it out of thin air." Val's voice dripped with sarcasm as Deucalion was already trying to rid her of her pants. Val sprung free of his grasp and effected the accent of a southern belle. "I said, 'You know, he's probably one of those no-good ruffians, one of those guttersnipe, jackanape types who might try to find his way into my chambers and have his way with me!'"

Deucalion laughed at her impression but stalked her across the room just the same. Val backed up when he got closer.

"'And here I am, just a young woman from Georgia, trying to find my way in this big wide, world, and find me a husband before all the men go off to war!'" She rested the back of her hand against her forehead dramatically.

"Alright right, Scarlett O'Hara, you're about to get ravished!"

And with that Deucalion lunged at her, closing the distance between them in an instant, sending Val scurrying and laughing into the room she used to sleep in.

"'You'll never have me, you highwayman!'" She yelled in delight as she closed the door on him.

Deucalion tried to open the door but Val held it shut.

"Val, I am not breaking this door in and ruining the frame," he said in his sternest voice.

"'Rhett! What should I do?! Where shall I go?!'" Val yelled from the other side.

Deucalion stopped trying to force the door and thought for a moment. He sighed. "Frankly, my dear, I just don't give a damn?" He asked and the knob of the door turned and the door swung open.

"'Oh, Rhett!'" Val exclaimed as she flung her arms around Deucalion's neck. "'One of those awful highwaymen was after me!'"

Deucalion raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?" Her faux-accent was beginning to grate on him.

"'And you know what I heard they really were?'"

"What?"

Val dropped the accent, "Werewolves."

"Werewolves." Deucalion repeated, unsure of where she was going.

"Mhm. I heard they'll charm the pants off you with their steel blue eyes and deep voices and English accents, and then-- you know what I heard?"

"What did you hear, my dear?" He asked, deepening the pitch of his voice and pulling his arms up around her.

"I heard they'll take you from behind..." she stood on her toes so she could whisper into his ear, "and fuck your brains out."

Deucalion pulled away so he could look at her face. "Is that so?"

Val nodded, "Mhm."

"Well then," he said as he slipped his hands into her pants and slipped her pants off her, "I'd hate to disappoint."

Val giggled as he locked lips with her, hoisted her up and carried her to the bed. He lay her down and undid his own pants, sliding them off as Val helped by pushing at them with her feet.

"I thought you were all afraid of the 'highwayman' now you're kicking his pants off?" He asked as he stood up.

"Well, it has been so very lonely at the estate lately," Val said with false innocence.

"My dear," Deucalion said as he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the floor, "what will the neighbors think when they hear you're in such a state?"

"Who'll tell them?"

Deucalion chuckled as he kissed her. "If I could make you moan and scream, they'd find out."

"And just how would you do that?"

He stood again and pulled her underwear off of her, "I was thinking this." He pulled her by the hips to the side of the bed and buried his face between her legs causing her to giggle with delight. He balanced on the balls of his feet and closed his mouth around her clit drawing little circles on it with his tongue. Val inhaled deeply and shoved her fingers into his hair, grabbing it in fistfulls as she gasped and sighed. As much as Deucalion wanted to watch her as her breasts heaved, he dipped his head back down. He flattened his tongue against her labia and dragged it back up to her clit and sucked on the bud, the bundle of ultra-sensitive nerves sending waves of pleasure through her body.

Deucalion chuckled to himself against her thighs.

"What?" Val asked as she pushed herself up and looked at him.

"Nothing." He said with a smile.

"No, what is it?"

"If I had known you would be this easy, I would have visited this estate a long time ago!"

Val opened her mouth in false shock, reached for a pillow, and hit Deucalion over the head with it.

Deucalion laughed, toppling over from the force of the pillow. "Oh, my lady, what will everyone think of your violent tendencies?"

Val sat up and grabbed him under his jaw and helped him back up. "Don't make me give you a whipping, you no good ruffian."

Deucalion laughed.

