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crashdevlin · 3 years

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Opposites Don’t Attract (A Witcher Fic)

Author’s Note: This was written while I was fighting Covid19...so I’m pretty proud of that. I'm aware that not everyone likes the Witcher but this was the only thing that would could out of my head that week so...

I took bits of lore from the show, the books, and the games and mixed them all up into a cohesive awesomeness...also, the smut is pretty good, but the banter is where it's at with this one. If you guys like this, I might make it a series...so, let me know how you're feeling on it.

Summary: Y/n is a witcher from the Cat School (a nomadic school that is one of the few that actually makes female witchers) who keeps running into Geralt of Rivia...to her great pleasure.

Pairing: Geralt x Female Witcher!Reader, mentions of Geralt x Yennefer and Geralt x Triss Merigold

Word count: 3869

Story Warnings: 18+! HERE BE SEX!! DON’T READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!!, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of infertility, little bit of angst (it's a Cassie story...what do you expect?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t often you crossed paths with the White Wolf. The Continent was vast and you both had work to do. But it was always a treat when you walked into a tavern and smelled the man.

"Geralt. What brings you to Kagen?" you asked, taking the stool next to him at the bar.

"A contract."

"Always so succinct, Wolf...and just a bit disrespectful. Isn't my school the one that's supposed to birth disreputable thugs?"

Amber eyes turned on you as you fiddled with your medallion, a silver coin with a cat's head on a silver chain. It hung right between your breasts and never came off.

"Here to kill a monster...or be a monster?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble.

A zing of indignant fury went through you but you stifled it instinctively. "I haven't taken a contract against a human in nearly twenty years. I've learned the error of my ways. I told you as such when we met last. Remember? The bard's impromptu celebration in Lyria." He grunted softly at you and looked away. "You do remember, don't you, Geralt?"

"My memory is fine, Feline."

"Then you remember folding me in on myself and making my body quake?" You set your hand on his thigh and watched his face for a reaction.

He gave no indication he even noticed your fingers over the conditioned leather. "Since when do you call them 'humans'? When last we met, you were still calling them by the slur."

You rolled your eyes. "That was a single slip. Another thing I've seen the error on. I've developed, I've grown. You have to admit that some things are hard to shake, like a word you shouldn't say or a prejudice you were taught as a small child. I wasn't really given a choice on who to sympathize with in the conflict. Cats and Elves, we go together. Call it a commiseration of outcasts."

He let out a long sigh before dropping his hand to yours. "You talk too much, Cat."

"Well, someone has to fill the silence around you. Jaskier doesn't seem to be around right now, so I'll take that mantle." You licked your lips and hummed as his fingertips slowly caressed the back of your hand. "I could help you fulfill your contract. Two witchers are better than one. What are you after?"

He turned his head just enough to catch your eyes. "You want to help me?"

"I want to fuck you, but I feel you're going to be distracted until you've got your coin so I might as well hasten that instance."

"Can I trust you to have my back in battle?"

You pulled your hand away and shook your head. "If I can alter my preconceived notions of humans, you can alter your notions of Felines. Or, in the very least, of me." You caught his eyes and held them without blinking. "I have known you for decades, Geralt. Can you trust me to have your back?"

He held your eyes for a few moments before he picked up his ale. "It's a graveir. Strength is more important than speed."

"Well, then I'll just have to pull its attention and hope it is hungry for witcher." You smiled. "And you can kill it before it eats me."

He smiled just a bit as he set his mug down. "Perhaps I'll let it eat you, kill it while it is sated and happy."

"Aww, but then the great White Wolf would never get to eat his fill of this Feline ever again."

He smirked as you set a coin on the bar and requested an ale of your own. "And what brought you to Kagen, Y/n?"

You smiled at the use of your name. "Tracking a man." His eyebrow went up so you clarified. "Just tracking. He's a historian. There's some question of the authenticity of some of the Aen Seidhe artifacts he's 'found'. He's at the whore house two down so I thought I'd have a drink while he was busy. A lucky stroke to find you."

"If you help me with the graveir, you might lose him."

You took a drink of your ale and turned on the stool. "You think we can't take down a graveir and have a fun night before a middle-aged human historian wakes from his well-deserved nap after a night of lust away from his wife?" You leaned next to his ear and whispered, "Are you underestimating me or yourself?"

"I could never underestimate you." He tipped his head back and finished off his ale and you chugged down your own. It was time to work.

As you moved to follow Geralt out of the tavern, a tall man with a sunburned face stepped in front of you.

"I didn't know they made witchers with tits," the foul-smelling farmer said with a guffaw at the end for good measure.

"Well, you've never seen the Butcher of Blaviken with his shirt off, have you?" you snapped, stepping away from him.

"You're a real one, then? You got the eyes, I see. They do all those mutations on you? Hear witchers are like a bitch in heat but cain't procreate. Now there's a perfect woman, right? Always ready to be filled, but never able to give me any more little brats."

Geralt sneered at the man's words but you just shook your head. "I guarantee no woman wants to be filled by you or your brats. Especially not this woman."

The drunk looked offended for a moment before he scoffed. "You're not a woman. You're a fuckin' mutant. Wouldn't want your-"

A blade was in your hand and held against his throat in a flash. "I'm a fucking mutant and a fucking woman and I want nothing to do with you."

"Apologize," Geralt demanded, quiet and intent.

The drunk looked down at the knife and blinked a few times, then nodded. "Sorry."

Your blade was back in its sheath on your hip before he could take another breath. "Let's go, Geralt."

"Hmm." He pulled open the large wooden door and walked out, you followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"When's the last time you saw the Caravan?" Geralt asked as you headed for the woods.

"You really don't think I've changed, do you?" He gave a noncommittal grunt so you rolled your eyes. "Even after that slime back at the tavern? I didn’t kill him. I didn't even hurt him. I didn't even spout off and call him a...well, if anyone deserves to be slurred, it's a man like that and I held my tongue." You reached out and slapped your hand across his chain mail. "Haven’t seen hide nor hair of Dyn Marv in…"

You rubbed your fingers across your eyes and shook your head. "I abandoned the Caravan the day I met you. The ideals were harder to shirk but I left my school the moment I realized that Gezras wasn't quite the savior they claimed. You had it right. You and the others up at Kaer Morhen, you know how...how a witcher's supposed to act. You were trained in the codes and morals, I wasn't."

"No, you were trained blindfolded on a tightrope across the rooftops of Oxenfurt."

"Let it never be said that Cat School is without our flair." You smiled over at him. "And it was Oxenfurt, the Cintran Capital, and Vengerberg. Nomads and all that."

Geralt looked over at you and smiled. "I can imagine the Cintran guard were very happy to have a bunch of witchers crawling across their roofline."

"Oh none of them ever cared for having a bunch of witchers in their city let alone running training exercises across their roofs. But not a one tried to stop us. You'll recall, there was a time when most feared and respected us more than they hated us."

"I don't recall people ever fearing Cat School," he teased.

"Ah-ha, you're so hilarious, Geralt. My sides are in stitches from all this laughter," you responded dryly.

You walked in relative silence for a few moments, your boots making no sound on the tall grass. "I didn't know meeting Vesemir affected you so much," he said eventually.

"Oh, yes. It was wise old Vesemir that showed me the error of my ways, not the dashing white-haired man who rode into Novigrad after him."

"Dashing. That's a new one."

"I'm absolutely certain it is not a new one, Geralt. Not for any woman who's had the pleasure to make your acquaintance." Your cheeks heated up in a way you imagined his never did. Wolves dulled emotion. So did Bears, and Vipers, and most schools. Most pushed down emotions to make a witcher less susceptible to fear and anger and sadness. Cat School was different. You were reminded of that every time you were around Geralt. "I bet 'dashing' would be one of the first words they'd use to describe you: the Triss Merigolds and Yennefer of Vengerbergs of the world."

He looked over at you as you approached a cemetery filled with recent dead from a bandit attack on the outskirts of Kagen. "Hmm. Is that jealousy I hear?"

"No!" you responded just a little too loud. "What do I have to be jealous of? They're two supernaturally beautiful sorceresses who've been part of your life much longer than I have. Besides, none of us really gets you for more than a night or two, right?"

He grunted softly in agreement, then offered a potion from his belt. You took it and swallowed it down, feeling your already-fast reflexes get a boost. "You're supernaturally beautiful too. It will make you better graveir bait."

You couldn’t focus on the compliment he'd given you as he pointed to a bloated ghoul digging into a fresh grave with short, strong claws. He was gone by the time you looked back but you could sense him moving around the outside of the cemetery.

Normally, this was the point when you'd draw your silver; approaching a ghoul as it ripped a limb from a corpse to make its meal for the night. The sword stayed on your back with your steel, however. You were to take its attention so Geralt could kill it from behind.

It was fairly easy, actually. You and Geralt, working in tandem, had the graveir as dead as his dinner before there was a chance for real trouble. It noticed you, it rushed you, you dodged and dodged and threw a punch or three to its ugly face and then Geralt appeared in your vision and the graveir met the sharp blade of a witcher's silver sword. No muss, very little fuss, and very little blood.

"You did good as bait," Geralt commented as you walked back toward the city. "Maybe I should have you play the snack on hunts more often."

"Oh? A snack for the monsters or a snack for yourself?"

"I'm serious. We work well together."

"It's not the first time we've worked together."

There had been, in fact, two other monsters that you helped Geralt with. A wraith terrorizing a man in Novigrad that you helped him with when you first met each other and a wyvern you encountered on the road. Geralt happened to have the contract on the wyvern and showed up to take it down as you were in the midst of killing it.

He graciously shared a portion of the coin garnered from his contract.

He hummed in acknowledgement. “You should come with me.”

You stopped and turned to look at him. “What?”

“Once you’ve fulfilled your contract on the historian, you should saddle up and travel with me. You said it yourself, ‘two witchers are better than one’.”

You looked up into his eyes and blinked a few times. “You miss Vesemir so much that you would travel with me just to have another witcher at your side?”

“Why don’t we leave it at ‘I enjoy your company’?” he suggested.

You started walking again, heading toward your mare, a Konik named Daisy, and Geralt’s mare, Roach. “Will you be staying in Kagen for a while?”

“I have a room at the inn. I can stay in Kagen until you return.”

“You’re serious about me coming with you? I thought sweet nothings were whispered in the throes of passion, not in the aftermath of battle.”

“You don’t have to come with me, Y/n.”

You shook your head. “I’ll have to think about it, Geralt.” You didn’t want to anger any sorceresses. You climbed up into Daisy’s saddle and grabbed her reins. “For now, let’s go to the inn. A bath and a bed sound amazing,” you said, before riding toward the city.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tub was small but you weren’t large. “How do you fit in this thing?” you asked, dunking yourself under the warm water.

“I’m very good at fitting into tight spaces.” Geralt stepped up behind you and kneeled down, setting his chin on your bare shoulder. “Do you need help getting clean?”

“No. But I’d love a bit of help getting dirty again after I’m done.” He hummed and nodded, turning his head to press his lips to your neck. You hummed happily and turned your head to give a bit more access and he took the invitation, running his hand down your body and under the water. You gasped as his fingers brushed your curls. “I’m not clean yet, Geralt.”

“Clean enough.”

You pressed closer to him, arching your hips and reaching back to grab the back of his head, pulling him further down. “More,” you whispered. He chuckled, slipping a finger down to tease your entrance. “Fuck, don’t tease.”

“Why not?” He nipped at your jawline and gave a low hum. “You know...the first time I heard your voice, I knew I’d have to hear you moan.” You gasped as his finger slipped into you down to the knuckle, your fingers digging into his scalp as the heel of his palm pressed into your clit. “I knew I’d have to feel you cum on my cock when I smelled you in the heat of battle.”

You moaned at the thought of Geralt, barely knowing your name, deciding that he’d have to have you just based on scent. It was something so animalistic, so inhuman...so uniquely witcher.

You twisted in the water and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a fierce kiss. You didn’t wait for an invitation into the cavern of his mouth, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth as he gathered your body in his arms and carried you to the lumpy bed across the room. You pushed at his clothes without breaking the kiss, desperate to taste and feel him. Your fingers skimmed across the lines of his back muscles as you pulled his shirt off. His fingertips dug into your hips and moved to put bruising pressure on your ass as you started untying his trousers.

The man was a specimen. The mages at Kaer Morhen made the best of him. You didn’t have time to examine the body and the cock that were so prominent in your wettest dreams because he was obviously just as desperate for you. He got his trousers down and reached between your bodies, taking his length in hand and smearing the head of it in the wetness seeping out of you. You were just about to start begging when he slipped his cock into your cunt.

You lifted your hips to get more of him inside of you. You needed him stretching you and stuffing you. You needed him pushing you to the absolute limits. He fit you better than any ever had.

He rocked his hips against yours, his pelvis putting pressure against your clit as his cock barely moved against your walls. You wrapped your legs around him, ankles crossed at the small of his back, urging him deeper. He growled and grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands from his shoulders to pin them to the bed above your head.

No other man could put you in such a position. No other man controlled you like Geralt. You would never think to let it happen. No man, not even another witcher, could play you like such a fine instrument. A beautiful lute.

Part of you wished you didn't heal so efficiently, so quickly. Part of you wanted to wear his marks upon you for days, but his marks, just like the scent of your coupling, faded far too quickly for your liking. It left you with nothing but the memory and that just wasn't enough. Not when the man you were remembering was so...amazing.

You whimpered out a faint request and he heeded it, slamming his hips into yours harder. You struggled against his grip, desperate to get your hands in his hair, wanting to tug on the white locks, but he refused to relinquish control of your wrists. He gave you everything you needed, but not necessarily what you wanted.

Like you wanted to hear his voice, but the only time you really needed to hear it was when he leaned down next to your ear and demanded, “Cum, Cat.” Your toes curled and your head pressed back into the pillow, your hips arching closer to his as that finally cracking pleasure fell over you. Geralt lasted a while longer before he filled you, his cock pulsing against your walls as his breath caught in his chest, fingers tightening around your wrists as he came.

He pressed sweet kisses along your jawline as he pulled his half-hard member from your dripping pussy and his hands released your wrists to slide his fingers up to entwine with yours. You ended up with your legs tangled with his, neither of you seeming to care about the wetness of sweat and cum sticky between both of your thighs. You kept one of your hands clutched in his, but pulled the other away so that you could run your fingers through his hair as you stared at the ceiling.

“Do you give it much thought?” you asked, quietly. He made a questioning noise and popped open one eyelid to look up at you from where his head was on your breast. Your cheeks heated up and you licked your lips. “What they did to us. What the mages made of us. What they took from us.”

“Took?”

“Options. The options they took from us. We were children, Geralt. We were babies. They stole…” You cut your words off with a shake of your head. “I guess I’m the only one who thinks about it...and I can’t really imagine being some normal peasant wife with a litter of children and a world of misery, but I...I guess there’s some sweetness in the simplicity of their lives, you know? And I hate that I was never given that option. I was deprived of simplicity before I was even aware there was a difference between the folk in the Caravan and the rest of the world.”

Geralt was silent, but the way his fingers tightened their grip upon your hand filled you with a sense of calm. “People hate us, Geralt. They think us heartless, emotionless, cold. I learned to fake it, because that’s what people expect from someone with two blades on their back and these lovely eyes, but-”

“Cat School doesn’t dull emotions.”

“No. Not even with training. That’s a learned reaction to the outside world. I miss Dyn Marv fiercely sometimes because it’s...lonely away from people who understand. It’s hard to walk the Continent alone.”

He closed his eye and shifted a bit against you. “Why aren’t you with them, then?”

“Differences of morality.”

He was silent for a few minutes, just the sound of your breathing filling the room. “Opposites attract.”

“What?”

“It’s something the bard says. The idiot heard it from an alchemist once and he likes to believe it applies to relationships too. It’s why he goes after beautiful, cultured, married women. ‘Opposites attract’.” He sat up and looked down into your eyes. “But it’s horseshit. We look for companions that remind us of us. It’s why all of his women are as enamored with him as he is. Opposites don’t attract, Y/n...and that’s why you are someone I can’t say ‘no’ to.”

“Because we’re so alike?” you guessed.

“Yes.”

“Just because I’ve changed though, right?”

“No. You changed because you weren’t truly that woman. You were what the mages made you. What your teachers made you. You changed when you decided to.”

You licked your lips again and sat up a bit on your elbows. “What about your sorceresses?”

He smirked a little. “I don’t have sorceresses, Y/n.”

“Lovers. Ex or current?” you simplified the question.

“Current. Obviously,” he said, sarcastic humor in his voice as he ran his hand down your body.

You rolled your eyes and tried to ignore the way his touch lit your skin aflame with sparks of desire. “Geralt, I’m serious. If Yennefer were to ride into Kagen right now...if she knocked on that door…”

“Yen would just walk in. She’s never been one for other peoples’ privacy.” He leaned his head down when you didn’t express amusement at his jest, pressing his forehead to yours. “I could lie.”

“Not really. You’ve not proven yourself a good liar, Wolf.”

“True. I prefer honesty.” He sighed and looked away, sitting up to lean his back against the wall.

“Would you turn her away? Would you turn away Triss?” You sighed heavily. “I’m not trying to sound...like such a sodding woman, but...Geralt, you asked me to come with you. That seems like-” His pensive face made you question what you were even trying to get at. “You know what? I think it’d be better if I just head back to my job following Professor Lery and-”

“Don’t.” He grabbed your arm as you moved to get off the bed. “I care for Triss and I think I...loved Yennefer. But I...don’t think we’ll be an option again. She’s been upset at me since Triss.”

“Won’t this-”

“Stop questioning everything.” You closed your eyes as he leaned over and kissed you again. “Stay.”

“I have to finish the contract, Geralt. I’ve already been paid a hundred-fifty gold for it.”

“Then come back,” he demanded softly.

You smiled at him and nodded, but your heart was far less resolute than you were pretending. “Of course. Don’t go anywhere.” You rolled off the bed and grabbed your trousers and shirt, dressing hastily before grabbing your swords and potion belt. You kissed him one more time before leaving the room, swiping a loaf of bread off of a table in the tavern on your way out.

You weren’t sure if you were coming back to him. You wanted nothing more, but you weren’t looking forward to the moment one of his sorceresses came to call. “I’ll decide while I finish this job,” you told your horse, patting her lovingly. “Maybe it should just stay you and me, huh, Daisy. Maybe two witchers aren’t better than one.”

#cassie writes stuff #witcher fanfic #the witcher #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #witcher reader #reader-insert

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thatharringrovehoe · 3 years

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So I've been playing Dishonored which is my favorite game and this popped into my head so now you all have to suffer with me. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

He's so fucking cold. Like he’s been plunged into a lake mid winter and can’t find his way to the surface. Hands shaking, Billy sifts clumsily through the box of his mother’s things he keeps hidden in the back of his closet. He's found that if he thinks about the good times, picnics at the beach under the California sun, the thing oozing it's way though his brain losses just a bit of it's grip. Leaves Billy with enough motor function to stumble around his bedroom, trying to find the right pieces. And fucking hell it’s been so long since he's done this. He can remember helping his Ma when he was little, chubby fingers clenched tight in her cotton sundress as she arranged the items on the table just right. Pricked her finger to draw sigils in a language long forgotten, her voice a soft cadence through the bedroom as she hummed Billy’s favorite lullaby. No words, just a beautiful mournful thing. Humming a song of grieving loss. Billy doesn't know why he likes it so much.

“Remember baby. When you offer your gifts they have to be special. Well loved. Something that brings you joy every time you use it.”

His mother kept a pair of earrings on the cloth covered table. She never wore them when his father was home. Took them out and put them back on the little rickety stand in the back of her closet every day before he came back from work. Dangling silver daggers with the onyx beads. Billy shoved one straight through his left earlobe when he turned fifteen and has barely taken it out since.

His Ma told him that everything he built his shrine with had to mean something. Had to be something he treasured. From the fabric to the stand itself. So Billy tried his best. Draped his best leather jacket over the milk crate that held all of his favorite hair products. Placed his Ma's Fleetwood Mac album next to one of his mother's silver earrings (the one he always wears), arranged as neatly as he can manage. He’d had to prick his thumb seven times because to his dawning horror it kept healing over. Just another tally mark towards something being really fucking wrong. And he remembers the warehouse. Can still feel the slimy caustic sludge being pumped down his throat by a fucking tentacle. But he’d hoped it had been a dream, a nightmare from reading to many Lovecraft novels. Billy curses as he slices open his thumb for what feels like the millionth time.

Apparently not.

He's drawn the characters just how he remembers. His mother had made him practice every day, showing him each and every shape and line, drawn in colorful crayon. She gave him a cookie every time he got them right. Never hung them up on the fridge though. Didn't want his father to see.

He can feel the shadow creeping through his blood, dragging it’s claws against his veins. It might not know exactly what he’s doing yet, but it must be able to feel the intention. Billy thinks of ocean waves and a soft hand running through his curls. Fights the pull at the back of his mind to just give in. To sleep. His hands shake harder.

Fuck, where is it?! Billy combs through records and trinkets, a bottle of her perfume. He’s desperately hoping it didn't get lost in the move because his mother never taught him how to make one. Hell, he's pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to find the pieces he needs in Hawkins anyway. Not like Melvalds has a supernatural voodoo isle.

Then finally, finally he finds it. Lifting up his mother’s satin scarf it comes tumbling out to land on the floor with a clatter. Bleached white and beaten smooth by the waves, it's about the size of a sand dollar. Billy picks it up, places it in the palm of his hand. He still remembers the day he found it out on the shore. Washed up between some sea glass, the leather bindings still somehow soft even soaked with salt water. Etched with symbols and shapes Billy will never understand. When Billy showed it to his mother an unreadable expression crossed her face. It was that evening she showed him her shrine.

The rune seems to hum against his skin, an otherworldly song from far away ghosting past his ears. The thing that’s trying to Shanghai Billy’s brain writhes. It's angry, but more than that it’s fucking terrified and Billy has never been more sure of anything in his life. This was a good idea. But his limbs are getting colder, heavier. Whatever this evil piece of shit is it doesn’t like what Billy’s doing. He has to fight against the deadening of his limbs, crawling towards his shitty attempt at a shrine from his place on the floor. His vision is starting to grow dark when he finally clutches on to the milk crate, placing the rune between the earring and his cassette tape. And he knows that there's no guarantee. That whatever his Ma prayed to every night never shielded her from Neil’s fists, didn’t do a damn thing as the cancer slowly drained her down to nothing. That sometimes (most times) when someone would call out to the void the only thing they heard in return was their own disappointment. But he's got no other options. This is his trump card. His last resort. If this hocus pocus bullshit doesn’t work then Billy is up shit creek without a paddle. With a frustrated shout against the nightmare pulling him in, Billy begs.

“Please! Fuck, help me! I'll do anything, c’mon just- please!”

The air in Billy’s bedroom all of a sudden seems to shudder. The shadows flicker and meld together, reaching outwards. The sound of dry fall leaves blowing in the wind, a wail of a thousand dying worlds ricochets off the walls. Then nothing. Billy scrunches his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Fuck, of course it didn’t work. Story of his life. He called for help and just like always it doesn't mean shit. No one is coming to save him.

“Well well well. Certainly been a long time since someone summoned me like that. Very old school.”

Billy’s eyes snap open, the surprise and adrenaline enough to fight the heaving weight of his limbs to raise his head. And there, perched on his shitty milk crate shrine, sits the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. He's got hair the color of soil after it rains. High cheekbones and full lips, milky white skin dotted with a constellation of beauty marks. Billy didn't know what he expected but it certainly wasn't this. The boy god is dressed in a swanky leather coat the color of charcoal with pants to match. Eyes like an oil spill, inky black and endless. With a good look at Billy, they narrow dangerously.

“I thought I fucking told you not to touch this world. You want a repeat of last time?”

Whatever deity he summoned looks pissed as hell. Did he not do it right? Maybe the items weren’t good enough. That would be just his luck. He's so confused he almost doesn’t notice it right away. The shadow slowly working it’s way through his body has stopped, retreated a little even.

“I-... I don't know what you’re talking about. Please, there's something wrong with me. Something got put inside of me and I need it out. Please, help me.”

Billy hasn’t begged since his Ma was takin her last breath in that damn hospice bed. Didn't see the point when it always got you nowhere. But now he can't make himself stop. Cuz he's never been this scared before. The things this monster inside him wants him to do. It's so strong, like he’s fighting a steam roller. He's got no hope on his own.

The boy sitting on his best leather jacket stills. Cocks his head to the side slightly, considering. Then those pretty pink lips are spreading out into a gleeful smirk. Slides off the shrine to settle on his knees in front of Billy. Reaches out his hand to cup Billy’s jaw gentle enough it makes him want to cry.

“You can't get a good enough hold of this one can you? Interesting. Tell me trouble maker, what's your name?”

That voice, deep and ethereal, seems to echo from all around him. He can feel it vibrate in his bones. He wants, no, needs to answer.

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

The boy smiles now, all gleaming pearly whites. If Billy looks long enough reality starts to flicker. And for just a second all he can see is teeth sharp like knives in a Cheshire grin. There for a moment and gone in a flash. The hand on his jaw tightens just the slightest fraction.

“Well Billy Hargrove. You seem to find yourself in quite the predicament. That parasite sucking on your soul is an old acquaintance of mine. He's one nasty little shit.”

If a brain washing shadow monster could feel indignant he’s pretty sure that’s what's happening now. Whatever was hijacking Billy's mind has curled up somewhere tight, sunk it’s teeth in deep. Cornered like a threatened animal.

“Please, I’ll do anything you want. I can’t… I can’t fight it. It's too much.”

There’s enough tears leakin down his face that it's soaking the front of his shirt. The boy is giving him this look, almost amused. The longer he holds Billy’s jaw the more the monster losses his grip, and Billy is ready to do anything at this point. Because that thing stuck to his brain wants him to find people. Feed it people. Wants Billy to drink all the chemicals in the supply shed at the pool. Told Billy that if he tried to fight it would take Max first and he can't let that happen.

The boy seems to come to a decision, grabs Billy’s hands to help him shakily to this feet. He doesn’t let go even when they’re both standing.

“You know there’s not many who can fight his hold for this long. I'm impressed.”

He steps forward until his chest is practically pressed up against Billy's. He smells like ozone and smoke, bottomless black eyes trained on stormy blue. Reaches up to tangle his fingers into Billy’s curls, sending tingles across his scalp. Smiles wider at the small noise that escapes Billy's throat.

“I'll help you Billy Hargrove. But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Billy's nodding before he can even really register what’s being said. Anything. He'd do whatever this pretty boy asked as long as he keeps touching Billy like this. Gentle, with a reverence no one has ever bothered to show.

“I need you to kick this little shit back into the hole he crawled out of. Can you do that for me Billy? I wanna see how your story pans out trouble maker. Wanna see what you do when someone gives you a chance.”

Billy nods again, breathless. The boy chuckles, the sound saccharine. Like warm honey dripping down his spine.

“Gunna have to use your words baby.”

Billy swallows, the click of his dry throat loud in the warm personal bubble they’ve created.

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll do it. Whatever you want pretty boy, please.”

It comes out a whisper but the boy hears it all the same. The boy smiles bright, pulls Billy forward. Soft warm lips press against his own and Billy is floating. He's never been kissed like this before. Slow and deep, the boy's tongue pressing in to curl and slide. Stuff him full. Billy's shaking for a whole other reason now. Reaches out to grip the boy's coat, cool to the touch where Billy is burning. Fire rushing through his veins, and he's already so close just from this. Whimpers brokenly into the kiss.

The boy pulls him in impossibly closer, slots his thigh between Billy’s legs, pushes up up up. And Billy is right fucking there, grinds down as he swaps spit with an old god in his shitty bedroom with the peeling yellow paint and the door that locks from the outside. Can feel the tell tale tingle spreading behind his navel.

“ ‘m gunna cum! Fuck, more please!” Billy mumbles curses into the kiss, breath hitching as his balls draw tight. The boy smiles against his mouth, yanks his curls back to bite into the meat of his neck and Billy’s gone, pulsing rope after rope of cum into his underwear.

“Oh my- .. Fuuuuuck. Yes! Uhhhnn!” He's panting like a dog as he slumps forward into the boys shoulder. Gentle fingers card through his hair as aftershocks zap up and down his body. A kiss is pressed behind his ear, a soft warmth flooding his core. He can't feel the shadow anywhere.

“So good for me sweet thing. Makes me want to keep you.”

It's said so quiet, like the boy doesn’t intend for it to be heard. Billy presses his face into his neck. There's no heartbeat under the boy's skin.

“You could. I want you to.” Whoever this is, whatever he is, he came for Billy. Answered his literal cry for help when no one else did. He doesn't know what he has to offer but he wants to give this impossible boy everything.

The boy in question hums. Brings Billy's left hand up to kiss the back of it. His skin feels hot under his lips, bordering on uncomfortable. Like stepping on sun scorched pavement. When the boy pulls back there’s a tattoo on his hand. A strange design that looks vaguely like a compass. It's the same mark as the one on the middle of the rune sitting behind them.

“I haven't given my mark to someone quite so special in a while. Try not to disappoint me Billy Hargrove.”