"Now get back down there," Val said as she shoved his head back between her thighs and wrapped her legs around his ears, muffling his laugh as he once again licked her clitoris. At this, Val's legs relaxed and fell away from his ears and rested on his shoulders. Deucalion took this as an opportunity to slide one, and then two fingers into her, angling them up as his teased her clit with his tongue. Val's eyes closed tightly as she exhaled in a noteless moan, pulling the sheets into her balled up fists. As her hips bucked erratically, Deucalion forced them down with his other hand, forcing her to stay still and accept what he was doing to her. She exhaled harder, wishing she could make noise but not wanting to subject him to the dehumanizing effects of her powers. Instead, she shoved her hands into hair again and pinned him against her. As Deucalion's tongue and fingers became more vigorous, Val's breathing became more shallow and ragged. Finally, she gasped and her body became motionless, except the part of her that was now pulsating violently around his fingers. Deucalion smiled as he thrust his fingers into her one last time, causing her to inhale deeply and clamp her legs around his head.

When her legs fell away again she could hear him chuckle.

"Shut up," Val breathed. "I hate you and the things you do to me."

"No you don't," Deucalion sang to her as he wiped his face in one motion and licked her juices off his fingers.

Val watched and smiled, "You're a dirty old man, you know that?"

"No, I'm a werewolf, and you know what I heard?" He asked as he helped her roll onto her stomach and pulled her toward him so her legs were off the bed and her feet were on the floor.

"Oh no," Val giggled quietly.

Deucalion positioned his cock, hard from all the excitement of toying with her, at the entrance of her dripping wetness. He wrapped one of his arms around her shoulder and pulled up, her spine curved, and brought her ear to his lips "I heard they take you from behind and fuck your brains out."

With that, Deucalion thrust into her. Val held onto his arm and tried not to moan though she very much wanted to. It wasn't just how much he filled her and so quickly, it was that he flipped her own words back at her in the most suave and charismatic way.

"I guess they were right about werewolves being charming," Val said huskily as Deucalion let her go and placed his hands on her hips.

"You're damn right," he agreed, and brought one hand down hard onto her asscheek.

"Oh my god!" Val gasped, equal parts surprise and pleased.

Deucalion froze for a moment, unsure of her reaction.

She turned her head, "If you don't keep doing that I will be very upset."

Deucalion smiled and brought his other hand down onto her other cheek.

"Fuck!" Val said and slid forward, breasts pressed up against the bed.

Deucalion correctly read that as his cue to keep going and was amazed as how much she changed from being so cold and distant to now letting him spank her with no worries.

As the flesh of her ass stung and reddened, Val was happy to let her anxieties go and put herself into the strong, capable hands of the only person she felt she could trust. Not that he needed to know that.

Deucalion stopped spanking her when the red outline of his hand finally appeared on her asscheek. He turned his attention to her posture, pressed up against the bed and biting into the palm of her hand. He scooped her up again, the fullness of her rump almost making it difficult for him to stay in her as he thrust, and held her against him. He palmed one breast in his hand, pinching her nipple between his fingers, and stuck the fingers of his other hand in her mouth. Val sucked on them reflexively, gasping from his continued thrusts. He pulled his fingers out of her mouth and touched them to her clit almost making her jump from surprise. She could feel him grin next to her ear as he rubbed it slow at first and then more vigorously, making her shift her weight on her feet as she stood on her toes. Her feet ached from trying to make herself tall enough for him, and her body ached from the pleasure he had already given her. She exhaled deeply as she felt the pressure begin to build up again between her legs. Her entire body screamed at his touch and how thoroughly he had fused their beings as his cock plunged into her and slammed up against her cervix. She wrested herself from the grip of his arm and, bending back as far as she could, grabbed him with one hand and pulled his mouth to hers. He grabbed her hip to steady himself with his free hand, his fingers furiously working her clit. Her other hand was the only thing they were balanced on. She breathed into his mouth in erratic breaths as he felt her convulse around him, the hand they were balanced on now gripping at the bedsheets. He bit her lip to stop her from pulling away and held her hips to his as she came. Feeling himself about to reach his limit, he let go of her lip, pushed her body away from his, and shot his warm seed all over her back.

Val turned to look at him. "I hope you plan on cleaning that up."

Deucalion laughed as he stood, one hand on the edge of the bed, the other on his lower stomach. He grabbed some tissues from the nightstand and began to clean her.

"Val?"