The boy goes to pull away but Billy still has his hand clenched tight on his coat. Panic wells up in his chest. Doesn't want to end whatever this is quite yet.

“Wait! What’s-…what's your name?” Which is a valid question he thinks. And probably one he should have asked at some point before he started grinding his dick on the guys leg. Oh well.

“I've had many names, none if which would hold any significance for you. Call me what you want trouble maker. I'll be there when you need me.”

Billy believes him. Then between one blink and the next the boy is gone, tendrils of dissipating smoke the only evidence he was ever there. A deep voice whispers from nowhere and everywhere.

“Ask your sister about the monsters in the woods.”

On the shrine the only thing that remains is the rune, both his gifts having apparently been accepted. Billy gives a hysterical bark of laughter at the thought of some higher being listening to Fleetwood Mac somewhere out in the void. It gives him an idea. He drags his lips across the fresh mark on his hand, mumbles into his skin.

“Thanks Stevie.”

#i don't know what this is but here ya go!#Outsider!Steve #Billy Hargrove #harringrove #dishonored au #yes Billy gets powers but i haven't decided what they are yet #that hoe writes #stranger things #Neil you better watch out my boy has a literal old god for a boyfriend now

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

Text

Mind Over Matter || Dani and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @surmamort and @inbextween SUMMARY: Dani is worried for Bex when she realizes they haven’t talked in a while. They decide to go to Al’s to catch up, but someone else has other plans. CONTENT: Domestic abuse, medical blood

Dani felt as though she had the right to be worried about Bex. She had seen people disappear. Some came back, some didn’t. She didn’t know if they shared any mutual friends, so it wasn’t like she could ask them if they’d heard from her. Dani had only become worried after three days of silence. It wasn’t like her, Dani thought. Bex loved to talk. Had Dani fucked up during their last meeting? Had Bex had a little more time to think about it and decide that she didn’t need, or want somebody like Dani in her life? Dani thought about what Morgan had said that day in the thrift store, and after that, the way she-- No. She couldn’t think about that. She refused. What she had to do was find Bex. Hadn’t she mentioned being in pre-law? That was a good start.

Due to her patrol, Dani felt as though she knew the campus like the back of her hand. Though, her memorization skills were unneeded once she spotted her friend. ��Bex!” Dani didn’t feel anything different from her. She hadn’t been turned, or bitten, or-- Dani swallowed her anxiety. “Hey,” She said as she walked over, dreading the idea that Bex might get up and leave without so much as a hello. “I’ve been texting you, you didn’t…” She didn’t know what to do with her hands. What was she supposed to do with her hands? She didn’t want to look threatening. Dani forced as natural of a smile as her muscles would allow. “I was worried--” No, that wasn’t it. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Human? Alive? Not mad at me? She carded her fingers through her hair. “But you look fine-- Great, even. Do you feel great? Sorry.” She forced out a laugh.

The agreement Bex had made with her parents had been a simple one-- drop all of the people in her life who she’d let drag her into the supernatural world, and they’d let her keep studying history instead of law. She would still take over the family business one day, but she’d probably have to marry into another family of lawyers. Her parents were figuring that part out, though. It wasn’t a fair trade, but at least Bex had one thing in her life to look forward to. Most of the people she’d already told she couldn’t talk to them anymore had respected that wish, despite the pained glances and the horrible, horrible feeling in her stomach as she’d watched the realization dawn on Mina’s face. It still made her entire body feel like lead.

The only person she hadn’t told was Dani. Dani was on the fringes. Her parents didn’t know about Dani. Dani was just a school acquaintance. And if she kept it that way, maybe she could keep her, too. Maybe she could have something good, too. She’d ignored the texts, she hadn’t meant to, but she didn’t know what to say. And when Dani called her name and trotted towards her, she still didn’t know what to say. “I’m, um-- yep!” she squeaked, swallowing hard. “I’m totally fine! Sorry, I haven’t texted, I’ve just been-- so busy. End of the term and all and the whole uh, major shifting thing. So much work! But I’m fine, really. I’m--” her voice cracked and wavered and she had to stop and clear her throat. “Sorry. I’m okay. See?” she held her arms out as if to put herself on display. “I’m alive.”

It was reassuring to see that Bex was alive. But Dani knew that in a town like White Crest, being alive could mean that you were barely living. When Bex showed her arms, Dani couldn't help but laugh. “Stop that,” she reached out to tap her friend’s arm, but her arm fell instead. She dropped her hand into her lap again and looked down at her shoes. “I guess I get the whole studying thing. You know, for somebody who… actually studies.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth before she looked down at her phone as it lit up with a text from Lauren. Deep breaths, she reminded herself. She didn’t feel like sticking around campus. Not that she ever did, but still. She quickly shot a text back to Lauren explaining she’d be home a little later than expected.

“How’s studying?” Dani asked. She didn’t care, not really. But she wanted to make sure that Bex was okay, and she felt as though only a few seconds would not clear that up for her. “I haven’t started. Honestly, I’m thinking of just taking the failing grade and getting that job as a janitor you recommended.” It was a joke. She actually had been doing some studying. She had already received a C+ on a paper she did entirely on her own. It was about the fall of the Trojan Empire instead of the Byzantine, but it had counted for something. “It’s good to see you haven’t fallen entirely off the face of the planet though,” She commented, looking Bex over for any bruises, any cuts. So she was… living a perfectly normal existence. Or Dani had hoped. Nobody else needed to be sucked into the bullshit that crept through this godforsaken town.

Bex was glad she was sitting for the moment, shuffling to move her broken, casted foot away from a quick view. If she could help it, she wouldn’t have to show Dani. She still didn’t know what to tell people except that she “fell down the stairs”, but then people would look at her more worried and ask if she needed help and really, she just needed it all to stop. She swallowed and looked back over at Dani, lowering her arms. “I would rather not have the W or the F on my transcripts, yeah,” she agreed, nodding, “if I wanna get into a good master’s program, I have to study.” And she did want to. And maybe she’d go somewhere far, far away from White Crest, away from Mina, so she could clear her head and just be normal and forget about the pain that was stuffing itself into her heart. “Sometimes you do just have to take the L, though, huh? I-If you need help studying, though, I’ve um-- heard that I’m pretty good at that.”

She shuffled the papers around on the table. “Nope, though I might’ve considered jumping into our abyss a few times,” she teased back, but, really, sometimes, it didn’t sound like such a bad option. At least if she was falling forever, she wouldn’t have to go home every night and wonder what the next day would look like. “How um-- how are you? I see you haven’t bit the dust pulling some heroic maneuver.” She motioned to the spot next to her. “You can sit, if you want. I’m almost done.”

It was obvious that the two of them were on entirely different paths. Dani had been certain that their talk at the falls had cemented that fact. Bex was smart, well established, and seemed as though she had a lot going for her. Dani, on the other hand… She was strong and capable, but all in opposite ways. Even though she had lied about not studying, she still felt a pang of guilt for not trying harder in school. Though, what was the point? Dani hadn’t ever dreamt of a master’s program. Not like Bex was. “Yeah, it’s probably important you do decent in class, then.” She knew that for many, escaping White Crest was the end goal. For Dani, the thought had never occurred. Even with everything that had happened, it still wasn’t something she could ever seriously consider. The town needed her. The people in it needed her, whether she was close to them or not. She wasn’t sure what she could do for them, though, when she had already failed so many. Dani forcibly cleared her throat, pulling herself from her own thoughts. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about me. Wouldn’t want to waste your time.” It would be pointless, Dani thought.

Bex’s words caused a crease in Dani’s brow to form. She refrained from telling Bex that it wasn’t funny. She instead wrung her hands together and took a seat at Bex’s guidance. “I’m fine,” Dani smiled. She wasn’t dead. She was still doing her job, even if it felt heavier since her run-in with the portal that had opened and swallowed her whole. But still, she was there. Living, breathing. It was all she could ask for until she wasn’t. “It hasn’t taken me yet, so…” She shrugged. “Looks like I’ll be around for a bit longer.” Maybe, she didn’t add. She looked down at her feet, and then towards Bex’s feet. The boot was hard to miss. “Yo, what the fuck happened to your foot?” She asked, eyebrows raised. “You held out your arms and everything, I thought you were good.” Dani scooted close, but not too close, remembering the way that Bex had recoiled from her the night that she had been saved from the vampire in the parking lot. Still a decent amount of space between them, she pointed at the boot with an outstretched finger. “You’re gonna have to let me sign the cast.” She froze for a moment, Milo’s face flickering before her. She shook it off easily and crossed her fingers. “Swear I won’t write anything weird.”

“Probably,” Bex agreed quietly, but the future was something she hadn’t considered anymore. Not since it was taken from her. Not since the one thing she did want had been taken from her. No, not taken. Abandoned. Bex had been the one to leave, not Mina. She folded up her papers and crossed her arms in front of her, leaning against the table. “It wouldn’t be a waste,” she said, looking sideways at Dani as she stretched her legs out. “I like helping others, so even if you ended up failing, it wouldn’t be a waste.” It was one of the few things left in life that brought her joy. She wished she’d never left, but there was no going back. Wishes were for fools.

“Well, good,” she said, glancing sideways at her. Maybe this could be okay. Maybe she could keep Dani. Maybe Dani could be her one connection to the world she longed to be a part of. Aside from Eddie, she was all she had. She could barely even bring herself to talk to Kyle, and he had nothing to do with all that. Well, except the werewolf thing, but they didn’t really talk about that. Not when it was still...raw. Bex glanced around and found the study hall getting emptier, and her heart began to squeeze. She liked being in full rooms now, where it wasn’t just her and one other person. No one could take her if she was in a crowded room. Her gaze dropped to her feet. Shit. “I--” was kidnapped and chased barefoot through the forest while my ex hunted me down and tried to take me away, “I’m pretty clumsy, remember? I just tripped on a tree branch and twisted it real bad. Stupid me…” She tucked her legs back in and fiddled with her papers. “Hey, you um-- wanna get outta here? Maybe go grab a milkshake or something?” Not that she could drink a milkshake, but she really didn’t want to be here anymore, and maybe she just wanted something good. Just one thing, please.

“Well, if I fail, I’ll make sure not to blame you.” Dani knew it was pointless. Truthfully, even if Bex didn’t find it as a waste of time, she knew that she would. She’d rather Bex focus on more important things, like whether or not her dress matched her shoes, or if she had enough time to grab a coffee before her next study session. Dani didn’t need to be involved in that, she didn’t need to take up somebody’s time, not when Dani knew her truth of where she’d end up.

Dani barely looked up at the sound of shuffling footsteps. She could see everything. At least, for the most part. She could hear it, too. She might not have supersonic hearing, but she had learned from an early age how to listen for things, for disturbances. For now, there was nothing. She didn’t anticipate there to be, even with the depleted crowd. Dani could tell that Bex was trying to figure out how to explain her foot and she felt a pang of frustration. Had something happened to her to make her this way? She forced herself to wait for the explanation, rather than jumping to conclusions. If she did that, who would it help? “A tree branch…?” Dani stared at Bex a beat of a second too long, eyebrows still furrowed. “Okay…” If that was the story Bex wanted to go with, then Dani would go with it. Hell, maybe it was true. Maybe Bex was the one person to trip over a tree branch instead of having some terrifying and traumatic experience that bent and broke her bones. Just maybe Dani could have one person that avoided all that shit. Save for the vampire attack, but Dani had taken care of that. Bex’s pause made Dani’s expression soften. Her offer stuck out like a sore thumb, like a cry for help from the amount of studying she’d been doing. Dani smiled. “Switch that to smoothie and you’ve got a deal.” Fuck lactose intolerance. She got to her feet and tugged at her own bag as she waited for Bex to gather her things. Did she offer to hold her bag? Probably not. Bex would probably hate that. “Where were you thinking? Al’s?” Dani asked, looking down at her fingers. Black nailpolish immaculately laid out in a matte fashion against them.

“How sweet of you,” Bex replied, rolling her eyes a bit. A feeling crept up her spine, like she was being watched, and she glanced around the room once before focusing back on Dani. “Yeah, yep, a tree branch. I went for a--” desperate bid for my life-- “hike through the woods and just wasn’t paying enough attention and caught my foot right on a root sticking out of the ground. Clumsy me,” she grinned, trying to hide the pain in her voice. “Luckily someone was with me--” my ex who was trying to kidnap me-- “so it all turned out fine.” Fine was the exact wrong word about how it had all turned out. Frank taking her had ruined everything. It had ruined her relationship with Mina, and it had ruined her home with Morgan and Deirdre, and it had ruined any chance she’d had at being happy. He hadn’t succeeded in taking her, but he’d done what his parents had wanted him to-- he’d taken everything else and left her with no choice but to leave. She swallowed again, feeling her heart beginning to seize up again. “Smoothie’s work better for me, too,” she agreed, smiling, “Al’s sounds perfect.” She stood up and grabbed her bag, stuffing her papers in, eager to get out of here and away from the feeling of being watched. “You’re driving,” she said as she brushed past Dani and hurried towards the door. This place was getting suffocating-- everywhere was just so suffocating.

Dani decided to take Bex’s explanation as the truth. She didn’t have a reason not to. She did however notice the way that her friend glanced around the study hall. Dani mirrored Bex and cast a few quick glances, but didn’t see anyone, or anything out of place. For the most part, everyone had their nose in whatever the hell it was they were studying. “Maybe you should stay out of the woods,” Dani offered her a lighthearted laugh and stretched her arms above her head. “But it’s good you didn’t get too wrecked.” The woods were dangerous, but something told Dani that she didn’t need to remind Bex of that. Once Bex got to her feet, Dani followed after her, not expecting the brunette to rush out the door. Something was off, but she couldn’t place it. Dani left the study hall with one last look over her shoulder. Nothing. She gave a concerned look to the back of Bex’s head as they walked out into the sunlight. “Truck is this way,” She pointed towards the opposite parking lot, not too far from where the study hall was. Dani made sure to stay a few inches or so behind Bex. Her movements were abrupt, careful, anxious. It was so different from the girl that had hung her legs into the abyss. Dani took a deep breath and shoved her own anxieties as far down as they would go. Once they got to her truck, Dani rounded the side to the passenger door and unlocked the vehicle from there. “The driver’s side is busted.” A lie, but Dani couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She waited on the other side for Bex to slide over and unlock the door for her, making a show of how the keys wouldn’t go into the keyhole.

Bex didn’t remember that from last time, but she didn’t really stop to question Dani. She didn’t mind having her close until she crawled into the truck-- with a little trouble thanks to her boot-- and sidled over, unlocking the driver’s side. She’d closed her own door, first, glancing out the window as she scooted back. Nell hadn’t just taught her how to feel magic, but after everything that happened with Frank, she taught her how to understand her instincts. And they were screaming at her to get out of this place. She looked back over as Dani crawled in. “No new stains, I see,” she said in as much of a light-hearted tone as she could. She grinned. “Is the radio working yet?” she fiddled with the dials as the truck sputtered to life, only giving a sigh of relief when they’d pulled from the parking lot and were on the road. No one could hurt them out here. She leaned back in her seat and let her head rest against the back, closing her eyes a moment. She was going to be fine. This was all fine. She pulled out her phone and fiddled with it, wondering if she should text Eddie. She looked over at Dani. “Thanks for uh...hanging out with me.”

Dani hopped into the cab. “Nah, it’s been awhile.” She had plenty of run-ins with different things, but none that had her creating new works of art with her wounds on the upholstery. It took her no time to pull out of the parking lot. She checked the rearview, as well as sideview mirrors. “It is, but we have to hit a certain part of town for it to actually be clear.” She glanced over at Bex, immediately noticing the way her features started to soften. Yeah, something was definitely not right. She held her tongue despite the questions she wanted to ask. It wasn’t a far drive to Al’s, at least. Soon they’d be tucked away in a booth, and then maybe she’d ask. Would Bex instead feel cornered? Would she feel cornered now? Dani was pulled out of her thoughts once Bex spoke up. “Oh, yeah. No problem.” The hunter didn’t correct Bex about how she had practically seeked her out. Instead, she reached over to the dial on the radio and began to fiddle with it. A staticy pop song filtered through the speakers and she looked over with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, this might be the best you’re going to get.” She continued to drive until she hit the turn that’d take her down the main street to Al’s. While they drove, she continued to look at all of her mirrors. Nobody seemed to be following them, but Dani still couldn’t shake Bex’s appearance from before they left the school.

The song jumped to life on the radio and Bex tried to let the sound of it relax her. She didn’t actually like the song, but it was better than the silence that let her remember how the forest had sounded, how the leaves sounded, crunching under her feet as she ran. Her body shivered in the seat and she shook it off, looking back over at Dani. “It’s fine,” she said, smiling, even as the hairs on her arms stood on end. No, it would be fine. It would be. There wasn’t anyone following her, it was just her own paranoid mind. She’d been thinking about it too much lately, she needed to just relax. Besides, Dani was capable. She could let herself relax here. They pulled up to Al’s and Bex turned to look back at Dani. “I am sorry,” she said suddenly, “for-- for not texting you back. Things have been...complicated, lately. But I swear it was nothing about you! Or on you. It’s uh-- more a me thing.” She figured Dani deserved the truth about at least one thing in her life. Her throat felt tight, but she felt an almost obligation to tell her. She hoped she understood. “But I’m working on it! And I...really appreciate you not, um, being mad or anything.” She felt the inside of the car growing smaller, suffocating her, just like the study hall had, and she reached for the door handle. “Shall we uh-- milksh-- smoothies! Head inside?”

Finally, Dani pulled into the parking lot. She glanced around before, checking her mirrors once more. When Bex apologized, she held a hand up and shook her head. “Don’t apologize. You obviously had your reason or whatever.” Dani didn’t go into how she thought Bex had gotten hurt, or how maybe she’d gotten sick of her. What would it matter if it were the latter? One less person to worry about outside the context of her job. Still, ever since having seen Milo’s end, the fear that everyone close to her would suddenly up and die was eating at the back of her brain. “But I appreciate it.” Dani smiled at Bex. She meant to reach out, to give her friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but the passenger side door was being ripped open by somebody she didn’t recognize. “What the-- Who the fuck!” Dani yelled, trying desperately to grab onto Bex’s arm as the man pulled her out of the cab.

“Yeah, but I just want you to know I appre--” Bex had started, but in the next moment, her door was being thrown open and someone was ranking her out of the car. She’d been facing Dani, she had no idea who it was. A dread had filled her up and she let out a scream and whoever had been holding her was thrown backwards into the car a few spots behind them. They hit it with a crunch as Bex’s magic exploded from her and the windows of all the cars around cracked-- some shattered. She fell to the ground, palms scraping against asphalt as she scrambled to push herself back to her feet, into the car, towards Dani-- anywhere. Her mind was dragging her back into the forest with Frank and she couldn’t breath, and her hands grasped at leather of the seats and she tried to hold herself together so she didn’t explode even more. But then hands were on her again, and she had enough time to turn her head to see who it was and-- “Frank!” she screamed, kicking out at him, “Let GO! LET GO! FRANK!” she screamed and kicked and she saw his missing hand and felt his arms wrapping around her again and she screamed. “DANI!” And she didn’t even feel metal slipping between her ribs, as her body fought against the shock of what was happening. What was happening again.

Dani acted quickly. She didn’t care that it was bright out, or that they were in a parking lot, and that anybody could see them. What she cared about was Bex being dragged away. She slid through the cab out of the passenger side door. Using her own would be too risky, it’d take too much time. The windows of the car next to her truck exploded and Dani barely flinched. Any action to save herself was inaction for Bex. “Bex!” Dani yelled. She didn’t know who this man was, or what he wanted from Bex. What she did know was that he was not undead, which meant that she couldn’t be certain if he was human, or some other god awful creature. What mattered most was that he was hurting her friend. She could see the fear on Bex’s face and it fueled her fire. Bex seemed to recognize him. Frank. Who the fuck was Frank and why did he think he was allowed to touch Bex like this? Dani threw herself forward as soon as she saw the knife, but she was a second too late. She saw it plunge deep into Bex’s side. Dani let out an animalistic cry and reached for the hand that was around the knife and snapped it backwards. He only had one good one. From this angle and with everything happening, Dani was unsure where the knife had gone through. Pulling out could risk bleeding out quickly. If it stayed inside, then she had a fighting chance. One arm supporting Bex from falling too far to the ground, the other still on the man’s broken hand, Dani craned her head back and slammed her forehead into the man’s nose. Pain exploded in her own face, but hopefully it’d be enough to distract the man with the now broken hand.

The commotion was already drawing the attention of those just trying to enjoy their day in the restaurant. Bex didn’t notice any of them, because her mind was focusing on staying here, in this moment. She stumbled back and the ground turned to leaves as she blinked. Leaves and mud and twigs and she should run. She needed to run. Except she couldn’t run. Someone was holding onto her. She cried out again, trying to shove them away. It was Frank, he was back for her, he had found her, she hadn’t gotten away in time. WIthout any control of her mind, her magic reached out and it wormed its way into Dani, and all the fear and the all anger and all the pain Bex had felt from that day rushed through it. She yanked her arm away, reeling backwards, falling to the ground again. She backed herself up until she hit the car. The pain in her side began to spread, but the only thing she saw was a forest and trees and Frank.

And something-- something wasn’t right. He was already missing a hand. He looked so angry. He hadn’t been this angry before. Bex’s gaze stuck on him. Something was wrong with him. She heard his bones snapping but he just kept going. He barreled into Dani and brought them both to the ground and started hitting her. “S-stop it,” Bex stuttered, “Stop it!” Louder, ears ringing. “STOP IT!” Windows blew out, car alarms went off. The pavement beneath Dani and Frank caved in and tossed them apart. She should’ve let Nell kill him. She should’ve let her kill him. Kill him.

Dani’s heart was loud in her ears. This wasn’t Milo’s situation, but she saw Milo’s face. But Bex was awake, she was alive. For the most part. From what she could tell. Dani grunted as the man shifted his focus from Bex onto her. She used the skills she’d learned from her mother, from the Quinn’s, from watching Adam, from just about anyone who had a hand in training her. She shifted her feet slightly, avoiding the first knock from Frank, but then something happened. Something changed. She felt anger seep into her bones, cracking and reverberating around inside of her chest. She could feel it in her throat. Deep, terrible, hungry. She barely noticed Bex falling to the ground. All she saw was Frank, and how she wanted to wrap her hands around his throat until there was no life left. Before she could, however, she was being thrown to the ground. The man was on top of her, his only, slightly broken hand coming into contact with her already broken nose. Dani reached up with her own hands, thumbs coming to the base of his throat, starting to squeeze. He choked and spluttered, but he didn’t stop hitting.

Dani could feel the blood running back past her ears, from her mouth and her nose. Blood dripped from his face, too. Carnage pooled around them and individuals stared on. She kept her hands tightly around his throat, envisioning the way that he might succumb to her grip. It was the only way she could make Bex safe. Before she could dig her fingers into his skin even deeper, he was being pulled off of her from the force of something beneath them. Dani continued to see red, it twisted her insides. She felt everything. Dani wanted to continue, she wanted to squeeze until the light left this man, the man who dared to hurt her friend. Somehow, she managed and turned to look at Bex. There was blood blooming at her wound and she looked dangerously pale. Fuck. Dani pushed past the anger, it felt like drinking poison. She hurried over to her friend and checked over the wound. From the angle, it didn’t seem to hit a major organ, but Bex was still losing a lot of blood. “We need to go,” She said coldly.

Bex blinked and she was in the parking lot and the trees were gone and she wasn’t barefoot in the forest. She was in the parking lot. And Dani was on the ground and she was bleeding and Frank was on the ground near her and he was also bleeding. Her body felt cold, hot at the same time. She was trembling. Her side hurt. She pulled her hands away and found them stained red. It was draining down her side and onto the pavement and felt nauseous. There was something sticking out of her. She wrapped her hands around the handle and pulled it out and she screamed as a ragged edge tore through her skin. Oh no. Oh no. She shouldn’t have done that. She shouldn’t have done that. Mina had taught her about knives. She should’ve known. Of course his knife had been serrated, it made for better tearing, it made it harder for a wound to heal, to close. “D-Dani…” Bex stuttered, looking around bewildered. The girl was coming towards her now but something was different. She looked so angry. She looked ready to kill. Maybe Bex should just let her do it. Her eyes fell to Frank. He was unmoving on the ground. People were rushing towards them. A siren sounded in the distance. Bex squeezed the knife in her hand. It would be so easy. She could walk over there and finish what Nell started. No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that.

Dani’s voice was chilling and Bex shivered again. She looked up at Dani with unseeing eyes as the world began to blot away. There was so much blood on her hands. She barely registered being lifted back into the truck. Her head lolled to the side. Wasn’t this all supposed to stop? This was supposed to stop. That’s why she’d gone home. If it didn’t stop, then what was the point? What was the point? Why had she suffered, why was she suffering? The engine roared to life and Bex sagged against the window. She was so tired. She wanted to sleep. She remembered how it felt after Kyle had mauled her. Knife in her side, just like claws on her chest. She scrambled to find some sense of preservation, like she had in the alley. She’d fought against the ebbing tide of blackness for Kyle. For Mina. For Morgan and Nell. She’d had something to fight for, then. Now, she had nothing. Even here in Dani’s car and with Kyle’s promise and Eddie’s hand, she had nothing. She closed her eyes.

Dani watched as Bex removed the knife and a silent scream bubbled in her throat. The anger she felt, it bloomed and bit at her, little pin pricks of what if’s scattered in her head. What if I killed him for doing this, what if I used the same knife he’d used on Bex, what if I-- She could see the blood more clearly now. Bex’s entire shirt was covered in it, so were her hands. Everything was red. An angry, sickly red. She felt her heart in her throat as she moved. The pain that blossomed in her nose, in her head-- all of it was forgotten. With Bex there, bleeding out on the ground, Dani knew she needed to work quickly. If she didn’t, her friend would die. The anger she felt still splintered and crackled across her skin. It took everything in Dani’s power not to turn around and stab Frank with the knife he’d used on Bex. She couldn’t do that. He was human. She’d have to let the authorities-- the human authorities deal with him. Walking away was painful, she soon realized.

But still, Dani managed to get Bex into the truck. Robotic in her movements, she ran to the driver’s side door and threw herself in. The engine roared to life and Dani peeled out of the parking lot. Dani looked through her side view mirror to see Frank trying to get to his feet, but the onlookers pushed him down as the police swarmed in. It took everything in her power to not reverse the truck, to-- Dani noticed the silence and immediately looked over to Bex. Eyes closed, her chest barely rising and falling. The blood continued to blot her shirt and Dani’s seats. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing into Bex’s wound, Dani drove, ignoring all stop signs and lights. The roar of the engine was the only noise to her ears. “Bex!” Dani yelled. She looked between the road and her friend. “Bex, you have to wake up! Wake the fuck up.” Her hand was covered in Bex’s blood now. It was hard to tell what was her own, Bex’s, or Frank’s. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d been wheeled out of the hospital by Nell. Now, she was back, and with an injured friend in tow. It was something she never wanted to have happen, but now it was-- was it her fault? She hadn’t acted quick enough. She had let Bex get stabbed, and now… Dani fought the urge to scream as she threw open her door with one hand. She awkwardly maneuvered around the cab, her hand still against Bex’s wound to try and quell some of the blood loss. She wasn’t sure how well she was doing. Bex looked lifeless. “Come on,” She breathed, pulling her friend out of the cab. Bex sagged in her arms, but Dani used all of her strength to carry her friend inside, having to release the pressure she held on her side to do so. “Somebody help!” Dani screamed as she ran through the doors. Immediately, Bex was removed from her hold and placed on a gurney. Dani tried to follow, but was being pulled back by a nurse who insisted she needed to be checked for injuries too. “Don’t let her die!” Dani screamed after them.

Someone was calling her name. Was it Mina? She hoped it was MIna. Bex didn’t move as someone pulled her from the car and cradled her in their arms and rushed into the building and Bex watched the world passing by above her. Clouds and sun turned into burning white light. Tiles. Her head lolled over and she was set on a bed. Faces appeared and Bex realized it wasn’t Mina. They started rolling her away and she turned to look back at who had carried her in. It wasn’t Mina. Dani. She looked so upset. She was yelling at the doctors, even as they struggled to pull her away, to look at her face. Her face was bleeding. Frank had done that. Anger roiled through her body again and she couldn’t stop it. She should’ve let Nell kill him. She should’ve let Nell kill him. She might bleed out now because she hadn’t let Nell kill him.

Why was this all still happening? Wasn’t she supposed to be safe at home? Why had Frank come after her again? What was wrong with him? Her mother had said she was safe from him. She had lied. She had lied. Her mother was always so full of lies. The doctor’s pulled her onto another bed and looked down at her and said something to her. She didn’t hear them. All she could think about was Frank. What was wrong with him? Why was he doing this? What if he hurt someone else? He’d already hurt Dani. WHat if he hurt Mina? Or Nell? She tried to reach up to them, to tell them she needed to go, she needed to find them and warn them-- but her arms wouldn’t move. Someone was hushing her, telling her not to move. She groaned, she needed to move. “Mina…” she managed to squeak out, “I need to--” There was something cold in her arm. She looked down to try and see but it was too late. In the next moments, sleep overtook her and she fell back to the bed.

Bex woke up to the calming sound of a beeping meter next to her. There was someone in the room with her, a blurry figure hunched in a chair. “Mina?” Bex called, but she blinked, and the world came back into view and her side was bursting with pain despite the I.V. in her arm and-- it wasn’t Mina. It was Dani. Bex tried to hide her look of disappointment and looked back up at the ceiling. “Sorry…” she muttered. She should probably text Eddie, he’d want to know about something like this. She was trying to figure out how she’d get out of here before her parents were called. She didn’t want her mom to show up. No one else needed to see that.

The moment that Bex was rolled out of sight, Dani fell to the floor. Every bone in her body hurt. She could taste the blood in her mouth, and every time she tried to speak, she could feel her skin pulling and stretching against the dried iron. The nurses in the emergency room fussed over her, leading her to an examination room. It felt like hours. Cotton swabs, tweezers, butterfly bandages, and stitches. All to put her back together. All to make her presentable for the outside world. With every few minutes, Dani had asked for updates on Bex. Was she alive? Was she awake? How much blood had she lost? She had offered her own, but found out they were opposite blood types. Then again, she wasn’t too sure how that worked with things the way they were. The anger she felt in the parking lot floated like an ember in the center of her chest. She wanted to find out where Frank was, she wanted to drive the knife through his chest. In the back of her head, she knew that was wrong. He was human. Even the undead did not deserve harsh, demented deaths. They deserved to be relieved from their suffering. But Frank? He deserved to suffer. She wanted to watch the light leave his eyes. For some strange reason, the thought did not scare Dani. Instead, it simmered.

Eventually, she was led back to Bex’s room after constant insistence. Who’d be able to prove they weren’t sisters? She’d been asked multiple questions about what happened and she had told them honestly. Somebody named Frank had decided to stab Bex. That was all she knew. She hated the idea of them asking Bex more questions, especially when she’d already been through so much, but Dani knew that it’d happen regardless of the details she’d be able to give. She waited in the chair for some time, every beep of the machine beside Bex’s bed loud and jarring, as if taunting Dani. You were too late. She’s gone. It’s your fault. Except, Bex woke up. She looked disappointed, but Dani pushed past the hurt that bubbled in her chest. Bex was alive. Dani didn’t give a fuck if she wasn’t the one who was supposed to be there as she woke. Dani rose from her seat, catching her reflection in an adjacent mirror. Bruises had already begun to form under her eyes and she had butterfly bandages peppered like freckles across the bridge of her nose. “Hey,” Dani said quietly, holding onto the side of Bex’s bed to keep steady. “Are you…” She looked at her friend. She was alive. Dani could cry! She wanted to reach out, to touch Bex’s hand, to hold it. She withheld. Her own bandaged hands, rough and wreaking of death didn’t deserve to ghost against somebody like hers. Bex was good. Innocent. Damaged, but who wasn’t in this fucked up town? Dani thought about how she had let this happen. How Bex had nearly died because of her. “I’m sorry.” She said, and it was quiet, barely above a whisper. She looked into her friend’s eyes. The anger burned hot, the tendrils of its flame licking at every muscle, every blood vessel. Just seeing Bex in the hospital bed made Dani want to leave, to find Frank. She steeled herself against the thought. “Is there… Is there anything I can do?” She asked. Fuck, she wanted to reach out, to show herself that Bex was okay, that she was real. That this wasn’t some new fucked up portal she’d fallen through. But that’d be selfish. Her own comfort was not what was important here. The fact that Bex was alive was what was.

Dani’s face was littered with bandages and butterfly tape and Bex was suddenly angry that she’d just gotten away with one little stab wound. Well, one big one, she supposed. And scraped palms, but that was about it. She held up her other hand to look at it, picking at the bandage with the other. Dani was apologizing and Bex didn’t know what to say. “Don’t apologize,” she mumbled. She was trying to remember what had happened, wondering if the bruises under Dani’s eyes were her fault, too. She could remember Al’s, and being in a car, and then being yanked out and dragged to the ground and-- “Frank,” she said, and her voice felt urgent, raw in her throat. She swallowed. “Where-- where is he? Did he get away?” Had the police shown up? She didn’t remember. All she could see was grass and mud and leaves and trees, curling over above her, blocking the sun, casting shadows of hands reaching to grab her, take her, steal her away. They’d won, hadn’t they? The trees. Bex pressed her palms to her eyes and tried to let the gauze on her wrists soak up the tears before they fell. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have been caught up in that, I--” she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t know how to explain it. Not in way that didn’t make everything sound stupid and horrible. She wondered if Dani would ask. She didn’t want her to ask. She looked back over at the other girl and saw the bruises and cuts and bandages again and reached out as if to touch her face, letting her hand hover just inches from it. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Dani could hear the ticking of the clock that was centered above the door. That, in combination with the steady beep of Bex’s monitors began to sound like a lullaby. She blinked past the exhaustion that had settled and reached up to tenderly wipe a blood clotted strand of hair away from her own face. They’d done a shoddy job of cleaning her up. Then again, she hadn’t really let them do more than bandage her up. She’d broken her nose enough times to set it herself, and the look on the doctor’s face had shown visible pain at the very act, but she didn’t care. She was fine. She wasn’t the one who’d been stabbed, she wasn’t the one who had lost all that blood. When Bex asked about Frank, she felt a pang of guilt. Dani had bargained with the idea of having stayed, of having watched life leave him for what he’d done, and though that anger grew hot in her stomach and felt like iron on her tongue, she knew that she shouldn’t feel that way. He was human. Or appeared human. The idea of pretending he wasn’t had also flitted across her mind, but Bex’s blood loss had been too hard to ignore. If Dani hadn’t gotten her out when she did, her friend would be dead. “I think they stopped him. I can’t be sure.” Her voice was low, barely audible over the steady rhythm of the hospital lullaby.

Bex was crying and Dani wanted to reach out, to comfort, but she didn’t know how. The rouge on her bandages from her split knuckles had already begun to peek out. It’d only be a matter of time before her cuts were worn over from her self-healing. She looked down at the way her injuries bloomed beneath the ace bandages and shook her head. “I’m okay, I’m not that hurt.” She smiled and looked up at Bex’s outstretched hand. She should take it. She knew she should. Instead, she reached forward and settled it down from where it’d come. She patted it twice, and though her fingers itched to linger, to feel the way Bex’s pulse vibrated beneath her fingertips, she pulled her hand away. This was a weakness. Caring the way she did for Bex like a sister. The question at hand being Frank, and if he’d gotten away, if he’d find Bex again-- it was too much for Dani to push away. “Do you need anything? Do you want me to call someone for you?” She straightened up and looked back behind her by the door. If Lauren knew that she was here, there’d be hell to pay and she knew it. “I told them we were sisters. I gave them a fake name.” It’d been quick thinking, and really, she wasn’t sure why she’d done it. “Mostly so they’d let me in to see you.” She took a deep breath and it felt like her chest was going to cave in. She needed to find Frank, to make him pay for what he’d done. But with Bex laying there, her deep brown eyes wet with tears, Dani wasn’t sure if she could make herself leave.

Dani only thought they’d stopped him. She couldn’t be sure. Bex closed her eyes and tried not to let the thought send her into another spiral. She was safe here. She remembered how angry she’d been .She remembered watching Dani pummel Frank. Bex ran her hands through her hair, wincing as a pain in her arm reminded her of the IV in it. She looked back at Dani and she couldn’t explain what she was feeling. She had no idea. She was feeling everything and nothing. She wanted to scream again, she felt like she was going to explode. Dani didn’t take her hand, because Dani wasn’t Mina and Dani wasn’t Morgan and Dani wasn’t Nell. She curled her hands into fists and tried not to protest against the drowsiness too much. “No, no, I’m fine,” she muttered, laying her head back on the pillow and staring up at the ceiling. But when Dani mentioned calling someone, Bex’s blood turned to ice. They would have called her, wouldn’t they? It was on her emergency forms. Bex sat up straight and started pulling at the cords on her. “I need to go,” she said hurriedly. The soft beeping turned to a loud drone as she ripped off the electric patches on her chest. If her mother got here before she left, if her mother knew, if her mother saw, it would all be so much worse.

A nurse came bursting in only to see the scene, rushing to the bedside, pushing Bex back down. Bex winced and cried out, the pain in her side blossoming all over her body. “Relax! I need you to calm down!” the nurse turned to look at Dani sharply. “What happened? What’s going on?” Her voice hushed slightly as she returned her attention to Bex, struggling against her uselessly. “It’s okay, your mother is on her way, she’s almost here.” Bex froze, dread drawing on her face. “No, no, no. No, she can’t see-- no. I have to go, I have to--” But it was too late. It was always too late. Her mother always got there first. Her mother always found her first.

The pain and fear was recognizable on Bex’s face. Dani hated that it was there. She wanted to ease it, but she wasn’t sure how. She flexed her fingers. The air felt heavy, it felt like she was drowning in it. Her chest felt heavy. There had been fear, but then there was panic. Bex was suddenly thrashing in her bed, pulling at the IVs in her hands. It was the only time that Dani reached forward, trying to still her hands. “Bex--” Dani said, her voice coming out softer than intended. But it wasn’t any use. Bex was lost to the panic and she was spiraling. Dani didn’t know what to do. What had she done? Had she said something wrong?

Before she could reason with Bex, a nurse was coming through the doors. Dani was pushed to the side as the woman began to smooth her hands over the cords and IV that were attached to Bex. The woman snarled at her and Dani steeled herself. So she had done something wrong. Anger boiled inside of her, it coated her throat. She wanted to yell back at the nurse, to tell her that she’d only been trying to help. Bex was still panicking and she was trying her best to get out of the bed. Dani watched with a pained expression on her features as Bex begged to leave. Something about not being able to be seen? By her mother? Dani’s eyes widened slightly, and just as Dani was about to explain that she could take care of Bex, she was being ushered out of the room, the feeling of the nurse’s fingers digging into her bruised arms and back. “Hey--” Dani protested, trying to grab the door, “Bex-- BEX!” Dani felt another hand on her wrist as she was being pulled away from the room. “Bex-- Hey! Fuck off, stop it!” She cried out at the feeling of the man’s pressure on her wrist. He wore a hospital uniform, something about security. She was being escorted out. Why? Why? Dani could easily break this man’s hand, she could give him the same broken nose, it’d match her own, but he was human, she couldn’t do that. He was just doing his job. “Bex!” Dani yelled again as she lost view of her friend’s room. Something was wrong-- far more fucked up than she had originally thought.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: dani #domestic abuse tw #medical blood tw #dani #frank

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stereksecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, hazelestelle!

For @hazelestelle <3

Read On AO3

*****

It's Always Something, Even at Christmas

Chapter 1

“I need you to be my date.”

Stiles turned so quickly he fell out of his chair and cursed as he hit the floor and landed directly on his elbow. He glared up at Derek from the floor and gave him a look as he rolled his eyes and said, “Could you at least try to come in through the front door like a normal person?” while Derek stood there just inside his window, hands inside his leather coat, looking entirely undisturbed at the fact that he’d scared the crap out of his emissary.

“I need you to be my date,” he repeated, looking thoroughly annoyed, but Stiles, being far too attuned to the Alpha’s moods, noticed the slight hint of desperation in his tone. “The stupid firm I’m working for is having a Christmas party and if I don’t come with a date, specifically you, then that woman who works across from me is going to jump me.”

Stiles snorted as he got to his feet, rubbing his elbow, tossing the man a look as he went back to his laptop and said, “You could just not go to the party, you know that, right?”

Derek let out an exasperated sigh and threw himself onto Stiles’ bed and uncharacteristically rubbed his hands over his face and said, “God, I wish it were that easy. This stupid architecture degree was supposed to make my job easier, not harder,” he complained, and then said, “The thing is, I just finished helping the partners with a big project and they personally invited me to their private Christmas party. At their house,” he explained. “If I say no, I’ll look like the world’s biggest asshole…”

“As opposed to…?”

Derek shot him a bitch face and Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Seriously, dude. I still don’t know how you convinced them that you were a nice guy,” he commented, turning his attention back to the research that he’d been doing before Derek had so rudely interrupted him.

Something had been hunting the local pets in the area and Stiles had narrowed it down to a few supernatural beings. Being the Hale pack’s emissary wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The pack still had him pulling all nighters to help them out, on top of his normal job, which was working out of the new local FBI offices. When he’d finally finished his training, he’d put in a request and they had gladly let him set up a new office just outside of Beacon Hills. Anything for the new wunderkid agent who was making the agents back in D.C. look bad.

When he’d finally gotten back home, however, he discovered that Derek had returned back, as well, and with a degree in architecture, which was downright baffling to him because he had assumed that when the man had disappeared back in the Mexican desert that he’d gone off to do werewolf stuff…apparently, not so much. From what he had gleaned through secondhand information, Derek had gone off to New York and settled in and gotten his degree at NYU.

To think that they had both been on the east coast at the same time, only an hour and a half train ride away from each other for nearly five years…Stiles sometimes wondered if Derek had known that he was in D.C. but hadn’t cared enough to do anything about it.

And then Stiles had found out that the man was an alpha again. That had thrown him for a loop.

When he’d gotten back, he’d found out that Deaton was planning on leaving, so Stiles had used up all of his spare time picking his brain about what it meant to be an emissary, and suddenly found himself with a second job when Derek had asked him in the most formal way possible if he was willing to be the pack’s emissary.

He’d said yes.

And then Erica and Boyd had rolled back into town after hearing that Derek was back and an alpha, yet again, despite having left back in junior year when things had gone to hell in a handbasket around Beacon Hills. And Derek had himself a little pack consisting of those two, Isaac, and a new kid named Liam, who Isaac was incredibly protective over.

So now Stiles was living back at home in his old room with his dad, just like in high school, and Derek was still breaking in through his window.

Considering that they were both adults, it was more than a little bit weird. But, at the same time, it was familiar and safe, so he kind of enjoyed it. Despite being twenty-four years old and still living at home, his dad let him keep whatever hours he wanted and he and came and went as he pleased…and Derek still couldn’t use the front door.

“Look,” Derek said, sounding tired, “They said I could bring a date and I told them that I would bring you, and they all…”

When his voice suddenly dropped off, Stiles looked over at him, trying to figure out why the heck Derek looked guilty as hell. He was now looking at the floor and had shoved his hands so deep into his pockets that Stiles was certain that they were about to rip at the seams.

“They what, Derek?” he prompted him.

He finally looked back up at him.

“They’ve apparently all assumed that you’re my boyfriend because I’ve talked about you so much.” Stiles’ eyebrow shot up and he opened his mouth to say something, but then Derek cut him off with an eyeroll and said, “Look, I talk about you because you’re our pack’s emissary, but I can’t tell them that, so they get a highly edited version of my weekend events and your name comes up a lot, and they all just assumed, and please don’t make this any harder than this is for me.”

He was sorely tempted to make fun of him, but he instead withheld the impulse and licked his lips and said, “If I say yes, what will I be expected to do at this party?”

Derek huffed, but then answered, “I don’t know…act…boyfriend-like. Do whatever it is couples do, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders and Stiles took some perverse pleasure at seeing how uncomfortable he was, but also felt a faint twinge of regret. “Hold hands, kisses on the cheek, pet names…stuff like that.”

The picture he gave him was one that Stiles had secretly wanted for years. He’d fallen for him back in high school but had known that someone as gorgeous and amazing as Derek was way out of his league, even more so considering his werewolf status and all of his abilities. He consistently attracted older women to him and so Stiles knew that he would never have a chance, but it was nice to know that Derek had talked about him enough at work and in such a way that his coworkers thought that Stiles was his boyfriend.

He thought about torturing him a bit longer, but instead capitulated and said, “Sure, why not. When and where is it?”

Derek’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Next weekend. I’ll pick you up Saturday night, don’t worry about it.”

“Dress code?”

Derek gave him another look.

“Uh…don’t know. I’ll find out. Just…thank you, Stiles,” he said, and the emissary nodded, keeping his emotions in check, even though he kinda wanted to shout from the rooftops that he was going on a date with Derek Hale. So, what if it was a fake date, it was better than nothing.

Derek moved to leave through the window, and Stiles couldn’t help but say, “Does that mean I can call you Der Bear?”

He heard him growl as he dropped to the ground and he laughed.

Yeah, this was gonna be fun.

“So, I hear you and Derek are going out on a date,” said Erica as she sprawled out on his office couch, kicking her legs out behind her as she lay on her stomach, staring intently at her nails as Stiles finished up a report for the head office, thoroughly entrenched in getting through it before he called it quits and went to lunch, which was the reason why she was there.

“It’s not a real date, it’s just to keep his coworkers off his back,” he said, still staring at his screen as he typed.

She let out a snort, rolled over to her back and shot him a look.

“Yeah, fake, right. You do know that Mr. Grumpycat has been pining after you for years, now, right?” she shot back at him and Stiles shook his head, knowing better than to take anything of what she said as serious. “He’s been all broody and serious ever since you came back to Beacon Hills,” she complained.

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“So, no different than usual, then?” he couldn’t help but retort, flipping a page on the papers that he was referencing as he wrote his report.

But at that, Erica sat back up, her hair spilling around her shoulders in that effortless way that most models would kill for and gave him a look and said, “Actually, before you showed up, he seemed to have really changed. He was wearing more normal clothes, like sweaters and stuff, not a leather jacket to be seen. He was even smiling more, acting like a person, you know?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “It was like seeing the human side of him for once. But then you showed up and he becomes all Broody McBrooderson again…”

Stiles sighed, though slightly amused at her description of the alpha, but ignored her just long enough so that he could finish his report, and then stood up, reached over and grabbed his coat and said, “Can we just go to lunch?”

She rolled her eyes at him a second time, but then smiled.

“Fine. Lunch it is.”

And with that they walked out arm in arm from his office, and Stiles smirked when he saw a few of the other agents sneak glances at her, most of them unaware of the fact that she was taken. He was fairly certain that quite a few of them thought that Erica was his girlfriend, but he didn’t really care.

She wore her skinny jeans, thigh high black boots, and her usual too-tight low-cut top with a leather jacket thrown over it for good measure. Stiles looked like a worn-out door to door salesman next to her in his rumpled suit, but he didn’t mind. Ever since he had come back, the two of them had bonded in a way that Stiles had always wished they had and now she was like the best friend that he’d never had…she had even beat out his old best friend, Scott. Scott had left Beacon Hills to go to vet school and, according to his mom, he wasn’t coming back.

He still kept in touch with him, but it was sort of an unspoken understanding between the two of them that Scott wanted nothing more to do with the goings-on of Beacon Hills and the supernatural drama that came with it. Stiles was fine with that, and still kept in close contact with Melissa…who had been spending a suspicious amount of time with his dad, recently.

He didn’t want to think about it too much, so he turned his attention to Erica as they sat down in the booth at the diner and ordered their usual. As soon as their food arrived, he changed the subject.

“So…how’s Boyd doing?”

At the question, she lit up and Stiles smiled as she began to jabber away.

“Oh my god, he’s doing so good. Ever since he found that job at the hospital as an orderly, he’s been doing so good. He really loves helping people, you know?” she said with a bright smile, dipping one of her fries into her milkshake and taking a bite. “I’m still working on trying to finish my GED, which is a serious pain in the ass, but as soon as I get it, I’m looking into becoming a volunteer counselor at the youth center,” she admitted, sounding a bit shy as she did, and Stiles smiled.

She was amazing with teenagers, especially the girls, and Stiles thought it was a perfect fit for her.

“I’m happy for the two of you,” he said, completely sincere. He didn’t have any romantic prospects, male or female, but he was okay with it. He was just happy to see his friends finally happy.

Erica gave him another blinding smile…but then it turned devious as she said, “So…this ‘fake’ date that you and Derek are having. I hear it’s for the private Christmas party that he was invited to, right?” Stiles groaned, but she didn’t let up. “I bet there’s gonna be mistletoe there. I don’t care what it takes, you need to drag that boy under it and get it on with him already!”

He threw a french fry at her, but she caught it between her teeth and continued to grin at him.

Finally, he said, “I’m not dragging him anywhere, let alone towards something that could potentially kill him. Look, I know you think that he likes me, too, but trust me when I say that it’s barely concealed annoyance. At best.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious! I mean, when he asked me to be emissary, of course I said yes, but that’s all I am to him. I am a tool that helps keep the pack safe and that’s it, Erica. That’s all it’s ever going to be. And I’m fine with that, seriously. I love being someone that can help the pack, the person that you guys can turn to when the going gets rough. Hell, that’s why I joined the FBI,” he added, eating one of his own fries.

She arched an eyebrow at him, and he could see the look all over her face.

“Stiles. He likes you. As in, he likes likes you.”

He gave her a look right back and said, “Oh, so we’re reverting to middle school terms, now? What next? You gonna hand me note from him that says, ‘do you like me? Check yes or no’?”

She rolled her eyes and practically pouted as she said, “Look, he’s my alpha and I can tell when he’s not acting right and ever since you came back his scent gets all weird whenever you’re around or any time that he’s thought that you might be in trouble, and Isaac and Liam have both been worried about him, too,” she admitted, and Stiles was taken off guard by the naked honesty in her tone.

He licked his lips, put down the burger that he was about to take a bite of and said, “You…you’re serious?”

She nodded.

“Yeah. So…don’t fuck this up, okay? He may act like you’re just doing him a favor, going to the Christmas party and all, but I know that this means a lot to him,” she muttered, picking at the edge of the table, chipping off a piece of the flaking formica with one perfectly manicured fingernail. “He acts all tough around you, and only you, and I may not know why…but I know that he has feelings for you, Stiles. So, don’t fuck this up.”

He took a deep breath…but then nodded. At that, she seemed to relax, and they went back to their lunch, him talking about his research on the creature that was going after the local pets (most likely a lamia, though he had no idea how it had made its way to Beacon Hills), and Erica chiming it about the online college classes that both Isaac and Liam were taking, and how the additions onto the Hale house were coming. According to Erica, both of the boys wanted their own rooms, but Derek was insisting that they share because he was not adding two bedrooms.

By the time they were done, and Erica was walking him back to his office, he was feeling a bit better.

She lightly squeezed his waist before she left and whispered into his ear right before lightly pecking his cheek, “Don’t fuck it up.”

He snorted and hugged her right back and returned the gesture.

“I’ll try not to,” he replied with a fake put-upon look, and she gave him a wry smile in return before turning around and heading back down the street.

It was the day before the Christmas party, and Stiles was running through the backyard of Mrs. Newton’s house in the middle of the night, trying his hardest to not get caught by the nosy old lady who had a tendency to spy on her neighbors through her back windows. He had found the lamia. Which wasn’t a lamia. Instead, it was a rogue were-coyote, and Stiles was looking like an idiot with dirt-stained jeans with the left leg completely soaked through. He had almost cornered it a few houses down, near a bird bath in someone else’s backyard, but then it had bolted at the last second and he now had a ruined pair of pants.

He panted, trying to catch his breath. Sure, he was fitter than he used to be, but he’d been chasing it for over an hour at that point.

Bent over at the waist, still catching his breath, Stiles begrudgingly pulled out his small pouch of mountain ash, hating that he had to use it, but knowing that it was necessary.

“Okay, you little fucker,” he muttered, pulling out the smallest amount needed because he hated wasting it. “I’m going to track you properly and find your goddamn den if it’s the last thing I do, because you are seriously ruining my night.”

He closed his eyes, concentrated, and then let out a trickle of it from between his first finger and thumb…and let out a sigh of relief as it glowed slightly and drifted in a straight line back through the backyards until it headed for the woods. He followed it, letting out small amounts each time he ran out of glowing ash to follow, and was grateful that he’d decided to wear his boots as he ended up going deep into the woods just beyond the Hale property.

He followed it to a small den where he found a young boy, no more than ten, curled up back in the corner of his roughshod den. He was wearing only a small pair of blue shorts, the rest of his body covered in dirt and grime, and small bones littered the ground around him; what was left of the pets.

He seemed to be shaking, so Stiles gently reached out with one hand and said, “Hey, kid, I’m not here to hurt you…are you just hungry?” he asked and was taken aback when bright gold eyes snapped up to meet his.

The boy then nodded.

Making a quick decision, Stiles helped him out of his den and put his own jacket around the boy’s shoulders and walked him back to his house.

As soon as he’d settled him down, gotten him into some clean clothes and gotten him some food, he started to feel less anxious. However, just as the kid (Lance, he had told him in a voice barely above a whisper) was finally settled, he heard the front door open, so he quickly went to cut off whoever it was…and his eyes went wide when he saw that it was Derek.

“Where is he?” the alpha growled, his eyes flashing red, and Stiles stopped him with a hand on his chest, and said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, big guy! It’s not what you think! It’s a kid!” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder, trying to keep his voice down, unsure of how much the young were-coyote could hear. “His name’s Lance and he’s only around ten and he was only going after people’s pets because it was easier for him to hunt and get food…I think he’s been abandoned…”

Stiles watched as Derek went from full-metal-alpha to suddenly looking worried, his brow furrowed and his eyes glancing back towards where he could obviously smell the kid was, back in the kitchen.

“Abandoned? Who would do that to a kid?”

“Some pretty shitty people, that’s who,” Stiles replied, noticing how Derek’s entire body language had shifted from attack-mode to protective-alpha mode.

He went silent and watched as Derek seemed to be listening in on the kid and then couldn’t help but ask, “So…sense anything wrong with him?” and Derek shook his head and answered, “No, just…he smells like anxiety. I think he’s been alone a long time. But he only just got here. He doesn’t smell like the preserve,” he commented. “More like…diesel.”

At that, Stiles nodded and said, “Probably sneaking onto long-distance hauling trucks. Easy to hide on and gets you plenty of miles away from a previous hunting ground. Smart kid.”

Derek nodded as well, and they stood there for a moment in the front foyer, Stiles’ hand still on Derek’s chest. He seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled it back, rubbing it on the thighs of his jeans, and then Derek looked at him, gave him a once over, and he snorted.

“What happened to you?”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I was chasing after a were-coyote in the middle of the night and a birdbath accosted me, that’s what happened,” he quipped, just remembering the clinging wetness of the left side of his jeans. He absently tugged at it and said, “Gotta say, that kid is fast. Faster than you, that’s for sure,” he added, knowing it would irritate the alpha.

True to form, Derek gave him a look, his equivalent of a bitch-face, and Stiles smirked, but then asked him on a more serious note, “Hey, can you watch after him? I’ll introduce you two, but I need to go upstairs and change because this is starting to seriously chafe…”

Derek nodded, and Stiles walked back into the kitchen with the alpha right behind his shoulder and cautiously approached the table, silently grateful that his dad was on the night shift.

“Hey, Lance…this is Derek. He’s a werewolf, he’s an alpha, and he’s my friend,” he softly explained, putting his hand carefully in front of the bowl of cereal that he was eating. “I don’t want to leave you alone, just yet, so would it be okay if he spends some time with you while I go and change out of these wet and dirty clothes?”

Lance looked back up at him with his now hazel eyes, his gaze slightly confused, and nodded.

“Okay, then.”

He motioned for Derek to sit down across from him and went upstairs and quickly stripped out of his ruined clothes and hopped into the shower. He cleaned out the grime, rinsed off as best he could, and as soon as he was out of the shower, before he had even put on any clothes, he threw a towel around his waist and went and checked the missing persons database on his work laptop, putting in the first name Lance and looking for kids around his age. He couldn’t have come from nowhere.

While it searched, he threw on sweats, an academy shirt, and ran his fingers through his hair, drying it as best he could, ignoring the fact that his stomach had flipped when he’d seen Derek look at the kid with such soft affection that it had made his heart ache.

God, he’d be a great dad.

His computer dinged, and he hopped over on one foot, pulling a sock over the other one, and squinted as he looked at the information that had popped up onto the screen.

Lance Santiago. Thirteen years old, missing for the last nine months ago from Ogunquit, Maine. Parents murdered in a home invasion, no other living relatives.

Swallowing around the knot that had formed in his throat, Stiles pulled up the police report from the home invasion and closed his eyes for a brief second at what he saw on the screen in front of him…and then opened them again and made himself look at the crime scene photos in the way that the academy had trained him to.

Each of their necks had been viciously ripped open, and the coroner’s report had said that the intruders had used several different tools to make the marks, but he knew what they really were: they were from the claws of a werewolf. And the kid had apparently witnessed the whole thing, but then had inexplicably escaped from the foster home that they had put him in. They had tried to find him for the first three months, but then had given up, and now he was here, in Beacon Hills.

He let out a long sigh and headed back downstairs and stilled in the doorway to the kitchen…

Derek was flicking pieces of cereal in Lance’s face and Lance was smiling and laughing and throwing cereal right back at him while Lance was talking in rapid-fire Spanish and Stiles was baffled when Derek was speaking fluently right back at him, grinning almost the entire time. The alpha had taken off his jacket and thrown it over the back of his chair and sat there in just a dark red sweater with the sleeves rolled up, eyes sparkling, lips effortlessly wrapping around the foreign syllables, while Sam chattered excitedly right back at him.