"Yes, highwayman?"

He stopped, "If you start with that accent again I'll leave you to clean yourself."

Val laughed, "What?"

"Where did you get these tattoos from?"

She rested her head in her hands. "Which?"

"These lines next to your spine on your lower back," he began and he traced them with his fingers. "You have some dots on the other side here higher up. This one that... looks like an elaborate wolf, maybe? I noticed the lines on your wrist as well, and the runes on your right forearm earlier, but I had never seen you from this angle before."

"Enjoying it?" Val asked huskily.

Deucalion smiled. "Of course."

"Well, the lines and dots are the oldest, they're paleolithic. The wolf was done by a woman I knew when I was traveling through an ancient Norse fishing village, it's Fenrir. The runes were done when I was in Upsalla for a festival shortly after, am I clean?"

Deucalion wiped the last bit of himself from her skin. "All clean."

She rolled over and pointed to her right shin, "This fish was done when I was hanging out with some Sarmatian shamans after a battle I helped them with. And this," she pointed to an anchor on her left rib, "was done by a tattoo artist I knew when I lived in New York in 1936."

"Quite the collection."

"I try."

"I noticed you have a number of scars too, aside from the ones on your chest... and the one I saw on your back." He figured that the scars were both around her heart, One on the front and one on the back...

"Yeah, it would seem that huldras don't heal the way werewolves do.

"I like them."

"Thank you, but I didn't ask."

Deucalion looked at the tissues in his hands and put them down on the nightstand. He sat next to her, quiet for a moment as he collected his thoughts.

"I mean, I like you. All the parts of you. The parts I know and the parts you may never tell me. Each of these marks is something that happened to you that I wasn't there for. I didn't mean to imply that you needed my approval for them, you don't."

"That's normally the case when those words happen in that order."

"I realized it after it came out of my mouth, I'm sorry."

Val waved it off, "Nah, don't be. I know what you mean. I shouldn't bristle at everything." She sighed, "Old habits die hard, I guess."

"You know you can let your guard down around me."

"I'm trying. I’m so used to living with it up and fully armed that I slipped. Sorry."

Deucalion touched his head to hers and smiled, "Let's both agree that we messed up, and we'll accept each other's apology."

Val returned the smile, "Sure."

They sat there, their foreheads touching as Deucalion gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

"And hey," Val said as she pulled away, "I thought I was going to give you the whipping."

Deucalion laughed heartily, the muscles in his abdomen tensing with mirth. "I gave you a spanking, not a whipping."

"So I get the spanking and you get the whipping? I can deal with that."

Val smiled as Deucalion laughed.

#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fic #deucalion #deucalion/woman oc #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #alan deaton #kira yukimura #malia tate #liam dunbar #mason hewitt #corey bryant #sheriff stilinski #dang gurl that body #and when I say 'gurl' I mean Deucalion #Redemption

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were-cheetah-stiles · 7 years

Text

The College Years - Freshman Year (Chapter 13) - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “The Parents Weekend”

Characters: Stiles & Noah Stilinski, Derek & Cora Hale, Scott & Melissa McCall, Malia Tate, Ethan, Isaac Lahey & Chris Argent, Reader’s Father, Tom Y/L/N & Reader/OFC

Warnings: None, maybe language, who knows...

A.N.: This is pretty short but I just like the idea of Stiles getting grilled by your Dad while you get grilled by Noah. Plus it’s a major set-up for the next chapter........

Summary: Parent's Weekend has come and the mothers, fathers, and surrogate parents of Berkeley's underclassmen have descended upon campus. The pack has a large family dinner. Sheriff Stilinski questions Y/N, and Scott, Stiles, Mr. Argent and Y/N’s dad, Tom Y/L/N, finally have a discussion.

Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen

"So why is your Dad coming and not your Mom?" Scott, who was on the other side of Stiles, asked you.

"My Mom couldn't get out of work and he kept saying 'if he's paying for Berkeley, he wants to see me there.'" You rolled your eyes.

"Maybe your dad will have some information about the vampires that he'd be more willing to share in person.." Scott reasoned.

"Maybe your dad will be able to convince you to take the martial arts class with Scott and I so that I don't have to worry about you." Stiles said, frustrated, flailing his arms.