It was like something out of a movie.

He watched them for a moment longer and then said, “Hey, you two, quit making a mess,” and Lance looked up, wide-eyed, but Derek just shook his head and said, “It’s no worse than what you do.”

The kid still seemed scared for a moment, but then Derek reached out his hand and put it on his shoulder and said, “Está bien, Lance. Está bien.”

He then stood up and walked over to Stiles and said in a low voice as they both moved closer to the fridge, away from the table, “He knows some English, but not much. I can speak with him, fine, and he seems to trust me. So, if it’s easier for you and your dad, he can stay with me and the pack, if you’d like.”

Okay, so maybe Stiles just fell a little bit more in love with the man.

He nodded.

“It’s a good idea but be careful. I found him on file, and he’s gone through a pretty bad trauma. If anyone can help, though, it’d be you guys,” he conceded, though a little wary to have him out of his sight for too long, the kid’s dark brown hair flopping into his eyes and reminding Stiles of just how young and vulnerable he was.

He then looked at Derek and said, “Uh, when did you learn Spanish, by the way?”

Derek ducked his eyes, not quite meeting them, and said, “Uh, I, uh…I started to learn as a kid. Mom and dad insisted. I kept up with it over the years, mainly because of the other packs down south, but…yeah. It comes in handy a lot.”

He seemed thoroughly embarrassed at being put on the spot, so Stiles dragged his eyes away from him, looked back over at Lance who was finally finishing his cereal, and asked, “Think the pack will like him?”

The alpha smiled.

“When we were talking, I found out he loves Star Wars. I think he and Isaac and Liam will get along really well. Boyd is more of a Trekkie, but they’ll get along,” he said, looking at the kid with a soft, almost find look. “It seems we’ve got another mouth to feed for Christmas.” As he said that, however, his eyes went wide and he said, “Oh, shit. The party. Tomorrow night.”

“Well, tonight, really,” Stiles supplied, looking at the time on the microwave. Two-thirty-six in the morning.

Derek rolled his head on his neck and said, “I don’t want the kid to have his first night with the pack all alone, I shouldn’t do that to him. I can call Erik and tell him that I can’t come to the--”

“Hold up there, big guy,” Stiles interjected, putting a hand to his shoulder. “You have to go to that thing, and you know it. They personally invited you, and, as much as even I hate to say it, you need to make good with these guys so that they can see just how valuable you are. You’ve got a pack to feed, buddy, and even if you do already have a shit ton of money, I know you care about this job, and I think Lance can handle one night alone with the pack. It’s a Friday night, right? They can order in a few pizzas, watch some movies…he’ll probably feel more comfortable around some weres closer to his own age, anyway,” he added, trying to make Derek see sense.

Derek looked at the kid and then back at Stiles. And then back at the kid, who was now looking at the two of them with those wide, hazel eyes of his, his brow slightly furrowed as if he was trying to understand what they were saying about him. Derek looked at Stiles one last time.

He then walked over to Lance and said something in Spanish that Stiles didn’t catch, Lance said something back to him, and then they both smiled.

Derek grabbed his jacket from where he left it and then said, “Okay, that settles it. I’m taking him back to the house for the night, he’s going to spend the day with the pack…and then I am coming over to pick you up at seven, Stiles.”

He then threw him a smile and said, “By the way, it’s dressy casual…but don’t wear the reindeer tie, please, I beg of you,” and Stiles grinned.

“But it goes with everything, Derek!”

He rolled his eyes and lightly tugged on Lance’s shoulder, who followed him to the front door. Stiles gave the kid’s shoulder one last squeeze and then watched as the two of them walked down the road, heading off in the direction of the Hale house. It was a good fit for him, Stiles thought to himself, wondering how he was going to deal with the fact that Derek was obviously already attached to the kid. Lance needed to not have anyone looking for him…and Stiles might have a solution for that.

Chapter 2

After getting four hours of sleep, Stiles was back down in the kitchen rifling through the cabinets, this time with his dad giving him judgmental looks over the edge of his newspaper.

“You’re telling me you went after a were-coyote on your own last night?” he said in a tone that Stiles was all too familiar with.

“Yes, but I wasn’t in any danger, pops,” he griped, finally finding the pop-tarts, ignoring the second judgmental look that he got as he pulled one out of the foil and took a bite out of it. “This kid is thirteen years old and no danger to people, he was just hungry, alright? The pets were easy hunting.”

The sheriff put down the paper, reached for his coffee and asked, “You say he’s been missing for nine months?”

Stiles nodded as he dropped into the chair across from him.

“Yeah. No family to speak of, just…a lot of horrible trauma.” His dad nodded. “I’m just glad that we found him first before anyone else did. Derek and his pack are a good fit for him, right now,” he thought out loud. “If anyone’s going to be able to help Lance figure out how to deal with it all, it’ll be those four and Derek.”

His dad nodded, took a long sip of his coffee and then said, “So, he’s staying with Derek and the pack. That’s good, I guess, but it’s not a permanent solution, you know that, right?”

Stiles gave his dad a look and reached across and stole a sip of his dad’s coffee, ignoring the glare that he gave him as he did.

“Yeah, I know it’s not a solution, but don’t worry about it, I’m already looking into what I can do,” he explained, handing his father’s coffee back to him, pushing it across the table. “I looked into the criminal file of what happened to his parents and it looks like they never even had any suspects for the murders, and if I let him go back, he’ll just end up with a foster family who doesn’t know about the supernatural and I can’t do that to the kid. I figure both of his parents were just like he is, and so the attack was most likely something personal, which means that there’s a werewolf out there looking to hunt this kid down and kill him. Lance most likely only got away because of how fast he is. I don’t think even Derek could keep up with him, even if he wanted to,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling worn out and wishing he could figure out how to help him.

They shared a look, both of them aware of just how hard it was going to be for the kid unless they could make sure that he was safe. So, Stiles came to decision that he would warn the pack that someone might be tracking the kid, even with everything that he’d done to get away from the werewolf that had killed his parents.

Stiles pulled another pop-tart out of the packet and took a bite, and then said, with his mouth full, “By the way, going to a Christmas party with Derek tonight, so don’t wait up,” and at that, his dad’s brow shot up and he threw him a smirk.

“You and Derek, huh?” he drawled, taking another sip of his coffee, and Stiles rolled his eyes and stood back up, saying, “Oh, don’t you start, pops. It’s not like that. Derek’s coworkers are convinced that I’m his boyfriend because he’s always talking about me because of the time we spend together on the weekends with my emissary duties. Complaining, mostly. He can’t exactly tell them the truth, so he’s been dragged into taking me to the party as his date. It’s not real, it’s just to keep the higher ups happy.”

His dad nodded, not saying anything more, but Stiles could see the faint humor that still lingered on the corner of his lips and he knew that his dad was probably going to be laughing about the situation for a long time, getting a kick out of his seeing his son like this.

He shrugged it off and went and got dressed and headed off to the office.

As soon as walked inside, Agent Katherine Richards greeted him with a coffee and a cheery, “Morning, Agent Stilinski!”

“For the last time, Katie, if you don’t start calling me Stiles, I’m going to put you on filing duty for the next two weeks,” he playfully griped, grabbing the coffee that she gave to him every single morning without fail. He then yawned as he asked, “Now, did you get me a copy of that file that I e-mailed you about this morning?”

She gave him a look and said, “You mean that e-mail that you sent me at five am? Yeah, I did, and you’re welcome,” she said with an arch tone, tossing it onto his desk as they both walked into his office. “Let’s just say that the local authorities in Maine don’t like it when someone from the FBI wants their files for a case that they couldn’t solve. Something about it making them look bad, I guess,” she mused, leaning her hip against his desk and throwing him a knowing grin. “Why’d you want it?”

Knowing he could trust her, he said, “I found the kid.”

Her eyes went wide.

“You mean the kid who saw who killed his parents? He’s the only witness, Stiles! Where did you find him?”

He trusted her, but not that much, so he avoided answering by instead saying, “That’s not important, what’s important is that he’s safe and secured and we don’t have to worry about him right now. Now, I need to make sure that I am out of here by five today, because I have to go and be a fake boyfriend for a friend of mine,” he explained and was amused when Katie’s eyes lit up.

“Fake boyfriend?” she repeated, her tone sounding all too eager. “Oooh, is it for that girl that you have lunch with a couple of times a week? The stunning blonde with legs for days that looks like she should be walking a Victoria’s Secret runway?”

Stiles chuckled at that apt description of Erica, knowing she would love it, but shook his head.

“No, no, not her. She’s already got a boyfriend,” he quickly said. “This is for my friend, Derek. He got dragged into it and so I’m trying to help make it a little easier on him,” he explained, already turning his attention to the file that she’d given him.

Katie gave him a look…and then said in a carefully measured tone, “Is this the Derek that you mentioned before?”

Stiles glared up at her, annoyed with himself for forgetting that he’d mentioned the alpha more than a few times to his own coworkers, and said, “Yes, it’s that Derek. No, we’re not actually dating, and no, it’s not anything serious. I’m just covering his ass for his bosses,” to which she retorted, “Yeah, I bet you’re covering his ass.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed and the patted the file that she put on his desk and said, “As fun as this conversation has been, don’t think you’ve distracted me from this, Stiles. While I am incredibly curious about this Derek guy, I am not forgetting that you just found the key witness in a brutal murder that has yet to be solved. You’ll bring me in if you need help, right?” she asked, looking and sounding genuinely concerned, and Stiles nodded and patted her hand.

“I promise, Agent Richards.”

With that, she left the room, and Stiles went back to his work. He dug through the file to figure out exactly who to contact and how to keep everything intact so that they wouldn’t find out…while also keeping a close eye on the time, making sure that he didn’t work too hard. He needed to be able to leave by five so that he would be ready to go by seven.

Of course, things didn’t go as planned. He shot off a quick message to the pack, did some paperwork, and then the next thing he knew, he was looking at the clock and it said six thirty and he was twenty minutes from home.

Shit.

Slipping the file into his bag, he ran out of the building, shouting a quick, “See you tomorrow!” over his shoulder as he did, and probably broke a couple of laws as he raced home, trying to figure out how many he could get away with breaking to make sure that he had enough time to shower.

He ran into his house as quickly as he could, grateful that his dad had already left for his night shift about an hour before, and then scrambled up the stairs and threw his bag onto his desk and looked into his closet helplessly, trying to figure just what the hell dressy casual was.

However, before he could even look in his closet, let alone get a shower like he’d originally planned, he heard a knock at the front door.

Shit.

He turned and ran back down the stairs and as he swung the door open, the first words out of his mouth were, “Please, please, please don’t be mad, but I am not dressed, yet, I only just got home, and…why are you looking at me like that?”

Derek was staring at him, mouth slightly open, looking like he was struggling to catch his breath. Stiles looked down at himself, trying to see what was wrong, wondering if he had dropped food or coffee on himself earlier in the day without noticing, but only saw his usual work clothes: a white dress shirt, the top couple of buttons undone, his rumpled black pants and jacket, military issued FBI boots, along with his shoulder holster, which was slightly askew because he’d already removed his weapon, and he was baffled as to why Derek was staring at him.

“Uh, Derek?” he said, snapping his fingers, and the alpha shook his head and said, “Yeah, I’m…you’re fine. What you’re wearing is just fine.”

Stiles looked back down at himself a second time, baffled, and then looked at what Derek was wearing and couldn’t help but smile and say as he noticed his outfit, “And you are looking like a dad going to a PTA meeting, oh my god, are you wearing loafers?” he exclaimed, unable to stifle a giggle as he saw the black leather on the man’s feet. Derek rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Stiles kept going.

“Not only loafers, but you’re wearing a belt that matches them, and is that a tailored sport coat that doesn’t quite match your pants with a pink shirt? Dude,” he put his hand on his shoulder, “I thought someone like you with a ton of money would be wearing Armani or something. But this…?”

He gestured up and down at his outfit and Derek glared at him, no longer staring at Stiles’ clothes and bit out, “I’m not Peter, I don’t care about expensive clothes. Now, get your ass in my car so we can go already. Like I said, what you’re wearing is fine. Though you might want to lose the shoulder holster,” he added, looking at his shoulder distractedly.

Stiles glanced down and shrugged, stepped back into the hallway to take off the holster and grab his phone and house keys, and then followed Derek out to his car. He still had the Camaro.

As soon as they had pulled out onto the main road, he asked, “So…Erik’s your boss, right?”

Derek nodded, eyes focused on the road.

“Yep. Good man, great architect. His partner’s name is Geoff, and they’ve been running the architecture firm for over fifteen years now. And they’re looking to take on a third partner,” he added lightly, and Stiles knew exactly what he meant.

“So, tonight is about showing off how amazing you are?” he said, trying to ease the tension that he could feel coming from him, but then saw his hands tighten on the wheel, so he quickly backpedaled with, “I’m not going to make fun of you tonight, Derek, I promise. I mean, I knew this was kind of serious, but I had no idea that you were trying to make partner. Now that I know, I will make sure to be on my best behavior, no matter what. Only good things, I promise.”

Derek’s fingers released their death grip on the wheel and Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief. Now that he knew just how serious he was about the evening, he quickly put aside any thoughts that he had of telling some of the man’s more embarrassing stories, instead focused on how he could show his bosses just how amazing he was.

When they pulled up the driveway to the house, Stiles let out a low whistle.

“Holy shit, they got money,” he said, slightly awed at the large, A-frame cabin that stretched out into one of those cabin McMansions that he’d only ever seen on Hallmark movies.

Derek nodded, pulled up behind a black Rolls Royce, and put the Camaro in park and then let out a long, nervous breath, glancing up at the windows of the house apprehensively. From where they sat, Stiles could hear the faint strains of holiday music on piano and could see the glimmer of Christmas lights in the windows. He watched as Derek swallowed, looking more nervous than he’d ever seen him before, so Stiles reached out and put his hand over his, trying to calm him down.

Derek’s eyes suddenly dropped to where Stiles had his fingers wrapped around his…and then took another breath and lightly squeezed his hand.

“Okay. I can do this,” he said, still sounding nervous, and Stiles corrected him, “We can do this, Der. Trust me. I’m going to be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

At that, the tension was broken and the alpha chuckled and shook his head and said, “Yeah, well you better, or else I’m gonna make your life a living hell. Now,” he squeezed his hand a second time, “How about we go on inside? Honey.”

Stiles let out a sound that was close to a laugh and gave him a fake, sweet look and said, “Of course, Der Bear.”

Derek groaned and Stiles grinned.

They pulled apart long enough to get out of the car, and then Stiles plastered himself to Derek’s side, tucking his right arm through Derek’s left and leaned into him as much as he could, enjoying every single second of being able to touch Derek as much as he’d always wanted to.

Just before they walked through the front door, though, Derek turned his head just enough to look Stiles in the eye and said, “You ready to be affectionate with me? ‘Cause as soon as we walk in there, they are going to be expecting us to act like a couple. So…you going to be okay with that?” and Stiles scoffed, arched an eyebrow at him and said, “Dude, listen to my heartbeat as I say these words: this is the best idea that you’ve ever come up and I can’t wait to pretend to be your boyfriend.”

He watched in amusement as Derek’s eyes widened at hearing the honesty and Stiles grinned and said, “Now take me inside, honeybuns.”

Derek laughed and pulled the door open, moving out of Stiles’ grip so that he could put his hand on his lower back to usher him through the door ahead of him, and Stiles preened under the intimate touch, wishing with all of his heart that it was real.

Erica’s words echoed in his head… I know he has feelings for you, Stiles. So, don’t fuck this up.

He swallowed, feeling his first twinge of nervousness.

He could do this.

The foyer alone was intimidating. The ceilings were, of course, vaulted, and swept up nearly twenty feet. He let Derek move him to the main room, where a whole lot of people in dressy clothes mingled. Before Stiles could take it all in, however, a man in a dark blue sport coat with a nicely trimmed beard walked over to them and said in a loud, friendly voice, “Hale! So glad you made it!” and then reached out and pulled Derek into a half hug.

Stiles watched in amusement as Derek tried to return it, though it was obvious to him that he was uncomfortable with it, patting him on the shoulder and saying, “Thanks for inviting me, Erik.”

Suddenly, Erik pulled back and said, “Oh, right, I forgot…no hugs. Sorry about that, just caught up in the holiday cheer. Is this the boyfriend we’ve heard so much about?” he asked, pointing at Stiles with the glass in his hand, looking curious.

Before Derek could say a word, Stiles stepped forward and said, “Stiles Stilinski, pleased to meet you.”

Erik gave him a solid handshake, looked him up and down and then looked back over at Derek and said, “You have good taste, Hale. Also,” he turned his attention back to Stiles, “Pleased to meet you. Feel free to tell us as many embarrassing stories about this man as possible. He’s so closed-lipped around the office, it’s a miracle that we even knew that he had a boyfriend. Of course,” he said giving a short chuckle, “That wasn’t too hard to figure out considering how much he talked about you.”

He lifted his glass to him in acknowledgement and Stiles couldn’t help but share a smile and say, “Yeah, well, not too surprised. I am a big part of his life, after all,” and gave Derek a shit-eating grin.

Derek just shook his head and reached over and gently tugged at his hand and Stiles found it remarkably easy to fall in next to him and let him lead him into the rest of the room, where he was introduced to at least twenty different people in under ten minutes, and he was pretty proud of the fact that he could remember all of their names.

Part of his training as an FBI agent was to be able to hold onto a lot of information in a short amount of time, and it was finally coming in handy.

Eventually, he let himself be split off from Derek and watched with a fond smile as Erik and Geoff flanked him on either side and started to talk with him in hushed tones, both of them smiling, while Derek attempted to smile, though he still looked like he had just been thrown into the lion’s den.

Stiles stifled a laugh at the sight, took a sip of the apple cider in his hand, and was taken off guard when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You must be Stiles, the boyfriend,” a feminine voice said, turning him around, and he found himself levelling his eyes at a lovely woman wearing a dark violet dress, and thick blonde hair spilled over shapely shoulders, showing off her stunning warm complexion and blue eyes. “I’m Jane Caruso, I work in Interior Design at the firm. My desk is right across from Derek’s,” she said, and Stiles could see the way that she was assessing him, a sharp glint in her eye as she looked him up and down.

He took another sip of his drink, making her wait for his response, putting her on the defensive (using his FBI training, yet again) and saw her shift uncomfortably as she waited for him to speak.

Finally, he said, “Yeah, I’m the boyfriend,” and extended his hand and gave her a polite handshake.

Not missing a beat, she held his hand for a moment longer than necessary and then leaned in and, glancing at him and then shooting a look over at Derek as she asked conspiratorially, “So, how the hell did someone like you snag a specimen like him?”

Without hesitation, he pulled his hand back and replied, “Oh, we’ve known each other since high school,” and then looked down at his drink, smirked, and the looked back up at her and said, as if he was embarrassed (though far from it), “Actually, I was the one in high school. I was sixteen, he was twenty…things really didn’t start until after I graduated, of course, but…you know how these things go,” he finished, taking another sip of the cider, enjoying the way her eyes widened and she leaned slightly away from him.

He had to withhold a laugh when Jane then said, sounding completely off-balance, “Oh, that’s…so you two have known each other a long time, then.”

He nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, when we first met, we hated each other. I even got him arrested for something he didn’t do,” he said, laughing, looking over at Derek, knowing that the werewolf could hear every word of his conversation, and could see his jaw twitch, even from a distance, and he bit his lip, wondering how much he could get away with.

“You got him arrested?”

Stiles chuckled and then quickly amended, “Yeah, but I didn’t mean to. My dad can tell you what happened better than I can, anyway,” he said, knowing exactly what she was going to ask next.

“Your dad?” she asked predictably, and Stiles answered, “Yeah, the Sheriff. Noah Stilinski.” He threw her an easy smile, once more pleased at seeing her even more wary of him.

She then took a sip of her own cider and bit her lip…and after a moment she asked, “Son of the sheriff. That sounds like you had a lot of pressure on you growing up in Beacon Hills,” and he nodded, and then she said, obviously trying to throw him off balance once more, “What career path did you follow? Are you a deputy, on your way to follow in your dad’s footsteps?”

Jane then gave him a smug look and Stiles saw her once more eyeing Derek discreetly from the corner of her eye, and he withheld his idiotic grin and managed to maintain an almost bored tone as he answered, “Oh, no, local law enforcement wasn’t for me.” She smirked, looking like she’d won…and then he knocked her down with, “I’m a special agent for the FBI. We just started a new office right outside of Beacon Hills, and I run it with a few select agents. We cover mostly federal cases, but we help out the local law enforcement when they need it.”

He swore she went three shades paler and saw her almost choke on her sip and he shot a glance in his fake boyfriend’s direction and saw him roll his eyes up towards the ceiling, and Stiles knew that Derek was on the edge of coming over and pulling him away from her.

She managed to recover and then say, “You seem rather young for an FBI agent, let alone a special agent.”

He nodded, understanding, and explained, “I got into a training program right out of high school, so I did my schooling and training out at Quantico. Lot of work, but Derek was only a couple of hours away by train at NYU, so we made it work.”

He knew that Derek was still listening and felt a bit bad about saying it, but also thought it was a good reminder to the werewolf that he could have visited him and let him know he was alive.

Sure, it was petty, but ever since Stiles had found out, he’d felt like Derek had deliberately chosen to not contact him and it hurt.

He turned all of his attention to Jane, and gave her a smile as he said, “He’s kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know? I feel really lucky that we found each other when we did. I don’t think I would have gone into the FBI if I’d never met him,” he admitted, knowing that even from that distance, Derek could hear his heartbeat and how steady it was. “After getting him into so much trouble when I was in high school, like, so many times, I realized that I wanted to help innocent people stay out of trouble, so…I became a bit ambitious.”

At that, Jane seemed to soften a bit, giving him a hint of a smile, and then she commented, tapping her finger on the edge of her glass, “He does seem to bring the best out in people.”

Stiles nodded and smiled widely and said, unable to keep the pride from his tone, “He’s a hell of a great guy, and one of the best men I’ve ever known in my life.”

From where he stood, he could see Derek go a bit pink, and he smiled. Jane gave him one last look, said a polite goodbye, and then walked away back into the crowd, leaving Stiles to mingle with everyone else. He felt that he’d done a good job at keeping her at bay, so he turned up his charm as he mingled with the rest of Derek’s coworkers, finding out that a few of them knew Danny through a tech firm that the architects worked with.

Soon, he wasn’t even putting on any airs and was joking back and forth with a guy named Adam who worked security at the building, finding out that they were both die hard fans of DC and Marvel.

Right while they were in the middle of a discussion over the chemistry of Henry Cavill and Ben Affleck (which they both agreed was more than just platonic), Derek was right up behind him slipping an arm around his waist as if he’d done it a thousand times before, saying, “Please don’t tell me you’re talking about how Superman and Batman are gay for each other, again,” and Stiles grinned.

“Oh, we totally were, and we agree that Superman is definitely a bottom,” he admitted, and shared a laughing smile with Adam, who politely tipped his cup towards him and nodded in agreement.

Derek groaned and shook his head.

Stiles then asked, before he forgot, “So, how was it talking with Erik and Geoff?” and Derek let out a long sigh and Adam gave them both a knowing look, nodded and said, “Yeah, those two are intense. Amazingly brilliant, but intense. I’ll leave you two lovebirds, alone. See you at D&D night next Wednesday?” Adam asked as he stepped away, and Stiles nodded.

“Count on it, man!”

Derek shot him a look.

“D&D night? Do I want to know?”

Stiles gently nudged him with is elbow and said, “Dungeons and dragons, you plebe. Found out that they have a group that meets every week on Wednesdays, from seven to ten in the evening, and Danny is a part of it, too, so they invited me. It sounded like fun, so I said yes. Is, uh…is that a bad thing? Me making friends with people at your work?”

Derek opened his mouth as if to say something…but then he closed it.

And then he said, “No, not at all.”

There was a long moment of silence and then Stiles observed, “Uh, you still have your arm around my waist, Der…”

Derek’s eyes went wide, and it seemed that he was about to move, but then he just lightly squeezed Stiles’ hip and muttered, looking down at the cider in his hand, “Yeah, well…people are still here. Watching,” he added unnecessarily, unconsciously moving Stiles closer to him. He bit his lip, making sure not to point out what Derek was doing as he really didn’t want to stop it and wanted to savor the closeness for as long as he could, basking in the physical affection, even if it was fake.

Derek then said, “I noticed that you dealt with Jane. You handled that pretty well,” he said with a grin teasing at the corner of his lips.

Stiles chuckled.

“I totally got your back, Derek. She won’t be bothering you, anymore. Promise.”

He looked across the room, easily spotting her blonde hair and violet dress in the crowd…and made a sound of disbelief in the back of his throat as he saw her flirting with a pretty brunette in a blue dress. He nudged Derek a second time and discreetly pointed her out and snorted at the expression on Derek’s face.

And then he said, “Well…looks like I don’t have to worry about her, after all.”

Stiles laughed and let himself a little bit closer into Derek’s side, knowing that it wasn’t going to last forever. He saw several looks sent in their direction, but all of them were approving, as if they all liked Derek’s choice of boyfriend, and that made Stiles feel warm in his chest and wish even more that it was all real. Even though it wasn’t.

Still, as the evening progressed he became more and more comfortable with the way that he was allowed to reach out and touch the usually taciturn alpha, and he got to see Derek actually smile, and the first few times it was completely disorienting, but then he started to get used to it and was now determined to make sure that he was the one who was always making Derek smile, even if it was only as a friend, because it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

It was really nice to see that most of the people that Derek worked with all seemed to like him, and they all seemed to like Stiles along with him, and it was rather refreshing to not have the usual side-eye that Stiles had seen in the past from people who looked down on ‘alternative’ lifestyles.

Eventually, the evening started to wind down and Stiles was grateful that Erik and Geoff had kept the gathering non-alcoholic, which meant that no one was stumbling outside, and everyone was safe to drive home.

He and Derek were the last two to leave, as it was nearly thirteen thirty, Erik and Geoff leading them to the front door, thanking them both for coming. When Geoff pulled the door open for them, however, Stiles was surprised to see that it was snowing, and that a good inch was already on the ground.

Derek didn’t seem the least bit phased and so Stiles quickly deduced that he’d been aware of it because of his werewolf senses.

“Oh, wow, it’s really coming down out there, isn’t it?” said Geoff, the tall, burly man leaning out the front door and looking up at the snow as it heavily fell, some of it landing on his head. He ducked back in, brushed it off his salt and pepper hair, and then remarked, sounding concerned, “Maybe it’s not all that safe to drive back. Derek, you have a Camaro, right?”

Stiles smiled when Derek nodded and then said politely, “Yes, but don’t worry, I have the snow tires on. I checked the weather before I came over tonight and knew what to expect.”

He then turned to Stiles and leaned in and pressed his lips to his temple and his left hand skated over Stiles’ hip, his thumb absently tracing the inside of his hipbone, an intimate gesture if he’d ever felt one, Stiles thought to himself.

“I’ll go get the car, you wait here,” Derek muttered, giving him a soft smile, and then he disappeared out into the snow-covered blackness, leaving Stiles to wait in the foyer with his two bosses, feeling even more off-kilter than before, butterflies suddenly flapping hard against the inside of his ribs.

Geoff chuckled at him and said, “Oh, I know that look. Totally besotted, am I right?”

Stiles shook his head, ducked his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, and then responded with, “Oh, you know…can’t get enough of him, right?”

Erik smiled and said, “Considering you guys have been together for a while, it’s rather refreshing to see that the spark still seems to be there. Hale’s a great guy, and I can easily see him becoming a more important part of the company down the road.” Stiles heard what he was implying, and he couldn’t help but feel excited for Derek. Erik then added, “He really came through on our last project. He thinks outside of the box and we need that kind of mindset to keep us from getting too stagnant in our work.”

Stiles couldn’t help but comment, “Yeah, that’s Derek, alright. He’s good at seeing new perspectives.”

They both nodded back at him.

Before anything else could be said, Derek had pulled up to the front door and Stiles couldn’t help but grin as he bolted out of the car and jogged up the steps to where Stiles stood and offered him his arm. Stiles felt his cheeks warm, and so he quickly followed after him, relieved when he settled warm and only slightly damp into the passenger’s seat.

Derek shifted the car into gear and as he navigated the roads that were just starting to get slippery, Stiles said, “Hey, so, Erik and Geoff pretty much told me without telling me that they’re definitely going to make you a partner at some point,” and was confused when Derek just simply hummed, “Oh, that’s nice,” his gaze still focused on the snow dusted road in front of him, and Stiles did a double take at his reaction, wondering what was going on with him.

What the heck? The whole point of Stiles going with him was to make sure that they made a good impression on the partners, and Derek was acting like he didn’t care.

Trying to get his attention, he reached out and squeezed Derek’s knee, and was amused when all Derek did was take one hand off the wheel to reach down and link his fingers with Stiles’.

He tried to brush it off like it was nothing, even though his heartrate had just jumped up to twice its normal speed, and said, “Not that the hand-holding isn’t great, Der, but…you do realize that we’re not back at the party anymore, right?” and it was rather amusing to see Derek glance down at his leg and then suddenly try to decide whether or not he should let go, and then finally say as he unlinked his fingers and patted Stiles on the back of the hand, “Sorry, just…habit already, I guess.”