"Hmm... nah." You replied, snarkily.

Stiles opened his mouth, shocked and frustrated by your sass. "Why won't you just take it. Y/N, come on." Stiles whined.

"I was forced to take tae kwon do in high school and I hated every minute of it.... I'm not saying that I got knee surgery to get out of tae kwon do, but I'm also not saying that I didn't milk it for way longer than was real..." You said facetiously, a smug grin spreading across your face.

"I hate you, you know that, right?" Stiles glared at you, as you all walked home from campus.

"Mhmm." You smiled as you glanced down to see your hand intertwined with his. You squeezed his hand, and he glanced down at you, a smile turning up his lips. "Maybe, like boxing or krav maga or something, I just don't want to do martial arts."

"Krav maga would be cool, you could see if Cora and Malia want to do it with you?" Scott suggested.

"That's a good idea."

"Now I hate the both of you." Stiles said as he closed the front door of their apartment behind him, watching you walk through his bedroom door and drop your backpack on the floor. He followed after you, seeing a trail of your backpack, coat, one shoe, the other shoe.

"So you hate me, huh?" You said with a grin, standing on Stiles' bed, pulling your shirt over your head, and tossing it to the ground. Stiles stepped back, cocked his head to the side, and then closed his bedroom door behind him.

"I definitely... definitely don't hate you." Stiles said as he rushed to the bed, watching you drop down to your knees.

He wrapped his hands around your back and pulled you close to him. You placed your hands in his hair and began kissing him. You sucked on his bottom lip and he moved down to your neck. He kissed across your collarbones and your shoulders, pulling the straps of your bra down as he moved along your body. You moaned quietly at his touch. He moved back up to your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you moved your fingers to unbutton his purple flannel shirt. Stiles heard your phone vibrate against his hardwood floors.

"Y/N, that was the third time your phone went off, maybe it's important..." Stiles said, holding your arm as you reached to pull his t-shirt off.

"It's fine, just leave it." You brushed it off, as you went to kiss his neck, pulling his shirt off over his head.

The phone went off again.

Stiles dropped to the bed beside you. "Damnit." He sat up and looked for your jacket. "Here, just see who it is."

"I have six missed calls from Hanna and Sarah.." You said as you hit play on a voicemail left by one of your roommates.

"Hey, so I just let your dad into the building but you're not here... sooooo Lamb and I are just going to keep trying to call you... or try to get Scott or Stiles' number from Simon since you're probably with one of them. Okay call me back." Hanna spoke frantically over the voicemail.

"Oh my god.. I completely lost track of time... I have to go." You said as you searched the floor for your shirt. "I'll see you at dinner later tonight?" You said as you ran out his bedroom door.

"Yea, see you later." Stiles yelled out the front door of his apartment, as he pulled his t-shirt back over his head.

You opened the door to your apartment and saw Scott and Melissa McCall, Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski, and Derek and Cora Hale waiting to be let in. You stepped out of the way, gesturing for everyone to step inside. Malia and Ethan were already sitting at the table with Isaac and Mr. Argent, and your dad, Tom.

You grabbed Stiles' arm and yanked him into the kitchen. "Just to warn you, my dad is pissed because it's really obvious that I have not been sleeping here for most of the semester and he's probably going to talk to you at some point."

"Okay, well this is horrible. I haven't even met your dad and he hates me." Stiles said, his eyes widening with anxiety and fear.

"Did your dad bring his gun? Actually it doesn't matter, Scott can probably just protect you."

"What?!" He whisper-yelled. "Are you serious?"

"It'll be fine, just let him yell at you and then talk about wanting to be like your Dad or talk about the Mets."

"Is that even going to work?" Stiles asked. You shrugged.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could help." Sheriff Stilinski said, halting the conversation.

"Dad, did you bring your gun tonight?" Stiles asked, as he checked his dad's belt.

"...No, and get off me. I'm in a room full of magical creatures and we're having dinner, I thought I could leave the badge at home for one night." Noah retorted, shaking his head at his son.

"I can't count on you for anything, can I?" Stiles narrowed his eyes at his dad, before catching you motioning your head for Stiles to go back out to the party. "Ugh, if you hear a loud thud, I've literally died of terror." Stiles complained as he left the kitchen.

"I wanted to see if you wanted some help, thought it was a shame that I didn't get to spend much time with you when you were in Beacon Hills but you know, as far as excuses go.." Noah rambled.

"Uh, yea, I mean, I'm almost done but if you could watch the peppers for me, I can finish the pasta." You handed him a wooden spoon, and then went to work cooking.

"So where did you learn to cook?" Noah asked.

"My mom, and my dad, I guess. They're both really excellent cooks. Do you cook much, Sheriff?" You asked, nervous about where the conversation was going.

"No, no, not too much. Probably for the best too, I was never as good of a cook as Stiles' mom. Uh, Stiles tells me that you're a history and political science major with a minor in Arabic? Did I get that right?"

"Yes, actually you did. It's a lot of work but I really like my classes, and Stiles and I even signed up for a few poly sci classes together for the Fall. It should be fun." You replied, smiling, happy that the conversation was going well.

"And you're from New York? You a Mets fan?"

"Yankees..." You answered reluctantly, wanting to make a good impression on the Sheriff.

"Oh that's too bad, we are definitely Mets fans in the Stilinski house... Uh, Stiles also tells me that you're a witch..." Noah stated, nervously.

You stirred your vodka sauce for a few moments before answering. "I am."

"Do your roommates know about all of this?"

"No, not yet. That's why they're not here tonight. They're out with their own parents right now." You explained.

Sheriff Stilinski put his spoon down on the counter and turned to you. "I hate to ask this but I need to know, are you the kind of witch who can cast spells or make potions or anything like that?"

"No.. in that respect, I am no different from Dr. Deaton. My real power lies in my telekinesis and energy fields and invisibility and the occasional card trick." You joked, trying to lighten to conversation.

"So you can't make a love potion or something like that?" He asked.

"......No, nothing like that.... Why do you ask, Sheriff?"

"I didn't mean to intrude or imply anything, I just thought my son would never get over Lydia Martin, especially after what she did to him. Hell, I haven't even forgiven Parrish yet and I work with the guy... But the last few months, since Stiles met you, he has been so happy and so.... normal with you, I just, I had to make sure that you didn't spike his lemonade or something." Noah explained. "I just haven't seen my son this happy since his mother died, and I had to make sure it was real. I hope you didn't take offense."

You shook your head, lightly smiling as you stirred your sauce more. "No offense taken, Sheriff, I get it. I'm glad that I have made Stiles so happy. He makes me very happy too. You raised.... the best son." You said, your smile widening.

"Is dinner ready yet? I am dying out there with your dad, Y/N." Stiles burst through the kitchen door.

You nodded and pointed to the plates on the counter, prompting Stiles to set the table.

Everyone sat down at dinner and discussed school, work, the wendigos in Beacon Hills and the vampires in Berkeley. When dinner was over, and most people were helping to clear the table and get dessert set out, Scott, Chris Argent, Stiles and Tom Y/L/N sat at the table on your terrace.

After an hour, when dessert finally made its way onto the table, you went out to retrieve the men from the balcony. Your dad and Mr. Argent walked back inside to join the others.

"So what'd he say?" You asked, half closing the door behind you, blocking their exit.

"The irony of all of this is going to be astounding." Stiles remarked.

"Mr. Argent is going to head back to Beacon Hills with Isaac tonight to talk to Gerard."

"So he'll do it?" You asked, excited.

"Your dad agreed to it. He's going to set up the meeting for Easter weekend, when we're on Spring Break." Scott told you.

"We've gotta book tickets to New Orleans then, Allison is going to be the new Jesus." Stiles said jokingly, placing a hand on yours and Scott's shoulder, as you all walked back into the apartment.

Twelve <- -> Fourteen

Get fucking stoked for the next chapter coming at you tomorrow, and get your requests to be tagged in it now because it’s posting early and with all the premiere madness, you might just miss it.

@alexhmak @dontstopxx @iloveteenwolf24 @chivesoup @vampirepinary @parislight @surpeme-bean @snek-shit @mayahart02 @fuxkdean @teenage-dirtbagbaby

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