At that, Stiles chuckled and couldn’t help but quip, “Aww, only one night and you’re addicted to me? Not that I blame you,” he drawled. “I was an amazing boyfriend, tonight. In fact, according to most of the people I talked to at the party, I am certifiably the best boyfriend ever,” he added, discreetly drawing his hand back over to his side.

Derek rolled his eyes and looked annoyed, but Stiles saw the smile at the corner of his mouth.

Deciding to push it a little bit further, he said, “Doug, the guy who helped with the electrical on your last project, said that you talked about me just a few days ago, saying something about my amazing test scores at the Academy?”

The alpha immediately countered with, “Hey, no, I was talking about how it was a freakin’ miracle that you even got into the Academy! Let’s clarify that,” he added, pointing a finger in the air.

Stiles just shook his head.

“Nah, you like me too much to complain about me,” and Derek bantered back, “Correction: you annoy me enough that I complain about you enough at work that they all think that I’m dating you.”

He laughed a second time and knocked his knee into his door and said, “They probably just think that you sound like an irritated boyfriend. Like, you complain all the time about me, but the way that you complain implies that you actually still really like me…”

His voice drifted, and then Derek said after a long moment, “I was ready to kill you tonight when I heard you tell Jane that you once got me arrested.” Stiles quickly went to defend himself, but then Derek cut him off with, “If I wasn’t so scared of her, I would have walked over there and dragged you out by the back your neck and tossed you out into the snow.”

Stiles snorted.

“I’m sorry, but I just find it hilarious that you, mister werewolf alpha, someone who has stared down an alpha pack and just about all of the scariest creatures that have ever gone bump in the night…are scared of a woman.”

Derek gave him a look, but turned his attention back to the road as he said, “You met Jane, right? She’s worse than an alpha pack all on her own,” and Stiles made a noise of agreement and said, “Okay, okay, no argument there. She was pretty terrifying…but I think I handled her pretty well, if I do say so myself.”

Derek nodded.

“Sure did. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Stiles waved his hand and said, “Ah, don’t mention it. It was kinda fun, actually. Never seen someone go pale so fast in my life, and I’ve intimidated wanted criminals in holding cells. This was definitely more fun,” he said with a grin.

He leaned further back in his seat and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence as Derek drove the rest of the way to his house. Stiles, though still a little bit worried about the snow, found his thoughts drifting to the young were-coyote staying with Derek’s pack, and wondered what they were going to be doing for Christmas, since it was only two days away. He thought about asking, but one glance at Derek’s profile had him questioning himself, so he said nothing.

The Camaro pulled up in front of the house and Stiles glanced at his phone and couldn’t help but say, “Hey, you even got me home before midnight. Such a gentleman.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but the effect was ruined by the way his lips twisted up into a fond smile as he did.

Stiles grinned, feeling smug, but then Derek reached across the seat, his shoulder and upper back pressed firmly into Stiles’ chest as he opened his door for him, and said, “Get out before I toss you and your glass slippers out into the snow, Stilinski.”

Once he felt his heartbeat pick back up (because he was positive that it had stopped when Derek was pressed up against him), he nodded and got out of the car. Before he closed the door, however, he braced his hands against and leaned down and said, “In all honesty, I had a great time tonight, Derek. I’ll gladly be your fake boyfriend anytime you need it, man. Just give me at least a few days’ notice and I’ll be the best fake boyfriend ever.”

Derek gave him a look, using just his eyebrows, and Stiles quickly pulled back.

“Alright, alright! I’m going! Drive safe!”

He slammed the door and then jogged up the front walk and sighed in equal parts relief and disappointment when he closed the front door behind him, leaning against it as soon as he stepped inside.

It had been both the best and worst night of his life. He had been surrounded by Derek’s scent the entire evening, as well as his touch, and the memories of those soft, intimate touches would linger with him for a long time afterwards…but at the same time, it had been a living hell, knowing that the alpha was only doing it because he had made a promise to his bosses.

“God, you royally fucked up this time, didn’t you, Stiles?” he muttered to himself, dragging himself up the stairs to his room.

Just as he stepped inside, however, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Who the hell was texting him at midnight?

He looked at his glowing screen and groaned.

Erica.

He swiped the screen and looked at her message and smiled, despite his annoyance, when he read, did u kiss him under the mistletoe? if u didn’t, I will totally kill u and blame it on Liam. bdubs, the new kid, Lance, is a total sweetheart, but super scared of me…, and in a second text, he likes everyone else, tho, and Stiles’ finger hovered over the screen as he thought about how to answer her.

Finally, he texted back, didn’t kiss him, but there was groping of a sort. glad Lance is getting along with everyone. give him time, he’ll love you, too, I’m sure of it.

He then put his phone down long enough for him to strip down and then flopped on top of his covers in his boxers and the undershirt that he’d worn under his dress shirt all day and that entire evening, settling in for at least a half hour of texting. He could have showered, and probably should have, but he didn’t want to remove the smell of Derek’s cologne, just yet, and he knew that made him come across as weird and possibly slightly creepy, but he didn’t care. He lifted part of the shirt to his face and took a deep breath.

It smelled like pine and woodsmoke, with just a faint hint of spearmint and apple cider. The scent was permanently etched into his memory.

A minute or so later, Erica texted back.

how could u not kiss him??? r u mentally ill?? he dressed up for u!!! he even wore nice smelling stuff, and Stiles snorted at the way she texted. She was a year older than him, and still texted like a thirteen-year-old girl and he found it simultaneously annoying yet endearing.

He waited a moment, trying to figure out what to say, and then typed back, can you just not push it? he was a total gentleman and I helped with a couple of problems. but he doesn’t see me that way, woman, my life is not a hallmark christmas movie, and he smiled at his witty response. He made himself more comfortable on the bed and started to flip through a couple of other apps as he waited for her reply, knowing she would probably blow up at him in spectacular fashion, as she usually did when he pushed her buttons like that.

So, he wasn’t all too surprised when she texted back a few minutes later with, but it *could* be a hallmark christmas movie! just a little nudge and u 2 could be fucking like bunnies in ur childhood bedroom on christmas morning!

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, Erica?” he muttered to himself as he finished off the conversation with, thank you so much for that disturbing image of my childhood bed, with that, i am going to bed. night.

His phoned dinged one more time.

Coward.

He rolled his eyes again, but then turned off his phone and settled in to go to sleep. He didn’t have work in the morning, and so he was going to sleep in as late he wanted to.

Chapter 3

He slogged down to breakfast at nearly eleven and his dad shot him an amused look as he poured him a cup of coffee, and then said as he handed it to him, “Late night?”

Stiles heard the tone in his voice and rolled his eyes and said, “For your information, I was back by midnight, and I went to bed shortly after. There was no drinking, just a lot of socializing,” he explained, and then yelped as his dad suddenly took the mug away from him.

“What the hell was that for?” he said, his voice far too high-pitched for his liking, and his dad shot him yet another look and replied, “I only gave it to you because I thought that you were hungover. Since you’re not, you can pour your own coffee,” and then went and sat down at the table with a plate loaded with food that he definitely shouldn’t be eating, but Stiles couldn’t find the energy within himself to argue about it, so he decided to simply ignore it and get on with what was left of his morning.

Just as he was finishing breakfast, his dad asked, “Have you figured out what to do with the kid?”

Stiles let out an aggrieved sigh.

“More or less, yeah.”

He pushed his mug to the side and explained what he had gotten done the day before.

“Instead of trying to go through official channels, I dug through the werewolf leads and think I found who the werewolf was that killed Lance’s parents,” he said, and he saw his dad’s eyes widen in shock that he’d found it out so quickly. Stiles really didn’t want to explain the dirty details, so he waved a hand and said, “Yeah, I know, it’s freaky that I found it out so quick, but let’s just say that emissaries keep track of that sort of thing, and there aren’t that many packs left east of the Rockies, so it wasn’t all that hard to find out.”

He rolled his head on his neck and added, “Ever since Deaton left, he left me a list of emissaries around the country that I could contact should the need arise, and I managed to find out that there isn’t a pack in the northeast…but that there is one just over the border in Canada. So, I did a little bit of searching and think I found the rogue werewolf. His name’s Reynault.”

His dad simply gave him a long look and then said, sounding nervous, “Please don’t tell me you’re going after him yourself,” and Stiles quickly shook his head.

“Oh, hell no. Don’t worry about me, pops. He’s already being tracked by the pack in Tennessee. Talked to Heather, their emissary,” he said, picking at the edge of the table with his thumb, “And she said that they’re closing in on him. Apparently, Reynault is a rogue from a Canadian pack that used to have land that went down into the northeastern part of the U.S. and he is determined to keep it as part of the original land, though no one else from his previous pack approved of it.”

His dad then leaned forward, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug, and said, “Aren’t territory disputes meant for emissaries? Like, what you’re supposed to be doing? I mean, why go after a couple and their kid? They weren’t even werewolves. What’s the logic behind that?”

Stiles let out a long sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Werecoyotes’ territory constantly shifts from place to place, unlike werewolves, who settle and put down roots.” He began to motion with his hands, and said, “Usually the packs ignore them because they’re so transitory, nomadic, and tolerate them being on their land without any issues…but Reynault has it in his head that they were infringing on land that belonged to his pack. Apparently, the Quebec pack found out what he did and kicked him out. He didn’t care.”

The silence that stretched between them was tense, and Stiles knew that his dad was about to say something about staying safe.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“Kid, I know that you’re an agent in the FBI and an emissary and all that amazing stuff that makes me incredibly proud to be your father, but this…this sounds really, really dangerous.”

Without missing a beat, Stiles said, “That’s why I’m handing it off to the Tennessee pack. Heather, their emissary, is going to help them take care of it. She’s an old hand at this sort of thing, and I trust that she can catch him and put him in his place. They have a good alpha, too. Rachel Heartwood. They’ll find him.”

His dad nodded, and then stood and moved to walk out of the kitchen, but then paused and stood next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and then squeezed it tightly.

“You’re doing good, kid,” he murmured, and then walked out, leaving Stiles with a faint smile on his lips.

They weren’t huge on affection, but Stiles knew how his father showed how much he loved him and that was more than enough. He smiled to himself and then got up and put together a plate from the leftovers of what his dad had already cooked. It was nearly noon, so he considered it a brunch, so he purposely decided to finish off the rest of the bacon so that there was nothing left for his dad. He didn’t need to clog his arteries anymore and Stiles wasn’t going to let him put himself in an early grave.

Just as he was finishing up his food, his mind still flashing back to the night before, remembering every touch on his skin…his phone buzzed.

He checked the screen.

Erica.

Oh, boy, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy for her on the Eve before Christmas…but he answered it, anyway, immediately regretting saying hello when the first words out of her mouth were, “Stiles! You have everything you need to make cookies, right?” Dear god, what was it now? “Oh, who am I talking to, of course you have cookie mix. Right, well, Derek, Lance, and I are coming over! See you in a few minutes!” she rambled out before he could get in a word edgewise.

Just as he was about to reply, she hung up and Stiles groaned.

He leaned back in his chair and yelled up to his dad, who had gone upstairs, “Yo, pops! Erica and Derek are coming over, along with the kid, and, apparently, we’re baking cookies. You don’t mind us taking over the kitchen for a few hours, right?”

“As long as you clean up after yourselves and save me a few!” he yelled back down to him, and Stiles nodded.

Fair enough.

He ambled back into the kitchen and checked the pantry and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that they had everything they needed to make cookies from scratch. Rubbing a hand over his face, he started to pull it all out and had only just started to set it up when he heard the front door open and close, and couldn’t help but yell out, “Erica, you have to learn how to knock!”

She appeared in the kitchen doorway, hanging off the frame with a shit-eating grin on her face and said, “Aw, but what would be the fun in that? Oooh, is that the stuff for the cookies?”

Lance was right behind her, sticking close to Derek’s side and he gave the kid a reassuring smile before looking up at Derek and giving him a smile, as well. The alpha returned his look and patted Lance on the shoulder as they shuffled into the kitchen, Derek then saying, “I apologize for her. But it’s not like I really have any control over her,” he said sounding genuinely frustrated, giving her a slight glare, to which she replied with sticking her tongue out at him and Lance giggled at her.

Stiles smiled at seeing the kid already relaxing and then showed him where the baking sheets were and had him help with making the cookie dough.

As they started pulling everything out for the cookies, Stiles couldn’t help but ask, “Is there a reason why you aren’t doing this back at the house?”

Derek and Erica shared a look over Lance’s head, and then Derek explained, irritation in his voice, “Well, we would have, but it seems that Isaac and Liam got into the frozen cookie dough in the freezer two nights ago and ate it all. So, we had nothing left to make the Christmas cookies with, and I didn’t have the ingredients to make them from scratch. When we went out for ingredients, we found that most of the grocery stores are closed already, so Erica suggested that we call you. Next thing I know,” he added, sounding thoroughly annoyed, “She’s making me drive over to your house.”

He then shrugged and apologized.

“Sorry for crashing in on you like this,” and Stiles quickly brushed it off and said, “Hey, don’t worry ‘bout it, sourwolf.”

He then looked back down at Lance, who had finished mixing the ingredients and was looking up at Stiles questioningly, as if asking him what he was supposed to do next. With a smile, Stiles showed him how to roll out the dough and then cut out the different shapes with the cookie cutters.

Pretty soon, Erica and Derek were helping the kid, as well, and Stiles pulled back slightly so that the three of them could spend more time bonding with the young werecoyote.

He found it amusing that every time that Lance said something, or Erica did, Derek was translating for each of them, and Stiles tried very hard to tamp down on his reaction to hearing him speak Spanish so fluently. He never knew he had a thing for other languages. Or maybe it wasn’t languages, but Derek. Watching the alpha gently reprimand Erica as she tried to steal a bite from the batter and then gently say something to Lance in Spanish…well, it was definitely doing something to him, somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

His dad poked his head in at once point to tell him he was going to do a couple of hours of paperwork back at the station, and Stiles nodded him off.

By that point, they had the first batch in the oven and had already started making the next batch. They had to make enough for the entire pack, of course, so Stiles estimated that they would be making at least three more batches, because he knew what the wolves’ appetites were like.

He eventually pulled out a couple of phrases he remembered from a Spanish class that he had taken way back in his freshman year of high school and laughed when Lance had to correct his pronunciation.

At some point while they were making cookies, Stiles ended up between Derek at Lance at the kitchen island, while Erica stood on the other side of Lance, getting Spanish lessons.

“Una galleta,” Lance said, pointing at one of the cookies on the tray and Stiles chuckled when he heard Erica try to repeat the word, not even coming close to rolling the double L sound correctly, and Lance laughed, and then Erica said, “Cookie.”

They were surprised when Lance smiled, picked it up and looked at her and said, “Good cookie?”

She smiled and nodded.

Without thinking about it, Stiles leaned slightly into Derek’s shoulder, forgetting that the closeness that they had shared last night at the party wasn’t allowed anymore, and he was just about to apologize and pull back, but then Derek’s hand reached up and stroked his lower back, so he took a risk and stayed where he was. Derek didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss, so Stiles said nothing, just soaking it in as much as he could until the alpha came to his senses.

And then Erica looked over at them and shot a smirk in Stiles’ direction. He felt his cheeks heat up, and so he ducked his eyes and quickly pulled away from the casual embrace under the guise of going to the fridge to get something to drink, and then offered everyone else something as well in order to keep himself occupied.

Eventually, they had done five batches in total. Stiles threw them all into two large tupperware containers (with a few set aside for him and his dad), with the promise that they would be returned to him.

Just as they left, Stiles held Derek back for a moment and asked, “Is he doing okay? I mean, is the pack treating him right?”

Derek nodded.

“Yeah, they really seem to like him. Apparently last night was a huge success because when I got home, I found them all sprawled over the couch in a massive pile, Lance right in the middle, watching the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. He seems to like Liam the most,” he added with a soft smile. “I’m just glad he feels safe with us.”

Stiles nodded back at him and then lightly punched him on the shoulder and said, “Now get out of here and go celebrate the holiday with your pack. I’ll bring by your present sometime tomorrow, after dad and I open up our own presents, okay?”

Derek nodded and then quickly headed back to the Camaro, where Stiles could hear Erica and Lance arguing, Lance going off in rapid Spanish while she just shook her head and yelled back at him in English.

Yeah, he was going to be just fine.

Stiles had thought about telling Derek about what he’d found out but had then decided that it could wait until after Christmas. Besides, he wanted to get a confirmation from Heather before telling him what he knew, because he knew that if he told the alpha about Reynault then he wouldn’t care whether or not it was Christmas, he would leave to go and hunt him down himself, and Stiles didn’t want to take away from their well-deserved holiday cheer.

Instead, he finished putting the last couple of presents for his dad under the tree, and then made up a batch of eggnog that would appeal to both of them.

At around four, his dad was back home, and Stiles managed to convince him to sit down for a while to relax and have some eggnog and a couple of cookies.

When the sheriff coughed at the first sip, he smirked, knowing that he’d made it just right.

They then did their usual tradition and ordered a meat lovers pizza and put Die Hard into the blu-ray player, which they both firmly believed was definitely a Christmas movie. It had become a tradition back when Stiles was only twelve, and it was something that they enjoyed doing together every single Christmas Eve. Their biggest meal of the holiday, though, was always lunch on Christmas day.

They always piled up with heavy foods and it was the one time of year where Stiles didn’t get on his dad’s case about his diet. Instead, he let him indulge, and though they had never invited anyone to their exclusive Christmas lunch, Stiles had the faint inkling that this year his dad wanted to invite Melissa over. He knew that it should bother him a little bit, but the truth was that he was thrilled that his dad had found someone special in his life, and he couldn’t think of anyone better than Melissa. She had practically been a second mother to him over the years, after all.

Just as they had completely settled and were more than halfway through the movie, Bruce Willis giving his famous line from the vents, Stiles phone buzzed insistently in his pocket, and he looked at the number and recognized the Tennessee area code and quickly stood up and said, “Dad, I have to take this.”

He quickly ducked into the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Stiles, this is Heather. I thought about e-mailing or texting you, but I then I realized that a phone call would be best. We’ve got him.”

Suddenly his shoulders dropped, and tension that Stiles didn’t even realized he was holding fell from him almost instantly and he let out a sigh of relief and slumped against the fridge, resting his forehead on the cool metal, and breathed out, “Oh, thank god. You have him contained?” he couldn’t help but ask.

She quickly answered, “Inside a room made from mountain ash, inside of a mountain ash circle, with mistletoe vines in the ground. Reynault isn’t going anywhere, Emissary Stiles,” she added with a smile in her tone, and he chuckled at the way she so formally addressed him, and he smiled and replied, “You have no idea how good this makes me feel. Knowing that he’s locked up and not getting out is the best Christmas present you could have given me. By the way, did you contact--?”

“Yes, we contacted him. He says he’s taking care of everything back in Maine and in D.C., and that it should all be taken care of before tomorrow morning.”

Stiles let out another sigh of relief and slowly stood back up, lightly tapping the palm of his hand to the counter, and then he said, “I’ll tell Derek and Lance tomorrow. They’ll be so relieved. I mean, he only just got here, but I think Derek really likes this kid. And he really likes Derek, too.”

He could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “Well, like I said. It’ll all be taken care of. Have a Merry Christmas, Emissary Stiles.”

“Please, call me Stiles. You keep calling me by my title and it’ll go straight to my head, just ask my fellow FBI agents,” and at that, she laughed and politely replied, “Fine, then. Stiles. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

And with that, they hung up, and Stiles felt a lightness that he hadn’t felt in a couple of days…except perhaps at the party the night before. He couldn’t wait to tell Derek, but he didn’t want to ruin their pack Christmas, so he would wait until he dropped by later tomorrow with his presents. They deserved to at least have a little bit more time together. He wasn’t sure how Lance would react to hearing the Reynault was no longer a problem, so he decided to play it safe for now.

He walked back into the living room and was surprised to see that his dad had paused the movie. He looked up at him curiously when he walked back in and asked, “Who was that? Sounded serious.”

Stiles nodded and then sat back down.

“Yeah, that was Heather, the emissary for that Tennessee pack I told you about. They, uh…they caught him. They have Reynault completely secure and he will face charges properly in werewolf style law,” he answered, knowing that that most likely meant that he was either going to be killed or permanently contained, though it all depended on him.

The sheriff arched an eyebrow, but instead of saying anything about it, he nodded and started the movie back up. Traditions had to be upheld, after all.

Stiles was startled out of his sleep at three am on Christmas morning, his phone buzzing insistently on the nightstand, and he blearily reached for it, silently praying that it wasn’t Erica calling. He could probably deal with anyone but Erica at that point. He loved her, but she was a menace.

“’lo?” he said, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes, rolling back over to his back.

“Hey, Stilinski. Have some good news for you.”

Oh, he knew that voice.

He blinked a couple of times, and then said, “Agent Davis? Is that you?”

“Yeah, sorry for waking you up at…oh, god, three am, I’m sorry, I totally forgot how early it is back in California,” his friend back at Quantico said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “But I took care of handling the information about Reynault. According to the FBI, he no longer exists and the attack on the parents was an animal attack, and the child has been declared dead. How does Lance Hale, sound?”

At that, Stiles shot up in his bed and stared straight ahead in shock, not quite sure that he had heard what he’d just heard. He knew that Agent Connor Davis was good, but this was far above and beyond what he had expected.

He gaped for a moment, and then finally got out, “Oh my god, Connor, I don’t know how the hell you did this, but this…this is freakin’ amazing, man! He’s, he’s…he’s already connecting with Derek and the pack and now he has a place if he wants it, and…seriously! How the hell did you pull this off so fast?” he asked a second time, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his emissary friend at the FBI had just pulled off the biggest Christmas miracle of all time.

Connor answered, “Well, let’s just say that I friends that owe me quite a few favors and I cashed them in because this seemed like a good time for it. Lance deserves to have someplace where he can feel safe. No one deserves to go through that kind of trauma…”

His voiced drifted and Stiles couldn’t help but say, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

The line went quiet for a moment, taking it all in, and suddenly he felt like he needed to tell Derek at that very moment…but it was still just after three in the morning, and he had the feeling that the werewolf wouldn’t appreciate being woken up in the dead of night right before Christmas morning. He bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth, trying to figure out just what to do.

Before he could get too worked up about it, however, Connor said, “I’m sure that he’s exactly where he needs to be, Stiles. I know you and I trust your judgment. Besides,” he drawled, sounding far too smug, “From what I’ve heard about the Hale pack and from what you’ve told me about Derek, I bet Lance is making friends quickly. As are you.”

He heard the intonation in his voice and groaned and wondered if nearly everyone he knew was aware of the fact that he had a crush on Derek Hale.

Finally, he said, “Okay, look, yes, I like Derek but it’s not like that. I don’t know how many times I’ve told people this, but he doesn’t like me that way, so if you could just--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stilinski, just chill. I just think that you’re a little bit close minded and that it might not all just be on your side, you know? I keep in touch with other packs and other leaders, and quite a few of them have met Derek and have heard the way that he talks about you, and I’m just, you know…putting the pieces together,” Connor finished, and Stiles’ hackles lowered.

Oh. Wait…Derek talked about him? To other packs? How was he not aware of that?

Deciding he’d had enough emotional turmoil, he said, “Well, thanks for calling me. This is the best news, and I can’t wait to tell him. Thanks again, Connor.”

“No problem, Stilinski. By the way, don’t forget to check your e-mail.”

They hung up, and Stiles knew that he should go back to sleep, but he was suddenly wide awake and wired, and so he threw off his blanket and pulled on his old lacrosse hoodie and wandered over to his work laptop, pulling it out and flipping it open. He skimmed through his work e-mails, ignoring all of them except for the one that Agent Davis had just sent him.

He smiled as he read it, realizing that he needed to do something especially nice for the man because he had just somehow pulled off the impossible. He drafted a reply, trying to put as much gratitude into it as he could, needing Connor to know just how amazing he was. He’d met Agent Davis when he’d first gotten his job and the guy had immediately recognized a fellow emissary. Stiles had been startled to discover that there was someone else in the supernatural world that had chosen a job in law enforcement, but they’d quickly become friends.

He now had connections with the few packs that were out east because of the man and he was grateful for it, because they had all been far more helpful that Deaton had ever been and he stayed in touch with them through secure channels and used them as resources when things went weird in Beacon Hills, which happened more often than not.

After going through a few personal e-mails to a couple of emissaries, one in North Carolina and one in Ohio, he glanced at his phone to check the time.

It was just after six am. Too late to try and get more sleep, he knew, because his dad typically woke him up at around seven on Christmas morning, every year, without fail.

Letting out a long sigh, he leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes, wondering what his dad had gotten for him that year. Last year had been a set of leather holsters that he had ordered from a professional leather worker up in Wyoming, and he still used them. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got another gift that was in the same vein as the one before. Though his dad didn’t say it, he knew that he was proud of him getting into the FBI, and show tried to show it through the gifts he got him throughout the year.

Just as he felt himself starting to drift, though, he heard from his window--

“Hey, I need to talk to you--”

He opened his eyes just in time to reach out and catch the edge of his desk with his fingertips to keep himself from falling over, and then swung accusing eyes over in the direction of the voice, wondering what the hell Derek was doing there in his room at six fifteen in the morning. On Christmas morning. When he was supposed to be with his pack.

“Dude, what the hell, man?” he hissed out, keeping in mind that his dad was still asleep only a couple of doors down from his room. “How many times do I have to tell you that we have a front door and that you should use it? Also…what the hell?? It’s Christmas morning! Is there a reason why you’re over here scaring me out of my skin instead of back with your pack, dealing with sugary, hyped-up pups tearing into their stockings and presents and driving you up the wall??”

He evened out his breathing as much as he could as he brought the chair back to the floor, once more level, but he knew that he couldn’t hide from Derek just how fast his heart was racing. Normally, he would have been embarrassed, but considering what the alpha had just done, he felt it was entirely Derek’s fault.

Derek just gave him a once over and said, “Like I said, I need to talk to you. I’m worried about who went after Lance’s parents, and I think I should--”

Stiles quickly cut him off, waving a hand in the air and saying, “Dude, don’t worry about it, I’ve already taken care of it,” and at that, Derek’s brow furrowed, and he gave him a curious look, and Stiles realized how it sounded, so he quickly explained.

“Look, I was worried, too, so yesterday I used department resources, as well as a few of my own, and I tracked down the werewolf that killed his parents.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up at that.

“Turns out he was a rogue from one of the Quebec packs who was acting outside the authority of the alpha, trying to claim it as a territory dispute. I managed to track him down to Tennessee and contacted the emissary there, and she just called me this evening to say that they’ve got him contained.” He paused to yawn, and then scratched his neck and said, “Also, I got a call from an agent friend back at Quantico who cut through all the shitty red tape and made it so that Lance Santiago and the man who killed his parents no longer exist.”

Derek, still partially perched on the sill of Stiles’ window, just looked at him with wide eyes, his mouth partly open, and Stiles was fairly certain that that had been his own expression when Connor had told him the news.

Finally, Derek breathed out, sounding incredulous, “How…how did you do all of this so quickly? I mean, tracking him down means…you would need…”

Stiles rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but quip, “Dude, did you never wonder how the hell I became a full-fledged field agent with their own field office at just twenty-four? With three paid agents who work under me, all of them older than I am?”

Derek came the rest of the way into the room and sat on the edge of Stiles’ bed, his brow still furrowed, and Stiles let out a long sigh, flipped his laptop closed, and then said, “Okay, apparently you had no clue, so looks like I’m gonna have to explain it to you,” and went and joined Derek on his bed, trying not to pay too close attention to the fact that all he wore was his boxers and that he hadn’t showered since the night that they had gone to the party.

“As soon as I started the internship, one of the agents took an interest in me and I quickly found out that he was an emissary.” Derek gave him a wide-eyed look and Stiles chuckled and said, “Yeah, I know, it totally took me off guard, too, but because he recognized my spark, don’t ask me how,” he quickly said, throwing a hand up to stop the alpha’s inevitable question, “I still don’t get it, myself. But he recognized it and immediately put me on the fast track to becoming an agent. Luckily, I passed most of the tests simply because I had the experience thanks to my dad and all of my adventurous teenage years in Beacon Hills.”

Derek then finally said, “Is he the same agent that you just mentioned? The one who cut through all the red tape?”

Stiles nodded.

“Yep. Connor’s a great guy,” he said, smiling fondly. “It’s because of him that I got this amazing job in the first place. It’s because of him I was able to come back home to work, instead of spending ten to twelve years back in D.C., trying to work my way up the daisy chain of bureaucrats to get to a job where I could finally choose where I wanted to work.”

Derek looked up at him at that, drawing his gaze away from the floor, and said a low tone, “I didn’t know that. I just…I guess I just thought you were that good, I guess.”

At that, Stiles laughed, though tried to still keep his voice down, remembering his dad was asleep, and said, “Wow, that’s, uh…super flattering, I guess, but no, sourwolf. Just got really lucky with the right person who got me where I could do the most good for the Agency. Not gonna lie, a lot of the cases I take I have to run supernatural interference, so my agents don’t wise up and find out what’s really going on out here near Beacon Hills.”

Derek’s brow softened and he gave Stiles a look that he couldn’t quite nail down.

Feeling a bit exposed, he quickly stood back up and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and said, “So, yeah. Lance is officially off the grid, so if you want to take him in, you can. In fact, how does Lance Hale, sound?”

At that, Derek looked up at him in shock.

“Lance…Hale? Do you mean…?”

Stiles shrugged, a bit nervous as he admitted, “Connor managed to change some records so that you have a baby brother who was adopted right before the fire.” He quickly told him everything that he’d read in the detailed e-mail that Connor had sent him right after their conversation. “He lives with you here in Beacon Hills and is now currently registered at Beacon Hills Middle School.”

Derek gaped up at him, and Stiles was even more confused when he suddenly surged to his feet in front of him and said in a breathless voice, “I don’t know how to thank you, or him, but I need to find a way…”

Stiles felt completely off-balance as Derek leaned into his personal space, their mouths shockingly close.

“Stiles…” Derek then suddenly stopped and took a deep breath, and then he leaned his head down and took another long deep breath through his nose, practically nuzzling into his neck, and then murmured into Stiles’ ear, “You’re still wearing the shirt that you wore under what you wore to the party,” and Stiles swallowed, unsure of what to do, so he remained stock still as Derek proceeded to do whatever he was doing. He then said, his lips brushing against Stiles’ jaw, “I wanted it to be real…”

What was he talking about? What did he meant that he wanted it to be real? He wanted what to be real--oh. Oh.

Oh.

As if he was acting on instinct, he brought his hands up and slipped them around the back of Derek’s neck and said, “Oh, god, so did I, but I thought that was probably pretty damn obvious, by now.” He heard Derek swallow and the alpha said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I wasn’t sure if it was real or if I was just imagining it, you know? I thought maybe because I wanted you to want me in the same way so bad, that I was imagining things…”

Stiles shook his head and slipped his fingers into the hair at the base of Derek’s neck and murmured right back at him, “You weren’t imagining things…”

That seemed to be the trigger, because suddenly Derek had pulled his head back and was pressing his lips to Stiles and he was melting under the sheer heat of him, turning his entire body so that he was pressed up against him from shoulder to thigh, and he didn’t think that he’d ever felt more comforted yet turned on at the exact same time.

And then, through a series of events that quickly became a blur, Stiles found himself on his back on his bed with Derek on top of him, hands sliding under his sweater to pull it over his head, and then was nuzzling his mouth and nose into his neck and down the center of the shirt, letting out these small little sounds that made Stiles think that he was fully embracing his wolf side and scenting him up and down like a wolf trying to claim its territory on a mate.

He was more than a little bit turned on, and then just about lost it when Derek’s tongue darted out and licked at his nipple through the shirt, and then sharply nipped at it, causing Stiles to yelp and squirm.

“Ah, Derek! What are you, what are doing,” he breathed out as he slid further down and traced his tongue across his exposed hip bone.

“I’m claiming you as mine,” he muttered into his skin. “I’m gonna mark you up and make you the prettiest present I’ve ever had in my life,” and Stiles’ eyes rolled up in the back of his head at the sheer amount of desire in his words. God, the threat of being bitten into and marked up by claws and teeth should not be that hot, Stiles thought to himself as Derek then lightly tugged on his boxers, exposing even more skin to his ever-questing tongue.

He slid his hand under Stiles’ hips and forced his legs apart and nosed down into the crevice of his hip and then let out a low hum that sounded like he was enjoying himself.

Stiles reached down and ran his fingers through the alpha’s hair and breathed out, “This is easily the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten, but Der…you’ve got pups waiting for you back at home,” but his admonishment went unnoticed as Derek reached between them and pressed warm fingers to Stiles’ erection, causing his brain to short circuit.

He bucked up into the grip, eyes rolling towards the ceiling, and then nearly passed out when he felt Derek’s tongue trace over him through the fabric of his boxers, and he heard him inhale deeply once more, and Stiles wondered what he smelled like to the alpha wolf, because however he smelled, it seemed to be bringing out every single part of Derek’s possessive side, because he growled, “Mine,” and then lightly suckled at the tip of his cock through his boxers and Stiles was certain that he was going to die from it.

But then the pressure suddenly went away, and he looked down, wondering why Derek had changed his mind and was blown away by look in his eyes as he stared up at him from between his legs.

“God, Stiles…you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he said, sounding completely breathless.

And then he moved up, his thighs still resting between Stiles’ legs, but now his chest covered Stiles’ as he reached back up for another kiss, and as he wrapped his arms around the alpha’s shoulders, he realized he never wanted to stop kissing him. Despite the promise of something more, all he really wanted to do at that moment was to continue to kiss him and hold him in his arms for as long as he could.

Derek slowly undulated against him, their cocks rubbing in just the right way, and Stiles gasped while Derek continued to kiss him, running his tongue down and over his neck, playfully nipping the entire time and he knew that he was going to end up with so many marks that it was going to look like he had barely won a fight against a very determined vampire with blunt teeth. Part of him, the part of his brain that was still working, was telling him to push Derek off and make sure he got back home, but another part of his brain, the much more selfish part, was telling him to never let him go and hold onto him as tightly as he could.

Torn between the two, he simply slid his hands down Derek’s back and then lightly squeezed when they got to their targeted destination.

Derek grunted and then thrusted hard against him when he did, causing Stiles to moan more loudly than he meant to.

He bit his lip and tried to remember that his dad was still asleep.

But then--

“Hey, kiddo, it’s time to get up for…”

They both froze and Stiles slowly turned his head to see his dad standing in the doorway of his room, one hand still raised as if he’d knocked on the door. Stiles then realized that he probably had, but he hadn’t heard it because he had been…occupied.

All three of them were frozen. And then his dad coughed, raised an eyebrow at them and said, “Uh, why don’t you come down a bit later. I’ll put some coffee on,” and he turned and left, muttering something under his breath as he walked back down the hall to the stairs, and Stiles was confused when Derek suddenly snorted then pressed his forehead to Stiles’ shoulder as his body shook with laughter, as if he was trying to contain his mirth at the whole situation.

Amused, but also annoyed, Stiles tapped his shoulder and said, “Alright, what gives? Being caught by my dad isn’t that funny, man…”

Finally, Derek caught his breath and looked back up at him and explained, “When your dad left, he said that he owed Melissa money.” Derek arched an eyebrow at him, as if trying to tell him to put the pieces together…which Stiles finally did.

“Hold up, are you telling me that…that the two of them were betting on when the two of us were going to get together?!”

Derek nodded and slowly rose up to his knees, so that his weight was no longer on top of his, and Stiles already missed it. He quickly sat up, as well, and then reached out and pulled Derek back to him with a hand around the back of his neck, stealing yet another kiss from him, and was pleased when the werewolf seemed almost breathless when they both pulled back from it what felt like ages later. He didn’t really want to stop kissing him, but he knew that he had to.

“So, uh…Merry Christmas,” he said, not sure of what else to say.

Derek gave him a long look…and then he reached over and cupped his jaw and Stiles couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

And then Derek said, “You were right, before. I need to be back with my pack. But…you’re still coming over later, though, right?” he asked, his tone unsure and Stiles quickly reassured him with, “Of course, I’m still coming over, sourwolf. I’ll just also be bringing an overnight bag,” he added with a smirk and Derek’s smile widened.

“Sounds great,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. He then said, “By the way, I’m sorry I never told you I was okay or tried to visit you when you were at the Academy,” and Stiles felt his heart clench, and he just shook his head and said, “Hey, don’t worry about it, Derek. It wasn’t either of our faults. Just…bad timing.”

Derek nodded.

And then he moved to go back out the window, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Seriously?” he drawled, gesturing widely with his hands. “After all this, and you’re still going to go out through the window? We are fully grown adults, Derek, you can go out through the front door like a big boy,” he said, arching an eyebrow at him, and Derek gave him a look over his shoulder and replied, “I like doing it this way. Makes me feel like I’m making for the years we lost when neither of us acted on our feelings. We have time to be adults later,” he said, completely taking Stiles off guard.

Feeling a sudden surge of affection towards him, he bolted to his window and planted a hot, wet kiss right on Derek’s mouth, feeling a rush of hormones as he then whispered against his lips, “In that case, when can we park your car on some back road and christen the back seat of the Camaro?”

Derek grinned.

“How about New Year’s Eve?”

Stiles grinned.

“It’s a date.”

And with that, Derek lightly jumped to the ground and Stiles stared for a moment, watching him take off back home, looking forward to going over later in the day to see him and the pack. This was the best Christmas ever, he thought to himself as he tugged on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, noting the stain on the front from where Derek had…yeah.

Shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the inappropriate thoughts before he went to spend the morning with his dad, he grabbed his phone and tucked it into his hoodie and sauntered down the stairs, ignoring the smug smirk on the corner of his dad’s lips as he handed him a mug of coffee. The two of them sat on the floor next to the tree and Stiles handed over his present and eagerly ripped at the paper on his own, wondering what his dad had gotten him that year.

“Are you serious?” he said as he pulled out the matching hat and jacket, both with the Mets logo on them, and he saw the scrawl of a familiar signature on the back of the cap and the shoulder of the jacket. “How the hell did you get this?”

His dad shrugged and grinned and answered, “Let’s just say that you’re not the only one who knows people, kid.”

Stiles laughed, pulled his dad into a strong, back breaking hug, and then slid the jacket on, thrilled with how well it fit him.

He then gestured at his dad as he tugged on the cap and said, “C’mon, open up your present, don’t leave me hangin’,” and then smiled when his dad finally pulled off the wrapping on the present that Stiles had spent a total of two minutes wrapping. He smiled even wider when his dad let out a sound of surprise at what he found.

“I’m not going to ask how you got it, I’m just going to say thank you,” he said, pulling out his pocketknife and opening the box, pulling out the brand-new leather jacket with a blue and red leather stripe down the front right side. It was an exact replica of one from a tv show that he’d loved when he was younger, and Stiles was glad that he was finally able to afford to spoil his dad for once. The look on his face as he put the jacket on over his t-shirt was priceless.

But then his dad’s smile turned into a smirk and he said, “So, you and Derek…”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Oh, god, do we have to have this conversation right now? It’s bad enough that you saw us…you know, the way that you saw us. By the way,” he quickly added, pulling the coat and hat back off and putting them back into the box, “Derek told me what you said, about how you owe Melissa money. You two bet on us?”

He wasn’t proud of how his voice cracked slightly as he said it, but then his dad chuckled and shook his head and said, “Yeah, we did. I know you, Stiles. I’ve known for years that you’ve had a crush on the guy. Why do you think I was on your case when you and Scott first met him? I know all the signs of a repressed crush turned into fake anger. You kept on going on and on about how you hated him, and then when you came back and Derek asked you to be his emissary, well…I knew it was just a matter of time.”

Stiles smiled at that, but ducked his eyes, feeling his face go slightly warm.

And then his dad added, pointing a finger at him, “That doesn’t mean I want to walk into what I just saw earlier, again. If you’re gonna do…that…then do it somewhere else. Understood?”

Unable to help himself, Stiles said, “Oh, we’ve already got a date tonight, and for New Year’s Eve, we’re christening the Camaro,” and grinned when he saw his dad make a face and let out a disgusted sound. He may have been an adult, but that didn’t mean he had to be mature.

“Gee, thanks for that imagery, kid.”

“You’re welcome, pops,” he said, reaching out and playfully batting him on the arm.

They then shared one last smile and headed off to the kitchen for breakfast.

Yeah.

Best Christmas ever.

#hazelestelle #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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aliciameade · 4 years

Text

Desperate Measures - Ch. 3/4

Title: Desperate Measures Author: aliciameade Rating: E for Everyone in the building now hates Apartment 3N Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Mid-PP3. They are quarantined. Chloe and Beca have everything they need to weather the mandated period of social distancing and staying home: food, water, shelter, games, entertainment, and each other’s company.

The one thing they don’t have?

Much-needed privacy.

Also on AO3

p.s. Shout-out to @becabottommitchell for this one. ;)

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca doesn’t know what day it is anymore.

And she really, really doesn’t care.

“Oh, my God,” she chokes out as her fingers curl over the side of the table she and Chloe (and Amy in the before-times) regularly dine at. It’s been shoved against the cabinetry to stop it from sliding forward every time Chloe thrusts into her. Her other hand is hooked onto the edge of the sink; one hand to stop her from being pulled back and the other to brace herself, all to maximize Chloe’s actions.

Chloe’s blunt fingernails dig into her hips while she drives the strap-on into Beca’s body with skill that Beca can’t help but think is a supernatural gift. Not that she is capable of much thought. “Do you like it?” Chloe asks, voice unfairly steady for how hard Beca knows she’s working.

She answers with a groan. Even if she could string together a coherent sentence, there are no words that can describe what she’s feeling as Chloe fucks her bent over the kitchen table.

When Chloe walked in from the daily mail check carrying a box and wearing a smile, Beca hadn’t thought anything of it. She’d watched with mild interest as Chloe opened it, singing to herself while doing so until she’d turned to face Beca holding up a small pair of black briefs with a ring positioned low on the front of them to ask Beca, “What do you think?”

“Dude, what is that?” she’d asked with a laugh, knowing full-well what it was.

“You said your favorite position was getting it from behind,” Chloe shrugged like she was reminding Beca she’d said strawberry was her favorite ice cream.

“So you bought a strap-on?” She didn’t know why she was being argumentative. She was already saving her work so she could turn off her laptop. She was already getting wet.

Chloe nodded with a smile and turned back to finish unpacking the box and Beca didn’t have to see to know it was the other important piece to Chloe’s intentions. She watched her open and unwrap things and throw away the packaging and toss the box by the door to be taken out for recycling.

When Chloe had turned around from washing the new dildo, Beca was already nude and standing in the middle of the room waiting for whatever it was Chloe wanted to do. She’d actually gasped in surprise, then grabbed Beca’s hand to pull her in and kiss her hard before pushing her toward the table and telling her to bend over.

“Don’t stop,” Beca manages to say between moans that are probably going to earn them yet another note taped to their front door about being mindful of their neighbors when everyone else has to be home all the time, too.

“I’m not,” Chloe says as her hips speed up to prove her point.

It makes Beca’s voice give out for a few seconds, nothing but silence escaping her as Chloe pounds into her. A hand runs up her back and she feels it tangle in long, loose ends of her hair, to pull.

To date, she hasn’t considered hair-pulling to be one of her things. She knows it’s Chloe’s thing; Chloe loves when Beca pulls her hair. Beca’s never found much enjoyment in her own being pulled though. Not until today when Chloe’s grip is just firm enough to make her have to lift her head. It’s just enough to make Beca feel like she’s completely at Chloe’s mercy (not that she wasn’t already). It’s just enough to make Beca find her voice and moan her appreciation.

She wants to ask Chloe to rub her clit; it’s aching with need and she doesn’t know if she’ll even be able to come if it goes ignored.

She doesn’t totally care, though; if she never comes, that means Chloe will never stop fucking her this way and Beca can’t think of a better way to pass the time.

And they’ve passed a lot of time since they gave in and stopped using each other to get off and instead started getting each other off. She’s not sure she’s had as much sex with all her past partners combined as she and Chloe have had in the last three weeks. They’ve both been unapologetically insatiable, even joking that it shouldn’t be biologically possible to be having multiple orgasms every single day. They don’t even ask anymore; sometimes Beca is sitting in on the couch looking at her phone and Chloe will slip her hand down Beca’s pants, or shorts, or underwear, or just between her legs if she hadn’t bothered to put clothes on, and make her come in a quick few minutes. Sometimes Beca doesn’t even put her phone down; she knows Chloe gets off on trying to earn Beca’s attention. And Beca always returns the favor.

Beca wonders if, feasibly, they could do this forever. She’d be content to skip dinner, and breakfast, and fall asleep to slow, languid thrusts and be woken by Chloe picking up the pace again, to repeat it day after day.

It’s never felt like this before, not with anyone, and while she’d like to think it’s simply because Chloe is an amazing lover, she knows it’s more than that. It’s been more than that, at least for Beca, for a long time.

A pathetic, needy-sounding sob escapes her and she hears Chloe moan in response.

“Are you close?”

She’s so close it hurts, yet it feels impossibly out of reach. Chloe driving into her, again and again, is loud and wet. She shakes her head and feels how her hair pulls where it’s still in Chloe’s hand until that tension releases. Nails drag down her back to hold tightly to her hips again and, somehow, Chloe moves impossibly faster.

It makes her hands slip and flail to try to brace herself again and she has the distinct mental image of being helpless.

“Is it not good?” Chloe asks, concern in her voice that’s finally starting to show signs of physical exertion.

The absurdity of the question makes Beca want to cry. She shakes her head again and has to shove both her hands hard against the counter, channeling what little strength she has left to form words. “If I come, you’ll stop.” As if betraying her, she feels her climax bearing down her despite the way her clit is being neglected and she knows the moan that follows her words makes it more than obvious that she’s close.

“When has that ever stopped me?” Chloe replies; it sounds a bit like she’s trying not to laugh.

Beca doesn’t blame her; she’s dumb to have thought Chloe would ever stop unless Beca asked her to.

“Then don’t stop,” Beca moans. “God, please don’t stop.”

“Never.”

Harder. Somehow, Chloe fucks her even harder and Beca has an unmistakable realization that she’s being ravaged. It builds and builds and there are no more words. Nothing but moans and wet sounds and the fast rhythmic thunking of the table against the cabinet and Chloe’s heavy breathing until it overcomes Beca.

It’s a tremor, just a quiver of pleasure in her belly that disappears as soon as she braces herself for it. She’s wrong to let down her guard in disappointment; she’s about to swear in desperate madness because, after all of this, her orgasm was over in little more than a blink of an eye.

What she didn’t expect was that that quiver was the earthquake before the tidal wave.

She comes so hard she’s not sure she won’t just crack in two. She can’t breathe. Or see. Or hear anything but her own voice and whatever sounds it’s making and Chloe’s unintelligible words of encouragement distorted in her ears. She comes so hard she can feel the way Chloe tries to pull back but can’t because Beca’s tensed so hard around the toy inside her. She comes so hard that it almost hurts, and that thought distracts her body long enough that it allows Chloe to move.

Beca thinks maybe she says something. Maybe a word. Maybe a “Fuck” or a “Shit” or an “Oh, God,” but she can’t be sure. She’s stopped trying to think or speak or consciously react and surrendered herself to whatever Chloe is going to make her body do.

What she does know is that Chloe keeps true to her word and doesn’t stop.

Beca’s orgasm hasn’t even ended yet and Chloe’s already fucking her again. It’s merciless and she just gives up and lets her head hang, not caring if she ends up with a friction burn on her forehead. She feels a hand on her stomach and her breasts until it’s following her right arm to thread their fingers together, Chloe’s breasts pressing against her back and teeth on her shoulder.

She thinks she hears something like, “You’re incredible,” before the teeth and lips and tongue return to her shoulder to move across her back until Chloe’s standing upright again. Her hands return to Beca’s hips and her pace is already speeding up until she finds the same tempo that had just driven Beca into an earth-shattering climax that she’s either still recovering from or still experiencing—she’s too far-gone to be able to know the difference.

What she does know is that it shouldn’t be humanly possible to come as hard as she just did and already be on the verge again in just minutes.

She’d ask Chloe what’s happening to her if she could.

The way Chloe’s managing to hit the exact right spot again and again makes it almost impossible to breathe and she manages to spare one thought as to how pathetic she probably looks as her legs start to tremble.

But then she doesn’t care anymore. The orgasm that overtakes her is literally nothing she’s ever experienced; she feels it in every inch of her body and she can hear Chloe moaning and saying things like, “Oh, my God, you’re so hot, come for me, baby.”

It’s hot and wet and she feels herself dripping on her inner thighs and the only reason she doesn’t collapse to the floor is because the table’s there to hold her up. She feels Chloe heavy against her again, breathing hard against her back where her mouth presses tired, lazy kisses across Beca’s skin.

Beca’s trying to catch her breath and it’s not easy with Chloe’s weight against her, pinning her against the table. She has a distinct thought, however, that she loves it. That she wants to struggle to breathe because Chloe’s on top of her after making her come so hard she’s unsure if her soul has returned to her body.

She’s sure they could stay there all night if the terrifying sound of screeching, twisting metal didn’t slice through their exhausted silence accompanied by their trusty kitchen table giving out and starting to collapse.

It happens so fast Beca doesn’t even process it until her bare ass is sitting on the cold floor with Chloe doubled over in laughter next to her.

“What the fuck?” Beca says, breathing hard now that she can once again, as she stares at the sad excuse for a table, two of its legs bent and splayed to make the whole thing slant at a solid 45-degree angle.

“I can’t believe we broke the table,” Chloe says, still laughing. “I’m just glad it held out as long as it did.”

It makes Beca laugh, too, even though she still feels a bit delirious from her release(s). “Honestly, I think I’d have been fine just riding it to the floor if it gave out in the middle of that.”

That makes Chloe laugh even harder and she turns to look up at her, still bent over, hands on her knees and red hair, the ends damp with what Beca knows to be sweat (Hers? Beca’s? Both?), swinging. She’s still wearing the strap-on and Beca’s focus shifts back to exactly why the table is broken and exactly why she would have been more than happy to let Chloe fuck her right through the floor.

She’s on her knees and pulling the briefs off Chloe before Chloe even notices.

“Oh, what?” she says in surprise when she does notice and then she’s stepping out of the harness so Beca can toss it up and into the sink.

“Bed,” she says as she lets Chloe pull her to her feet. Her legs don’t want to work so she’s grateful they only have a few steps to go to cross the room.

“You don’t have to,” Chloe says with a soft smile even as Beca turns them and pulls Chloe in to kiss her, walking backward until she’s bringing Chloe down on top of her.

Beca just shakes her head and drags her nails down Chloe’s back until they reach her ass, which she grabs and uses to push her north. “I know. But I want to.”

Chloe shifts with the pressure of Beca’s hands but not how Beca wants her to. She wants Chloe higher; she wants her face between Chloe’s thighs. Chloe seems content to stay put, though, as she kisses Beca with more and more enthusiasm instead of moving up like Beca’s trying to direct.

“Up,” she finally mumbles through a kiss. They’ve never done it this way before, another first in a laundry list of so many firsts they’ve shared over the last many weeks. She doesn’t quite know how to ask directly; Chloe’s far more comfortable and bold when initiating new things, but as soon as the cards are on the table, Beca’s quick to agree. (Tonight’s new strap-on adventure, for example.)

Chloe’s tongue slips further into her mouth for several seconds before she pulls back. “What do you mean, ‘up’?” she asks with a hint of a smile.

“I mean,” Beca has to wrench one of her hands out from where they’re trapped between their bodies because her hands had been on Chloe’s breasts when they tumbled into bed. She uses it to pat the pillow beneath her head. “Up.”

Chloe seems to freeze above her, even her quick breathing stopping as she stares down at Beca. She’s beginning to think she did something wrong because the pause feels too long for what she thought wouldn’t be a difficult thing to agree to when Chloe drops down and kisses her again. It’s hard and steals Beca’s breath and as soon as it breaks, Chloe’s moving, crawling higher until Beca’s tossing aside the pillow to make room for Chloe’s knees.

“I’ve thought about this so much,” Chloe says as her fingers thread through what little of Beca’s hair she can grab.

Beca’s hands find and squeeze Chloe’s ass, scooting herself a little higher on the bed to make sure when she pulls Chloe down, she can easily catch Chloe’s clit between her lips.

It’s not the first time she’s had her mouth on Chloe; that had happened two weeks ago in the middle of the night in a burst of confidence and arousal. She’d rolled over and kissed Chloe awake and whispered, “I want to taste you,” and Chloe had nodded and parted her legs.

So she knows what to expect now, how Chloe will taste and how she’ll feel against her tongue but she’s still not ready for it. She’s not sure if she could ever be ready for what it’s like for Chloe to press herself against Beca’s mouth and moan and whisper things about needing and wanting Beca.

“That feels so good,” Chloe says through a breathy moan as soon as Beca’s tongue touches her.

Beca looks up at her and it’s truly a sight to see Chloe’s eyes fixed on her, the way her face is flushed, all messy hair and dark lips and heavy eyes. All that once Beca’s eyes get past the soft skin of her stomach and the curves of her breasts and the way her nipples are pebbled and hard. That all of it is because of Beca. For Beca. Being shared with Beca.

Her mind skips back ten minutes to how Chloe had just made her come—twice—harder than she ever had before and she moans, the memory driving heat right to her core. She channels it into what she’s doing, working her tongue and lips over Chloe.

Chloe’s moans are sinful as she lets go of Beca’s hair so both hands can hold on to the back of the couch. Her hips are starting to move and it makes Beca tuck a hand between Chloe’s legs to slip her fingers into her to give her something solid to ride.

“Oh, God, yeah,” Chloe says through a moan and her hips work faster.

Beca knows it’s not going to take her long; she knows all of Chloe’s tells by now. She can already feel how close she is by the way she squeezes Beca’s fingers and how her voice becomes breathy and ethereal. She closes her lips against her clit and sucks, fingers curling in time with Chloe’s pace.

She watches Chloe’s head tip back and sees the tension in her arms and feels it in her legs as she works to keep herself upright.

There’s a sudden stomping on the ceiling above them and for half a second they both freeze. Beca knows their neighbors hate them. They’ll probably have to move when this is all over.

“No, I don’t care. Don’t stop,” Chloe decides, hips immediately working even faster.

It feels like Chloe’s trying to defy their protest the way she gets even louder so Beca helps her, working her tongue and lips over her and her fingers inside her as thoroughly as she can while Chloe rolls and grinds her hips.

She’s being obnoxiously loud on purpose and Beca kind of loves it. She loves that Chloe wants people to know that Beca is making her feel good. She loves that she is making her feel good. She loves that her own moans sound so good with Chloe’s when Chloe reaches behind herself to touch Beca. She loves that Chloe always wants to make Beca feel good, even when she’s on the verge of her own orgasm.

Beca would say something if she could, a curse word or something about how good it feels or how good Chloe tastes but all of that would require her to stop, even for a second, and Chloe’s too close for that. Instead, she spreads her legs and rocks her hips up into Chloe’s touch to let her know how appreciative she is before she reaches down with the hand not between Chloe’s legs to push Chloe’s hand away. She knows it’s not a good angle for her. Chloe’s hand doesn’t leave, though. It grabs Beca’s and guides it to replace Chloe’s until Beca’s fucking both of them.

She watches Chloe lean forward again and marvels at the view and the taste as she watches Chloe start to fall apart.

It’s loud and she says Beca’s name. She calls her ‘baby.’ She begs Beca to come with her, and she does, which only makes Chloe moan even more loudly.

Someone’s probably going to knock on their door soon.

Beca really doesn’t give a fuck. Not when Chloe’s coming on her tongue and moaning her name and when she’s leaving fingernail imprints on Chloe’s ass.

“Oh, my God,” Chloe says weakly when it’s over. She’s still straddling Beca’s face but scoots back the tiniest bit to give Beca space.

Not that she cares or wants it. She’s still teasing her with her tongue, just enough to make her shiver and sigh and send tired, happy-looking smiles her way.

“You look so good like this,” Chloe says, fingers tracing Beca’s forehead and nose.

“So do you,” she answers, lifting her head enough to close her lips around her clit again, gently because she knows how sensitive she is.

Chloe whimpers and Beca wonders if they’re going to go again; it’s up to Chloe now. Beca’s ready for it even if she is exhausted. She’s not sure there will ever be a day or time when she isn’t ready for it. And she’s not sure how she feels about that...if it’s pathetic or not. She’s learned enough about herself through this new dynamic with Chloe that she’ll pretty much do anything Chloe wants her to do, and with very little convincing.

But, Chloe sighs and tilts her hips back to pull herself away and then she’s backing up until she’s stretched out on top of Beca to be able to bring their lips together in a slow, languid kiss that manages to calm Beca down as much as it keeps her turned on. She lets her hands idly roam over Chloe’s back; it’s warm and slick from her exertion and Beca feels the tiniest bit guilty of how unbalanced their physical contributions were to the afternoon’s events.

That is, until she remembers that Chloe bought that toy for the sole reason of knowing what Beca liked because she wanted to use it on Beca and she doesn’t feel quite so guilty.

“That was all….so fucking hot, Bec,” she says before kissing Beca again.

Beca had been incorrect; she knows they aren’t finished yet. Chloe just needed a break for a few minutes.

“Can I fuck you like that again?”

She knows they aren’t finished yet because Chloe only talks that way when she’s turned on.

Beca just nods. “Any time you want.”

Her answer makes Chloe smile and groan and kiss her hard and roll her hips into Beca and...yeah. Someone is definitely going to be pounding on their door before the night is over.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“What’s up, my bitches!”

Beca groans at the sound of Amy’s voice cutting through her quiet morning. She’s been half-asleep tangled up with Chloe since Amy texted them both late last night to let them know she was on her way home. Neither of them had wanted to sleep. Sleeping meant time would pass quickly. Sleeping meant less time to talk and kiss and touch. They’d been up all night and if Amy hadn’t texted again to say she was in a cab on her way, they’d still be naked.

It’s nearly been two months and the stay at home order has been lifted. She was excited, of course. They both were. It meant they’d be back at work soon, back to some version of normal.

It also meant that Amy would be back and their version of Playing House would come to an end. Back to being friends. Back to being roommates.

Beca feels Chloe’s arms tighten around her and it feels bittersweet; the whole night had. It felt like something was ending. Everything felt like it was going to be The Last Time. The last time that Chloe would kiss Beca’s thigh, that Beca would touch Chloe’s breast, that their tongues and lips would meet.

She’d almost cried more than once. It felt a lot like breaking up. With someone she wasn’t even dating.

It had been as beautiful as it had just plain sucked.

“Hey, Amy, welcome home,” Chloe says as she pulls away from Beca to get out of bed and hug her.

Beca stares at the ceiling for a few seconds to make sure her face doesn’t look sad or pathetic before she sits up and plasters on a smile. “Hey, Ames.”

When their hug ends, Beca watches Amy look between her and Chloe, and then again. And a third time before she’s looking around the room and then walking around the room like she’s some kind of detective.

She points at the flatscreen they had finally managed to get mounted on a wall. “We have a TV?”

“You can only watch so much Netflix on a 16” screen,” Chloe answers.

“And we got a new table?” She knocks her knuckles a few times on the wooden table that is a nice upgrade from what they’d had. It has managed to withstand what the other could not.

Beca hopes she doesn’t start blushing, and Chloe’s side glance her way isn’t helpful.

“Yeah, you know, I moved it so I could mop the floor and a screw came loose on one of the legs and it was stripped when I tried to fix it,” Chloe explains easily. “And we got that one off the street, anyway. We had so much time, we decided to upgrade the place a little.”

“Upgrade, right,” Amy says with a laugh as she tosses her bag onto her bed. “As long as you didn’t shag on my bed.”

“We didn’t,” they both answer, perhaps a little too in-synch.

Because they had. They totally had. Not on purpose, it had just been where they ended up. And they laundered everything the very same day. It was fine.

The way Amy turns around is almost comical in its slowness and Beca already knows they’re busted. She doesn’t know how she does it, but Amy has always been neck-and-neck with Stacie in being able to figure out when anyone has had a hook-up.

Beca feels herself shrinking in her spot in bed until she’s compelled to pull the blanket up over her knees to her chin. Her eyes flit between Amy and Chloe because Amy’s staring her down like the easy target she is until —

“I knew it!” Amy shrieks, pointing accusingly. “I knew you twig bitches wouldn’t last in here without me before you were doing the horizontal tango. How long did you wait? A day? Two?”

“Amy!” Beca groans, pulling the blanket all the way over her head and falling backward to lay back down.

“It’s...complicated,” she hears Chloe say and feels the bed move and knows Chloe just sat down at the end of it.

“Does that mean you two are officially on the shaggin’ wagon? And we can finally stop this game where we all pretend you’re not in love with each other?”

Beca feels her throat close up at those words. They hadn’t discussed that. Have they said, “I love you”? Yes. Was Beca 100% certain Chloe meant it in a romantic, deep way and not a platonic friend way? No. They somehow made it through two months of an intensely sexual affair and had no clear resolution.

“Amy,” Chloe chastises. Her voice is softer when she adds, “Don’t. Please?”

“Okay, okay,” Amy says defensively but Beca knows that means she’s going to let it go. “Anyway, thanks for the TV; can’t wait to watch the home movies my boy toy and I made on a proper screen.”

“Over my dead body,” Beca says, still hiding under the blankets. She feels a hand on her foot, though, and nows it’s Chloe’s. It kind of pats it, and squeeze it, and wiggles it, and she knows there is meaning with it.

“I’m here. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

To be continued...

#bechloe #pitch perfect #beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe fic #fanfic #a whole lotta sin #desperate measures

132 notes · View notes

jawritter · 4 years

Text

You and Me..

Chapter 1

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chapter Warnings*** Descriptions of depression and grief, language, sad!Jensen. Lose of marriage, divorce. That’s about it. This chapter is pretty light.

Word Count: 1942

Pairing: Jensen Ackles X Danneel Ackles, Jensen Ackles X Jared Padalecki

A/N: Okay guys here we go! Here’s the first chapter! I’ll be putting up and posting a link to the series masterlist here in just a little bit. I’ll add the link here when I do. This is going to start out pretty light, all the chapter warnings will be in place when this thing really gets rolling. As always all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you guys enjoy it! If you want to be added to my tag list or the series tag list let me know!!!

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

Grief comes in many shapes, forms, and fashions. Even though it may come in different ways it still all ends up in the same pattern.

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

Losing a person doesn't always mean the death of said person. Sometimes, that person can be laying in the bed right next to you. Still, the separation and emotional detachment can be more permanent than death. one that then causes the downward, uncontrollable spiral that is grief. This is what happens when you find yourself in a dying marriage.

You grieve it.

You grieve it just like you'd buried the person you once loved with everything in you.

This is where Jensen has now found himself.

But you know what, maybe I should start at the beginning?

Supernatural had wrapped filming for the final time. That was hard, harder than Jensen had expected to ever be. It brought on a whole wave of emotions that he hadn't seen coming.

Then there were all the goodbyes that followed, the wrap party for the cast and crew, the ending of an error. Jared had Gen, she’d flown up to be with him, along with all of his children. Danneel? Well, she didn’t come. She didn’t really give a reason other than she was, “busy.”

Then there was the packing up and leaving the apartment he’d used while filming for years now. That was hard too, harder than he expected it to be.

Jensen picked up the phone and tried to call Danneel as the movers carried out the last of the boxes in his now empty Vancouver apartment. He would be leaving here and heading home to Austin for the last time. It was a much harder pill to swallow than he’d expected it to be. Why did this all hurt so much? He thought he was ready?

The phone rang and rang. This had become her M.O. lately. She didn't answer his calls right away. Instead, he would have to leave a voicemail and hope that she would find time to call him back. He really needed to talk to someone right now. He didn't like the things he was feeling as he walked through his empty apartment, checking everything one last time before he turned his keys over to his landlord.

The lump in his throat grew to the point he was having to swallow hard to get it down. He stood in the doorway of what was his home away from home for so many years, looking back one last time with a giant hole aching in his chest. Danneel still hadn’t called him back, of course, she was probably busy. The business she had started had taken off, and he was happy for her, but he needed his wife right now.

Turning off the lights, Jensen locked the door for the final time, turning over this chapter that had been such a big part of his life over alone. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

That was about five months ago.

When he returned home after the conventions and everything had ended it wasn't so bad. The first week went like the start of any other hiatus.

Then things started to get a little strange.

Danneel would leave him alone with all three kids all day long so that she could go and work on her new jewelry line.

This didn't bother him at all...at first.

Then week four rolled around and Danneel still was making excuses not to stay home. Most nights she wouldn’t even come in until Jensen and the children had gone to bed.

Jensen would try and wait up for her, but always ended up falling asleep on the couch watching his late-night football games. By the time he’d wake up in the morning she’d already be gone, and he’d have to get up to start the day with himself and the kids alone.

"She's just busy," he'd reason with himself. "She's growing a business, that's not easy, it takes a lot of time."

Jensen would then kick himself for not being more proud of his wife, and then start to feel guilty that he wasn't being more supportive of her. So he decided that night to stay up after the kids went to bed and drawing a bath for her. He put out rose petals throughout the bedroom and master bathroom. He bought her favorite bottle of wine. He decorated the room with little tea light candles to cast a soft, romantic light. He’d really put his all into making it perfect for her.

He heard the front door close and he knew she was home. Smiling with anticipation, Jensen waited anxiously in the bedroom, excited to see the look on his wife’s face when she saw all the effort he’d put into making this perfect for her. They hadn't been ‘together’ since before he came home for the conventions. It had been a while, he wanted to spend some 'time' with his wife tonight. He wanted to show her how much he appreciated her.

When Danneel walked into the room and looked around she didn’t have the excited look on her face that Jensen was expecting. In fact, she looked almost annoyed.

"Jensen?" she asked the man standing in the middle of the room, looking around at what he'd been up to. "What's all this for?" she asked, setting her purse down on the floor next to the door, and not bothered at all by her husband’s crestfallen face.

"I thought we could spend some time together tonight," Jensen said, crossing the floor to where his wife was standing, reaching out to put his arms around her.

"It's been a while," he said, but when he leaned down to kiss her she turned away from him.

That stung.

He stood there shocked to his core. She'd never done that before.

"Jay, this is pretty, and I appreciate the effort, but I'm tired, babe. I just want to go to sleep."

Ducking under his arm she headed toward the bathroom, leaving Jensen standing alone in the middle of their once shared bedroom with his heart in a thousand pieces on the floor.

That was it, the beginning of the end.

At first, the denial started.

He tried, at first, to justify her actions towards him. Why she didn't kiss him goodbye in the morning at breakfast before she left anymore?

"She was running late, or she was in a hurry."

Why she didn't want to make love to him anymore? "She's tired. Starting up a business is draining."

Why she didn't want to cuddle with him at night anymore? "She's tired and needs her rest. I should be more supportive."

She didn't answer the phone again. "She's in a meeting with a designer or something important. She'll call back."

She never did.

After about a month of this, the anger started.

"It's not fair. I've given up a lot of roles so I can stay home with you and the kids. I love my kids Danneel, but I need time with my wife too! You won't even look at me in the eye anymore!"

Danneel said nothing, just got her cup of coffee, and walked out to the sun porch, not even really looking at him.

"Go back to work then. I'll hire a nanny to help me with the kids," was all she said before closing the door; never bothering to look up from her cell phone.

That made him even angrier. The way she had just blatantly ignored his feelings turned that low burning anger into a roaring fire inside of him. It ate away at him, consuming him. It was all he could do not to throw his coffee cup across the room. At that moment the anger rooted himself deep inside of him, and he couldn't let it go.

He started sleeping on the couch most of the time, and around the third month, he started sleeping in the guestroom. Even though he was still angry, he didn’t want to lose his marriage. They’d been married for a decade. He just couldn’t let it go at that, and he knew if he didn't come up with something his marriage didn’t stand a chance. So Jensen came up with an idea late one night about how to save their marriage before it was too late.

"Maybe we should see a marriage counselor," he'd suggested that night at the dinner table.

Danneel threw a glass of wine in his face and stormed out of the room, not saying a word. That's when he knew It was too late, his marriage was dead, it was over.

That's when the depression sat in.

He called Gen and Jared and asked them to let JJ say over with them. He didn't have to tell Jared what was going on, Jared had been in the background for months watching his friends' marriage spiral. They gladly let JJ come spend time with them and the kids.

The twins he brought to her mom's house. He knew Danneel wouldn't care. Hell, she barely even noticed they were there anymore. She didn't want to be bothered with them apparently. She wanted her career more than she wanted her family, and he just couldn’t deal with it all anymore.

He came home that night, got in the bed, and stayed there for three days, not getting up accept to go to the bathroom or get another bottle of whiskey.

It had been three days and Danneel still hadn’t come home. Jensen knew she had collected the kids, her family, and Jarred had called him. Apparently, it wasn’t her family she didn’t want, it was just him. She didn’t want to be with him anymore. Tears ran silently down his face. His heart felt like it wanted to stop beating.

Still, he waited for her, praying he'd wake up from this nightmare, praying his wife would come through the door and lay next to him again, that everything would just go back to the way it was.

That day never came.

The divorce papers lay on the foot of the bed three weeks later. Jensen had barely eaten anything in days. He refused to get up and shower. He refused to do anything other than lay there and wallow in his misery. Jared was sitting on the chair in front of the window, staring at his friend with worried eyes.

"Jay, come on man. You're gonna grieve yourself to death. Danneel made her choice. The two of you grew apart. You weren't happy either and you know it. Pick yourself up. Your kids are gonna need you. You can’t just give up like this.”

Jensen knew his friend was right. He needed to accept that this was over. He needed to stop wallowing in his own self-pity and move on.

Taking a deep breath, Jensen rolled himself out of the bed, stretching as his muscle groaned in protest of the moment. He’d laid there for so long that his body was stiff and sore.

He grabbed a pen off the nightstand and signed the papers that were waiting for him at the foot of the bed, then threw it all down back on the bed and looked up at Jared. His friend was already at his side, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, where he stood weeping in his brother’s hold until his legs started to give out, and Jared had to help him sit in the chair he’d just been occupying.

Jensen was determined that today would be the day he would bury this hurt for good. It was over. That was all.

As much as it still hurt, and as much as he wished things would have gone differently he knew he couldn’t will the situation to be any different than what it was. So he would bury this hurt, much like you bury a loved one, and leave it there to rot because that’s all he could do.

Life goes one, whether we want it to or not… Even though we feel like our world came to an end, we accept it in order to keep moving forward no matter what the consequences. So that’s what he’d do. Keep moving.

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@deanwanddamons @imabitch4jensen @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @alanegaming @magssteenkamp

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@idksupernatural

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savannah-lim · 3 years

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Hell’s Dell’s || Savannah & Marley

Timing: Current Parties: @savannah-lim and @detectivedreameater Location: Dell’s Tavern Content: Panic (Mara fear gas), Clowns (Vague description), Head Trauma

Savannah had needed to process so much during her time in White Crest that sometimes she forgot to sit back and take a deep and careful examination of it. She was almost used to the town to the point of desensitisation, which alone should have frightened her. What had begun as a simple missing persons investigation into Agent Sterling had turned into an exploration of an entirely new world, one she didn’t want to give up entirely too easily. If she was honest, maybe that’s why she hadn’t submitted a final report on Agent Sterling’s case yet, why she kept finding more cases to dive into. If anything had managed to shock her recently, it had been the Dullahan. Stryder had known all about it, explained it away as something all White Cresters should know about, and even managed to defend her excitement about seeing it in a way Savannah understood on a deep and personal level. If not for that explanation, Savannah wasn’t sure she’d have invited Stryder out for drinks at all. “What are you having?” she asked as they found a booth, taking off her jacket and folding it neatly beside her.

Savannah Lim was a mystery to Marley. She had watched the destruction of the Dullahan, watched Marley fawn over him-- listened to her explain what was going on, and she’d still invited Marley out for a drink. And, more importantly, not reported her. Marley should have been more concerned about citizens when they were being attacked, but she just couldn’t help it-- the pull of their fear was too good to pass up. It was like she’d been hypnotized, realy. But here she was now, standing outside of Dell’s, heading in to get a drink with a normal human FBI agent who believed in the supernatural somehow. And she wanted to talk about creepy things. How could Marley pass that up? “Tequila lime,” she answered, removing her own jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair. “So...how’re you liking White Crest so far?”

"Tequila Lime?" Savannah repeated, considering that as an option before nodding. She usually didn't dive right into the spirits, but what the hell. It sounded good. "We'll get two of those. There's a Dutch beer that tastes like Tequila. It sounds awful, but it's actually really good. I wonder if they have it." It probably said a lot about her that most of her socialising involved alcohol. "Would you think I was crazy if I said I actually like it?" she answered, but then again, considering her last conversation with Marley, she figured her tolerance for someone enjoying the dark and bizarre was pretty high. "It's never boring. There's always something interesting to explore. The trade-off is that it's terrifying." She shrugged. "Did you always live here, or did you move here?"

“I’m a simple girl with simple tastes,” Marley shrugged, even though nothing in that statement was true. “There is? Huh, that sounds like just my type of beer.” She wasn’t normally a big beer drinker-- it wasn’t worth it, seeing as it took too much beer to get her even a little buzzed-- but she’d make an exception for one that tasted like tequila. If it tasted good enough, she’d have to tell Anita about it. The thought twisted something in her stomach and she furrowed her brow, focusing back on Savannah. “What? Oh-- yeah. Nope, never a boring day here. Especially in our line of work,” she played idly with the napkin on the table in front of her, “And no, you’re not crazy. I like it here, too, because of that reason. Or, well-- I used to.” And maybe she still did, but lately the town had taken more from her than it had given, and it still left an empty feeling in her gut. “I moved here about five years ago. I used to be in New York. Worked for the NYPD for a little bit before I got transferred to Albany of all places. It was so boring there, so one day I just...moved.” She took the drink gratefully when the waiter returned with their refreshments and took a long sip. “What made you join the FBI? That’s a pretty dedicated career.”

"Whatever makes you happy," Savannah answered. She didn't think it particularly mattered what someone's preferred drink was unless they were sipping on the blood or orphans or something. In White Crest, that was probably someone’s dietary requirement. “I’ll ask at the bar if they have it after this round.” But as much as she enjoyed alcohol, this wasn’t what they’d come here to talk about. Savannah’s interest had been piqued by their encounter with the Dullahan, and in Savannah’s world, that simply meant she had to find out more. “I like puzzles,” she answered in response to Marley’s question. “I like solving things. I liked crime shows. The X-Files came out when I was in college. My parents always expected me to go into something traditional and professional and I didn’t want to be a doctor or an accountant. So, here we are.” She sipped her drink, looking across the booth at Marley. “What about you? Judging by what you said at the restaurant before, I think we have something similar in us that just makes us tick.”

Marley perked up a bit at Savannah’s answer. She loved puzzles as well. Any kind, actually. She loved jigsaw puzzles and puzzle boxes and mystery games and escape rooms. Except, lately, they’d begun to frustrate her. She couldn’t concentrate enough to figure them out, she no longer had the patience to deal with them. Still, the thought of having someone else to do them with piqued her interest. “Oh, god, me too. So much. I watched all those true crime shows as a kid and read about the shit all the time. All the other kids thought it was too gruesome or whatever, but I loved it.” Unlike she’d ever loved anything else. Was it just because of her species, or would she love these stories even without it? Knowing Savannah did, and knowing she was human, gave Marley that small hope that maybe it would still be true. “X-Files wasn’t just my mystery awakening, it’s also when I realized I liked both boys and girls. Oh, the things I’d do for Dana Scully,” she sighed wistfully, stirring the ice in her drink. “I think we do, too. I don’t often meet a lot of people who are into the macabre the way I am.”

Savannah couldn’t hold in her laugh, a dry but good-natured one. “Oh, the true crime shows. Don’t get me started. My mom thought I was a troubled child because of how often she caught me in the middle of some documentary about Jack The Ripper or The Zodiac Killer.” In hindsight, they were probably too mature for her at the age she’d started watching them, but even as a child, it was fascinating to her. “Oh, you’re bisexual too?” Savannah said. They had a great deal in common, it seemed, and Savannah found herself glad she’d reserved judgement. “I think Scully and Mulder were my ideal threesome,” she snickered. “Hell, maybe still are.” She lifted her drink giving Marley a small toast. “You ever meet Kavanagh when was still a Medical Examiner? She’s the closest I’ve come to finding someone who approaches these topics in a similar way in this town.”

“My favorites were the cold case files and the ones about the weird, little known serial killers,” Marley pointed out, “or the FBI’s top most wanted.” Even the other mara in her community had found her obsession with the macabre morbid. A lot of them found it rather disturbing, even, which she’d never understood-- they were creatures of fear, how could they really find anything that morbid? “Actually, I’m pan,” she pointed out, stirring her drink. “But yeah. Unfortunately,” she chuckled back, shaking her head. She knew she had more attraction to women than men, but she couldn’t deny the fact that she was attracted to some men. “See, I love me a good lay in bed, but I’ve never been one for threesomes. I prefer having the other person all to myself. Guess that’s a possessive thing or something.” Or it was the foster kid in her who grew up with no possessions of her own. She sat back a little, folding her arms. “You mean Kadaver? Yeah, I’ve met her,” she grumbled, “if by ‘approaching’ you mean completely denying, then sure, yeah-- she’s close.”

“Do you like Unsolved Mysteries?” Savannah asked, diving easily into the conversation. “Oh, Netflix has a new series coming out about The Yorkshire Ripper. It’s a British Case from the seventies.” She gave a small nod, correcting herself. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess you could say I am as well. I’m just old. That label wasn’t as well-known when I was coming to terms with my sexuality. I just go with what I’m used to.” Apparently, they were already getting candid tonight. “I usually have a few more drinks in me before things get this personal,” she snickered. She’d meant the threesome comment more glib, less literal, but she let the conversation move along. It didn’t seem like Marley had any fondness for Regan, but Savannah supposed she wasn’t everyone’s taste. “I just mean that she’s very blunt, direct, discusses dark topics very matter-of-factly. Some people don’t like that.” Savannah must have been the strange one, because she found it refreshing. Regan was someone she didn’t have to try and be ‘normal’ with. “Was it just living here that made you believe in the less traditional explanations of the things that happen here, or something specific?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Marley nodded, enjoying the ease with which she could slide into this conversation. It was relaxing and didn’t require a lot of effort, something she was finding harder and harder to do the more her mind slipped from her. She took another long sip of her drink and felt a little wave of dizziness come over her, but she blinked it away. “No worries. I”m kinda iffy on labels but when people ask that’s usually what I say,” she shrugged, rubbing her eyes under her glasses. “I don’t think you’re that much older than me, are you?” She tapped her glass. “Oh, uh-- if this is too personal, we can talk about something else. I’m just sorta--” she waved her hand in the air-- “desensitised to this stuff.” The topic circled back to Kavanagh and Marley frowned, choosing not to respond, just nodding simply. But Savannah’s last question threw her for a small loop-- what did she do here? Did she tell her the truth, that Marley wasn’t human and had known about most of this stuff for most of her life? Or did she lie and keep her secret to herself? Was Savannah dangerous? Or could she trust her? Marley swallowed, reached up to rub her eyes again. “Well, it’s kind of complicated--” she started, but when she looked up, she sucked in a breath as her eyes locked with Savannah’s and her abilities transformed the booth around them into Savannah’s worst fears.

“How old are you? What, thirty-five? I’ve got ten years on you. That’s long enough for there to be at least a little cultural difference,” Savannah answered. “Oh. I’m not--it doesn’t bother me. I just wasn’t expecting it.” Her parents’ jaws would have hit the ground if they’d known she was talking about threesomes in a public space with an almost-stranger. She was looking forward to the answer to her question about how Marley had come to know about the supernatural, but it never came. It started with her mother appearing in the booth with them, ranting about how much of a failure she was. Savannah stared at her, looking back to Marley. “Can you--sorry, can you see her…?” she asked, as more faces appeared around the table; her father, her siblings, her ex, each proceeding to angrily and aggressively tell her of all her failings. “Stop it. Can you--can you just shut up?!” Savannah’s heart was beating faster. They were laughing at her, their features contorting unpleasantly and cartoonishly, exaggerated into impossible shapes, their skin tone being replaced by clown make-up, their laughter being replaced by maniacal cackling. “STOP!”

Marley felt her blood turn to ice as the fear from Savannah began to fill her up. It was intoxicating. She didn’t want to stop. The world around them fell away and all that they were left with were distorted faces and angry voices. Everything turned black and white. Savannah’s heart was racing, Marley could hear it. It echoed all around them. Her fear consuming them both. How long had it been since she’d properly fed like this? She didn’t want to stop. But then, a voice cut through her mind. It ricocheted all around her head and broke the glass in her mind. STOP! Marley fell backwards from the darkness and suddenly she saw Deirdre, writhing on the ground below her. And then it was Lydia, and then it was every other person she’d tortured like this. She blinked, but the visions wouldn’t go away. Savannah’s fears sat next to them in the booth. “I--” she stuttered, threw her sunglasses off and pressed her palms to her eyes. “I’m sorry! I’m trying, I’m sorry!” She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to hurt people like this anymore.

Savannah didn't even know she was talking to Marley. She just yelled at the unknown entities around them who were flooding her system with panic and dread. Her whole body was somehow hot and cold at the same time. People around them were starting to stare, chatter amongst themselves. Plates shattered as a server dropped them to the ground in shock. "What are you doing?!" She demanded, breathing rapid and palms coated in sweat as she tried to swat the apparitions away. Marley was doing this. She didn’t know how, but she was too terrified to think clearly. Her heart hammered so rapidly that it hurt. “Get off me!”

Stop it, stop it, she needed to stop it. Marley pressed her palms hard enough into her eyes to feel pain, nails digging into the sides of her head. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” she shouted at herself, shaking her head. They needed to get out of there. She needed to get out of there. People were staring, she could hear them whispering. She spun in her spot to try and look around and suddenly more people were screaming. Inhaling sharply, Marley stood from the booth and stumbled out. “I’m sorry!” she stuttered at Savannah, reaching out for her. But the other woman was shouting at her and looking at her with those eyes-- those terrified, painful eyes. Marley swallowed thickly and looked away. “I-- fuck. I’m sorry, I’ll leave, I’m--” she turned quickly and slammed into someone, one of the waiters that had come over to check on them. He looked down into her eyes and suddenly he was crumbling to the ground as well. Marley backed away into the table, knocking over her glass. She didn’t want this. She’d never wanted this. She turned-- and she ran.

Savannah had no idea what was happening. She hadn’t known Marley had been the one doing this until she’d answered her, but Savannah was too busy panicking to register what that meant. People were staring, watching the poor woman freak out over something they couldn’t see, or perhaps being confronted with their own deepest fears suddenly and without explanation. Marley just kept apologizing, over and over, and Savannah could barely comprehend the words. The visions vanished, almost as soon as they’d appeared, leaving Savannah clutching her chest. “M-Marley--?” she tried to ask, but the other woman was gone. “What… what the hell?”

#paras #with: marley

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justjessame · 4 years

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Hellfire and Angelic Grace Chapter 1

As a young demon, Crowley had met a lower tier angel doing service on Earth named Abigail. Well, Abigail had been the name she used while in human form. He felt more with her than he could ever remember having felt with anyone, even when he was human. Even knowing their union was forbidden, even knowing the consequences for her would be dire, they allowed their love to overtake them. Her punishment was beyond severe. She died, true real death that included her very erasure from all worlds, upon the birth of their daughter. Warnings and eliciting a promise from him on her lips, their babe in his arms, she was gone.

He knew that his daughter was too unique to keep with him. No one like her had ever existed, there wasn’t even a name for what she was, and so he had to leave her on Earth. He placed her in the care of a wealthy couple, wanting his daughter to lack for nothing. He allowed himself to watch her from afar. As a crossroads demon it was simpler, he was always wanted in the wealthy society that he’d placed her in, every millionaire always wanted more after all. He’d been able to watch her for quite some time, before becoming King of Hell. He still found the time, even with his new ‘duties’.

Watching her grow, learn, and mature became his favorite pastime. She looked nothing like him, nor her mother. She was beautiful, so unbearably perfect that he had to fight himself from introducing himself to her. He fought it, but too soon, his arms were wrapped around her once more. He’d pulled her from the twisted metal that had once been her parents’ car. Her human guardians had been no match for the evil that had come for them, for her. She was like catnip for all supernatural beings, as her mother had warned. And he knew, even as he felt powerless and angry at the knowledge, her mother had been right. Now he’d have to fulfill the last promise he’d made her.

Leaving his daughter, a young woman now, behind in a hospital was unbearable. He knew her wealth would assure the best care, but protection? From the dark and light sides couldn’t be bought. Glancing at her lovely face, he allowed himself one more touch, and then he was gone. Putting into action the very promise he’d made to Abigail would be akin to ripping out his own flesh, but for her, for their daughter he’d do anything. Even cozy up to three men who he’d rather never be in the presence of ever again.

THREE YEARS LATER

Lilana Monahan was happy to have made the bar a success. She glanced around, giggling at the spring breakers that were old enough to legally partake in the club she’d bought once she’d recovered from the accident that left her parents dead. Blinking back tears, she smiled thinking about how proud they’d be that she’d found her niche. They’d been worried, at one point, that she never would.

Here I am, she thought, watching as her bartenders did a combined version of the type of drink art that became popular with “Cocktail” then “Coyote Ugly”. She employed both male and female tenders, hoping to make ALL her customers find something they liked to look at. And she made sure that she looked the part as well, wearing the tight-fitting and somewhat revealing clothes that young people coming to a bar like hers would expect to see, especially one in such a warm climate.

Tonight her long hair, which when loose hung almost to her waist, was in a long braid hanging over her shoulder and down her chest. Her skinny jeans were artfully cut, and hung low on her hips, while her tank top was cut to show off the lace of her bra and just the right amount of cleavage. She would never expect any employee to wear anything they weren’t comfortable in, and she wouldn’t wear it if she wasn’t either. Her shoes were wedge heels, not too high, but showing both her toenails and the tattoos on the top of her feet.

“Li-Li!” Her manager, and best friend Ali screamed from behind the bar, drawing her attention. “Come on, it’s TIME!”

Li-li as her bestie called her rushed to the bar and used a bar stool to help her hop onto the bar. Hoots went up from the other bartenders and the customers gathered around. Sliding to the other side, and stepping up beside Ali, she yelled out, grabbing a bottle. “Whose first for body shots?!”

Crowley felt the three men he’d walked in with tense at the charged atmosphere of the bar. The whooping and cheering was centered around the actual bar area, so they moved forward. It had taken longer than he’d wished, to gain their trust. Yet, three years seemed nothing, now that they were here. He could feel the pull of her, and knew if he could feel it, then other entities could as well.

“Where is she?” John Winchester growled, glancing over the heads of exuberant college coeds and guys who he wished he could push out of the way. Crowley had only told them the minimum, that there was a young woman who needed protection. He felt like it could be a trap, but felt the tension ease when Crowley pointed her out.

“The one with the braid, on top of the bar.” The King of Hell said, gesturing toward his daughter with his chin.

They all watched as she poured a shot of tequila for a young man and placed a slice of lime between the lips of a prone woman on the bar. She was standing on the bar, grinning and leading the crowd with chants of “SHOT SHOT SHOT!” The guy licked a stripe of skin on the girl’s exposed midriff and Li-Li shook a bit of salt on the dampened skin. Then salt, shot, lime, which turned into a kiss for the lucky guy and girl.

She gave the bottle to another young bartender standing behind the bar, and jumped down. The new bartender was a guy, and she shouted, “NEXT!” as she walked away. Moving toward her office, she was grinning as she walked right past Crowley and the Winchesters. Her hips were swaying and she walked with the confidence of a young woman who knew she was attractive and rich.

“Her name is Lilana Monahan,” Crowley was saying, ignoring the three men watching his daughter pass with rapt attention. He had to, otherwise he’d end up making a puddle of goo out of the three of them. “She has a potent pull to both demons and angels alike.”

“Why?” Dean gasped, losing sight of her as she walked through a door and closed it. “I mean,” he cleared his throat and tried to sound natural. “She looks like a regular hot chick.”

Crowley held back a growl. “Let’s just say she’s special.” He managed, thinking giving over the care of his daughter to these three was going to be harder than he thought. He tried remembering Abigail, her last words, the promise and calmed down a bit. “The only people she’s safe with, or will be safe with, are you three.”

“And you know that, how?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow, and not as struck by his daughter as the other two. Struck, but not dumbfounded.

“Moose,” Crowley answered, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “she’s special, you’re her guardians, I know, that’s all you have to know.”

John shook his head. “I have to agree with the boy, Crowley.” He said, shaking again to get the image of her tight curved ass out of his head as she strutted past. “Gonna have to know how you know we’re it.”

Crowley sighed. Nothing was ever easy with hunters, especially these hunters. “Fine.” He stalked off to a booth far away from the loud party at the front of the bar. “Sit and I’ll explain.”

#supernatural fanfiction #alternate universe #crowley/daughter #john winchester #sam winchester #Dean Winchester #angel/demon

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luffles424 · 5 years

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Lucidity (3)

☼ Pairing: BTS x reader (this chapter is Namjoon x reader)

☼ Genre: vampire!BTS, succubus!reader, smut, bit of angst

☼ Count: 3.5K

☼ Warnings: dirty talk, fingering, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, marking, minorish blood play (it’s a vampire fic so like, there’s some feeding), dom!Joon, bratty!reader, degradation, choking, spanking, exhibitionism, hair pulling, hate fucking, rough sex, maybe a bit of slut shaming

☼ Summary: You’ve spent years jumping from country to country, starting countless new lives. Crafting new lives is as easy as breathing for you, lies flowing easily and people are charmed with a simple bat of your eyes. When you meet a witch who offers the idea of opening a supernatural club, using your powers combined with hers to ensure safety to those who enter, you decide to join her in an adventure that is entirely new to you. But your new life in Seoul is drastically changed when you’re forced to face something you’ve spent centuries hiding from. But just because you might be running for your life again doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun along the way, right?

☼ a/n: I’m reuploading cause the site is giving me problems so hopefully it works this time 😣😣 Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous

You drum your fingers on the railing, looking out over the club. Lips pursed as you watch the writhing masses below, you think back to Ari’s text from a few days ago. You wonder who would’ve stopped by, and you would’ve asked Ari when you came in tonight but she had left long before you got here. If it had been someone important she would’ve made sure to leave a note in your shared office but there was nothing. You chalk it up to one of your regular feeders wanting to hook up, which seems most likely since Ari didn’t deem to leave any other information.

She tended to roll her eyes when your regulars came by. She thought you should try for relationships, she had even tried to set you up with one of her coven sisters. You’d humored her and went on the date (and slept with her afterwards) but didn’t pursue a relationship with her beyond occasional casual sex. Ari didn’t understand, despite how much you’d tried to explain that you didn’t really need emotional intimacy. And you maybe left out the fact that it terrifies you just a little bit, becoming close enough to Ari to consider her a friend was a new venture already after spending centuries essentially alone as you traveled. She’d given up on trying to set you up and instead just shares her own dating adventures because she knows you’ll never sugarcoat if her partner isn’t good. And you’re fairly certain she shares in the hopes that she can sway you by showing you what you’re missing out on.

Your phone vibrating pulls you out of your reverie and you tug it out of your pocket, leaning your arms against the railing as you unlock it to read through the sudden onslaught of messages. You bit your lip on a grin as you see you’re suddenly in a groupchat with Jin and Jungkook and both are currently spamming about practice and how tired they are. Jin whines about how Namjoon has been on the group harder lately and that starts Jungkook worrying that Namjoon knows about you three.

When Jungkook continues to fret despite Jin’s promises that Namjoon doesn’t know, you finally chime in.

You: Jungkook, if you stop worrying I’ll send you something special ;)

The chat goes silent for a good few minutes and you take the opportunity to plop down onto the couch, taking a sip of the drink you had abandoned on the table.

Kookie: What do I get???

Jin: Why does he get something?!

You grin. You’d expected exactly those responses from the two. You leave the messages sit for a little while longer before you respond.

You: Have you done something that deserves something special, Jinnie?

Jin: Jungkook’s only been whining!

Jin: Why does that deserve something special!

Jin: If anything, I should get something special because I’m trying to calm him down.

You let Jin continue to rant for a few more minutes before sending a picture you’d taken the other night of you wearing only Jin’s shirt, unbuttoned and covering you just enough to be enticing and teasing.

Kookie: Noonaaaaaaaaaaa

Kookie: We can’t come over tonight :(

Jin: This seems more like punishment than something special

You: You boys should be resting if you’re working so much. Good night~

You tuck your phone back into your pocket, ignoring the few final vibrations from the pair. You sink further into the cushions, sipping at your drink and idly watching the masses enjoy your club.

When closing finally rolls around and all your employees have been seen safely out the door, you head to your office to finish up your final few tasks. You sit at your computer, letting the numbers run, looking over the security camera feeds in your boredom. You’re about to turn away when something on the camera to the backlot catches your attention. You squint, scrutinizing the shadows, trying to figure out what about the image seemed off.

Your computer dings that it’s done and you deem that it must’ve just been an animal scurrying by the camera that you saw. Focusing back on the computer, you finish up your last few tasks and with a sigh, you shut your computer off. You gather your things and give one last sweep of the office before flicking the light off and heading down the short hall to the back door. You slip out, turning to face the door to lock it.

As you pull your key out of the door, you feel a presence approach from behind you. This must’ve been what you thought was an animal on the camera. You take a deep breath, preparing to charm whatever unfortunate person has thought you’d make an easy target. If you were being honest, you were kind of excited to deal with whoever thought they could prey on a woman. Their scent, however, makes you freeze. And a second later a smirk pulls at your lips.

“Hello, Namjoon.”

You hear a faint growl and then your pushed flush against the door with a hand against your back. Your hands come up to give a testing push to see if he’ll let you go or move at all and your met with complete resistance. He leans in, hand still firmly planted and you feel his breath against your ear.

“I want you to leave.” He hisses.

You grin. “Aw, but Joonie, I was trying to, but you stopped me.”

His other hand grabs hold of your hair and tugs your head back and you bite back on the moan that threatens to come out. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

You pout, taking advantage of the new position he’s put you in to look at him. His hair is an ashy blond now, styled meticulously and parted off his forehead. His eyes are dark, jaw clenched tightly and when your eyes meet, he’s quick to dart his gaze away in favor of glaring at the door. You hum and lean a little into the hand he still has fisted in your hair.

“But you use to love it so much when I called you that.” You tease, blinking up at him innocently.

His gaze shifts back to you and hardens. “Yeah and you lost all fucking rights to do that a long time ago.” He shoves your head forward and you’re suddenly blinking at how close your face is to the door, nose nearly touching the metal. “I want you to leave Seoul. Leave Korea. You have no place here. You will only bring trouble like you always do and I will not let my boys get caught in the crossfire of your shit.”

You snort. “One, they’re also adults and supernatural ones at that. It’s not your business to deal with them once they’ve learned to control themselves. You can’t just shelter them like this forever. That’ll only end poorly. Two,” You twist around to face him, the hand on your back falling as you do but his hold on your hair remains firm. “You don’t get to dictate where I fucking live. I’ll live where I choose and when I choose too. If you have such a problem with that then you can go ahead and fucking leave yourself.”

He looks startled by your sudden turn, then seems to register your words and his face grows pinched. “It is my business if you’re going to get them killed. You present an issue to their safety and if you think I’m just going to stand by while their safety is at risk because you’ve decided that this is the newest place for you to whore around, then it is definitely my fucking business.”

You stare at each other for a long moment. You wonder why he has such a sudden attachment to the others, especially since two of them have already shown that they don’t believe him and don’t particularly trust his judgement, at least where you’re concerned. You also wonder if this is the first time he’s allowed himself to get attached again and if that happens to be the reason why he’s so fierce to protect them from you. You think that he must’ve spent a few very lonely centuries and your chest tightens with guilt.

You swallow past the feeling, letting a smirk stretch your lips again as you step closer to him, chest pressing to his. “You never use to have a problem with me, as you so kindly put it, ‘whoring around’,” You purse your lips, looking away for a moment in faux thought. “Not that I can particularly ever remember whoring around when I was near you.”

“It’s all you care about. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” He snarls, moving forward until you’re pressed between him and the door.

You lick your lips and notice how his gaze flicks to the movement of your tongue. You bite your lip, hands pressing to his stomach and slowly running up to his chest. You feel him tense beneath your fingers but he makes no move to shake your grip off. You play with the edge of his jacket, looking over his choice of clothes for a moment.

“All black, hm? Kinda playing up the creepy, lurking vampire, aren’t ya?” You tease, meeting his eyes again.

Something flickers across his face but before you can decipher what, his expression has already hardened. Before he can respond though, you tighten your hold on his jacket and yank him down for a hard kiss. He freezes instantly and you leave your lips pressed together for a moment before you let out a chuckle, pulling back just enough to speak.

“I know you can kiss better than that, Joonie.”

You feel him twitch, likes he’s fighting with himself over what to do and you surmise that he most likely is debating what to do. You think about pushing out just enough lust to distract him so you can leave, but you’re too tempted to stay and see what he’s going to do on his own. You can see his jaw clench again and then he’s kissing you with such force that if it weren’t for the hand still on the back of your head, you’d end up with a wicked bruise there in the morning.

Namjoon kisses you like a man starving, you feel wholly consumed by the rage that vibrates through him as he ravishes your mouth. His tongue pries your mouth open and you feel you can’t do much more than try to keep up as he devours you. His teeth tug at your bottom lip as he finally pulls back, leaving you breathless and a little dazed.

His eyes are dark, full of the promise of danger and, to your utter delight, lust. “I fucking hate you.” He grits out.

You give him a coy smile, pressing your hips forward and eliciting a hiss from him as you press against his growing erection. “I don’t detect any hate here.”

His jaw works and he stops your hips by pinning them to the door with his own, his cock pressing against your clit through the layers of fabric you both wear. You let out a moan and Namjoon’s remaining restraint seems to finally snap. His hand tightens once again in your hair, this time though is so he can tug your head to the side as he lavishes attention across the newly exposed stretch of your neck, nipping harsh marks as he goes that he only briefly soothes with sweeps of his tongue. His free hand slips under your shirt to pinch your nipple.

“Nothing to say now, slut?” He growls, pushing your shirt and bra up to have better access to your breasts.

His free hand gropes at your breasts as he continues to leave marks along your neck. You squirm, slipping your hands into Namjoon’s hair to try to direct his mouth lower, but he is unmoved by your attempts. He bites harshly at your neck and you feel blood well to the surface. He pulls back to level you with a look, blood smear across his lips.

“Do you really think you’re in charge here? You’ll get whatever I feel like giving you.” His voice is low and threatening and you feel yourself clench at the words.

He watches you almost passively, waiting to see if you have anything else to say. You swallow and chew your lip. You’re sorely tempted to continue to egg him on, but you know if you push him too much that this won’t end in a fun way. He smirks at your silence and undoes the button on your pants then slowly tugs the zipper down as well.

“So you do know how to shut your mouth.” He muses, seemingly mostly to himself.

You have a retort on the tip of your tongue but any words you were about to say escapes you as his fingers start probing along your slit. He gathers some of your wetness then tugs his hand free from your pants. He holds his fingers up between the two of you, observing them curiously.

“You’re so wet already.” He gaze meets yours. “Always such a slut, huh? Always just ready to give it up to whoever?” He turns you around and you gasp when your bare front is pressed against the cold, unforgiving metal of the door. His breath hits your ear as he speaks again and a shudder rolls through you. “Even ready for someone who hates you to fuck you.” He pauses, pressing his erection against your ass. “You disgust me.”

You smirk, turning your head slightly so he can see the amusement on your face, knowing exactly what needs to be done to egg him on. “If I’m disgusting, what’s it say about you that you’re going to fuck me, hm?”

He turns your head forward forcefully and the silence of the alley is disturbed by the resounding smack he lays on your ass. You moan, letting your head fall back as you push your ass out. He snorts derisively at your reaction to the spank.

“God, of course a whore like you would like that.”

You giggle. “Aw, Joonie, I’m hurt. Are you saying you didn’t remember that I liked being spanked?”

The slap this time falls on the other cheek, much harder than the first one. You let out a pleased hum and you can practically feel Namjoon’s irritation rising again. He pauses then, his hold on your hair keeping you from looking behind you to see what he might be thinking about. Then his hand is sliding back into your pants, his fingers quickly finding your clit. You gasp, surprised and a little unsure of what to do, you hadn’t anticipated this. He rubs circles around your clit a few times before his fingers move lower and he slides two inside, hooking them immediately to find your g-spot.

His fingers quickly pick up speed rubbing against your g-spot. His thumb once again finding your clit and his lips find an unmarked space on your neck to mark up. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it slut?” You hum an affirmative. “You wanna come, slut?”

You nod and Namjoon chuckles darkly against your neck. The sound should worry you and somewhere in the back of your mind you know you should be on your toes, but Namjoon’s fingers are quickly pushing you towards orgasm. You tense, feeling your peak closing in and just as it’s about to crest, you’re suddenly left with nothing at all. You whine as Namjoon removes both hands from you and takes a step back.

You glare at him over your shoulder. “What the fuck?” You spit out.

Namjoon gives you a smug grin. “Sucks not getting what we want doesn’t it, slut?”

You pout, wiggling your ass at him a little. “Joonie,” you coo.

He presses a hand between your shoulder blades. “God, I wish you would just shut the fuck up.”

“Fuck me and find out if I will.” You taunt.

He surprises you with two more sharp smacks to your ass, one on each cheek, and the pleasant burning sting blooms across your cheeks. Then he quickly tugs your pants, along with your panties, down your thighs. He delivers two more harsh smacks, harder than the others and you feel your ass burning, just barely pushing into being too painful. You hear him undo his buckle and then the rustle of fabric. Then he’s pressing his bare cock against your ass. You moan and Namjoon spanks you again.

“Shut up. I don’t want to fucking hear you.” He grunts and you chew your lip to muffle any noises.

He lazily grinds his cock against your ass and you fight the urge to squirm or say something. After what feels like hours of his teasing, he finally positions himself at your dripping entrance and fully sheaths himself in one swift thrust. You gasp as Namjoon quickly starts a punishing pace, accompanied by smacks to your ass every time you get too noisy for his liking.

“Joonie…”

You half expect to get slapped again for going so far as to moan his name. What you don’t expect is for him to reach around and wrap a hand around your throat. You gasp and his fingers tighten.

“I swear, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to rip your panties off and stuff them down your throat.”

Your mouth hangs open and you feel dizzy at the sudden lack of blood flow. Namjoon continues to thrust and when he deems you’ve had the time to consider his threat, his fingers loosen, though they remain in place as a reminder. Namjoon shifts and his cock now rubs perfectly against your g-spot with every thrust. You can feel the moan threatening to spill from your lips and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth to smother it.

Namjoon presses a smirk to your neck. “What a good, slut.” He coos, voice tinged with a hint of mocking. “I suppose you deserve a reward for finally behaving.”

You shudder and nod frantically. Namjoon’s hand tightens a little around your throat again as his other one slide down to rub at your clit and you’re suddenly really glad that Namjoon’s hand on your throat is restricting your sound as much as your blood flow because the stimulation has you ready to sob.

His hand loosens again and his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Come, you slut. Come all over my cock like the cock hungry little whore we both know you are.” Your whine is cut off by his hand tightening again and tears prick at your eyes. “Come for me, Y/n.”

You orgasm rushes through you at the use of your name and Namjoon releases your throat to tilt your head to the side and sink his fangs into your neck. You sob as he feeds, his saliva doubling the sensations coursing through you as his fingers keep working. Your hands feebly push against the hand working your clit, trying to get him to stop when you become too sensitive. He ignores all of your attempts and tears drip down your cheeks as a second orgasm pulses through you.

You gasp in relief when his mouth and hand finally release you but it’s short lived because he grabs hold of your hips and starts pounding into you, chasing his own orgasm now. You moan as he uses you and every time his hips meet your sensitive ass, it sends a delightful mix of pleasure and pain coursing through you. And a few more hard thrusts later his hips stutter and you feel him emptying himself inside you. He groans, forehead resting between your shoulder blades while he takes a moment to catch his breath.

Finally he pulls out and tucks himself back into his pants, you feel his come start dripping from your abused hole. Namjoon roughly tugs your pants back up over your bruising ass and you hiss as the rough material is dragged across your skin. He spins you around to face him and tugs your shirt back down then grips your jaw roughly.

He levels you with such a look of indifference and disdain that it makes your heart hurt a little. “Stay the fuck away from my boys. I don’t want to fucking see you again.”

And with that he turns and disappears back into the night. You stare after him for a moment in a daze. You stay leaning against the door, trying to wrap your head around the conflicting emotions coursing through you. A part of you wishes things were different with Namjoon, things never should have gotten this bad between the two of you. Your phone buzzes then and you snap yourself out of your thoughts before they venture somewhere you blocked off long ago. You tug it out to read the message that lights up the your screen and your stomach twists with something like guilt.

Kookie: Noona! Namjoon hyung went to the studio for the night. Can me and Jin hyung come over??

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amicaniiya · 5 years

Text

After Hellbent (Part 4)

(Now, this one got... quite huge. I didn’t manage to cram in everything I wanted, but anyway, enjoy your 2000 words of angst and cuddling!)

Lance always had some beds free - They often stopped by inbetween investigations for fuel and rest - and even though they were already worn out and old, Vivi was once again thankful to him for it. In that moment, an actual bed and a soft blanket seemed like heaven on earth. She felt horrible; Her whole body was screaming in pain. She yawned, again. With a muffled thud, Vivi fell onto the bed. She didn’t even bother to change her clothes wrapped herself up, slowly closing her eyes. It had been an eventful night… She really needed some good, deep sleep.

Vivi couldn’t sleep. She tried, rolling around restlessly, making the old bed creak and bend beneath her, but no success. Her eyes couldn’t even stay open anymore, but there was just no rest for her; This awful headache didn’t let her get any. It was as if a swarm of bees stuck in her head, buzzing around in there. She made some fruitless attempts of finding a position she could finally fall asleep in, but eventually gave up on it and resigned herself to staring up at the ceiling. Maybe I should ask Lance for some pain killers?, she thought lying there.

She felt something fluffy settling right next to her head - Mystery had curled up on what was supposed to be her pillow. She chuckled. He always snatched it away from her. He never changed, did he... Her smile faded. Seeing him sprawled out like that, he looked just like every other pet. He had been with her as long as she could remember. She knew he had not wanted to deceive them, but still… He has probably been alive for god knows how long… Why was did he even bother to be with them? Did her family know?

She couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was driving her crazy; So much was going on all at once… First, Mystery being a kitsune. Seeing real supernatural creatures had been her dream ever since she had been young; Real ghosts, real monsters, real yokai! She always wanted to know how close their description were to the actual thing, she wanted to study them, interact with them. Finally being having the chance to do exactly that, of course she was excited! But, discovering that your own dog was one and you never knew? That was… another story.

And of course, there was that ghost. His appearance had changed a bit from back then, but if she remembered correctly, it was the same one that had chased Arthur in that haunted mansion… She didn’t know, or at least she couldn’t remember, what had happened between them. Before, that ghost was dead set on killing Arthur; He had even pursued them through half the state! Now, they were… friends? Again? Whatever happened in that truck apparently made them make up with each other. Right, the others seemed to know that ghost somehow. Ever since that one day Arthur lost his arm, she had problems with her memory. Was he an old friend, maybe? She pictured his face, trying to figure out who he might be. He did seem familiar, but… What did the others say his name was? Lewis…

Throb

She flinched. Just thinking of him sent a flash of pain through her head. Curling up from the stinging headache, she tried to dig deeper, making her head pound even harder than before. She knew him. However, any memory of him escaped her. It was infuriating! Something told her he had been a major part in their life, just... Her face flushed red. She quickly buried her face into the blanket, even though there was only a sleeping Mystery with her, his ears twitching in response to her moving. What that yokai, Shiromori, had said… She probably just tried to tease Lewis. But, maybe, had she really been his…? She couldn’t finish her thought before she heard yelling from outside.

“Is that supposed to be a fucking joke?! I’m dead, Arthur!” Even through the small gap of the tilted window, she had to cover her ears. It had sounded closer to an explosion than an actual voice, making her ears ring. How could anyone be this loud? Suddenly, she shot up in bed, wide awake. Arthur! Next to her, Mystery slowly lifted his head, the ears searching for the source of the disturbance. He looked at Vivi and tilted his head with a questioning expression of his face. He didn’t need to speak, even though he could, she knew what he meant.

“Yeah, let’s go”, she told him. He nodded and, still drowsy, he jumped off the mattress, shaking himself awake. He turned to her, waiting for her to lead the way. Vivi was about to go, but then, she hesitated. Was it really okay? He did hide the truth all this time and…

She clapped her hand onto her face, startling Mystery and making him jump. This was not the time for that!

With newfound resolve, she rushed outside as blood shot into her now tingling cheeks, Mystery following right behind her.

Warm. That was the first thing Arthur noticed; Lewis was really warm. Not as if he was feverish - could ghosts even get ill? - it was… pleasant and somewhat nostalgic, like a soft blanket. It was a strange experience… But he had to say, quite nice. “I missed you so much, big guy”, he whispered, mostly to himself. Snuggling deeper into the embrace, he listened to the slow, steady heart beat. (He chose to ignore the fact that technically, with Lewis being a ghost, there shouldn’t he a pulse present. Too cozy.)

That moment didn’t last too long though. Steps approached, from the sound of it clearly in a hurry. “Arthur!”, Vivi yelled as she ran towards them, “Are you- ?”. She stopped in her tracks when she realized what was happening. It was… different from what she’d expected and consequently confused her quite a lot.

Arthur lifted his head, some tears still escaping his eyes. To Vivi’s relief, he seemed otherwise fine. Waiting for an explanation, she tapped her foot impatiently, also throwing one or two glances at Lewis.

There was something he wanted to say, hesitantly opening his mouth only to close it again without a word, a troubled expression on his face. “It okay Vivi, things just got a bit heated, nothing serious. Right, Lewis?” She turned to the ghost, who kept avoiding her eyes. There was some redness around his black eyes and dark spots on his suit, she noticed.

She sighed and sat down, her back against the wall. “I guess this can’t wait any longer”, she told them, gesturing them to sit down as well, “We got to talk.” Arthur and Lewis exchanged glances and eventually settled down next to her. “So, start from the beginning”, she said. Pointing at Lewis, she asked, “Who are you? And what is your relationship with us?” She went straight to the point, taking Lewis by surprise. After the shock though, He had to smile. Right, that was Vivi as he knew her.

“It’s… quite a long story”, he told her, “and I recently realized that there’s many things I misunderstood, causing me to almost… kill my best friend.” He lowered his eyes as he said it. He took a deep breath. He began with who he was; His name, his adoptive family, the peppers, and how he got to them. Then, he told her about how he had become their friend and eventually ended up dating her, their time doing investigations together… Arthur interrupted here and there, adding things he’d had missed.

Somewhere in the middle, Arthur started grinning. “Remember that time a customer at the Paradiso was talking dirty behind Vivi’s back and -” Lewis became flustered, “Dude, no, sTOP!”, he yelled at him. But to no avail; Arthur kept going, a diabolic grin on his face. “- you literally just lifted that guy with one arm and took him out like a bag of trash? His face, oh man!” “Arthur, stop it...”, Lewis begged, his face red in embarrassment, but he couldn’t help but smile. Being together with them, chatting and joking around like this after all this this time, it felt so good. It had been hard to learn Vivi didn’t have any memories of him. She seemed to slowly regain them now, but there was still a long way to go… They carried on like this - it was several years worth of information after all - for some time. But suddenly, the smiles on Arthur and Lewis faces vanished.

“What’s wrong, guys?”, Vivi asked, worried why they didn’t go on. Lewis glanced towards Arthur, who was clearly uncomfortable, unconsciously reaching for his missing arm. He didn’t know what to say either. Mystery whimpered, guilt and regret showing on his face.

“I think I should continue from here on”, he said quietly. The others looked at him in surprise. “That night was where Arthur lost his arm, you, Vivi, your memory and… Lewis his life”, he explained in a serious voice, “I’m… truly ashamed at my inability to save you, Lewis.” His ears dropped in shame and he averted his eyes. He had obviously taken the events in that cave to heart.

“Several lesser ghosts dwelled in that cave; Usually, my mere presence keeps beings like this at bay, but there was a shocking amount living in that place. “While they were certainly spirits of the dead, I doubt they even had any sense of self in that state, unlike you, Lewis. Those ghosts were closer to mindless spirits, only looking for a body to possess as they lacked one of their own. And they found a fitting vessel… in Arthur.”

The others’ eyes widened in shock, but they stayed silent and waited for him to go on.

“After we split up, they entered his arm and used it to push Lewis to his death. As weak as they were, I didn’t notice it until… it was too late.” He stopped against, his short tail nervously twitching, “I… kind of panicked after this. Thinking about how to prevent you from getting completely taken over, Arthur, without using too much of my powers, the only thing I could think of in that moment was - A hasty and foolish idea, I realized afterwards -… biting off your possessed arm.”

Arthur softly squealed, turning his left side away from the whimpering dog. This made Mystery even more downcast, earning Arthur a glare from Vivi. He bit his lip, bringing himself to calm down.

“Look… What’s done is done, Mystery. Nobody can take the very best action every single time. I’m still here, thanks to you… And you’re still our friend.” They all went silent for a moment, unsure what to say.

Then, out of nowhere, Vivi burst out laughing. The others, startled, couldn’t react.

“Wha- Vivi, why are you laughing?!”, Arthur asked.

“You know… Oh man.” Again, she was interrupted by a violent laughing fit. She wiped away a tear, still shaking. “You’re really one to talk, Arthur. Who was the one speedballing their pain meds and three energy drinks and then didn’t sleep for a week?” Lewis, both seriously concerned and cracking up at the image, shouted, “You did what?! Arthur, why?” “Y’know, no need to go mom mode, guys…”, Arthur muttered. Mystery snorted, having forgotten his dejection from before, “It’s not really “mom mode” if you start seeing distortions in the fabric of time and space and try to use it by building a time machine out of empty energy drink cans.” “Well, fair, but… “, he couldn’t finish as he himself started giggling.

Some time later, Lance found them outside, they leaning against each other. All that chatting and laughing had tired them out, making them fall asleep soon after.

“Why do I even have those beds ready for you when you kids are not using them…”, he shook his head as he wrapped them with the biggest, warmest blanket he had, an almost ancient family heirloom full of patches and quickly made repairs, careful not to disturb them. He softly patted each of them. He took Arthur’s robotic arm, taking it with him as he went inside to let them catch some well-deserved z’s.

End of Part 4

First Part | Previous [Part 3] | Next [Part 5] | Master Post

#msa #msa hellbent #msa ghost #msa freaking out #mystery skulls #mystery ben #Mystery skulls animated #mystery skulls ghost #mystery skulls freaking out #Mystery skulls hellbent #my stories #after hellbent #my stuff

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twodaysintojune · 5 years

Text

I’m Not Jesus

Supernatural, Debriel, Warnings: Issues with catholic religion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture. There’s nothing explicit but it’s definitely there.

Finde me at AO3

Loosely based on the song I'm not Jesus by Apocalyptica ft. Corey Taylor. I've always had an issue when certain people don't get the punishment they deserve and I always have wanted to see justice happen. Fast forward to today and when I happened to stumble on the song once more after such a long time I immediately knew Gabriel would definitely give their just desserts to these kind of disgraceful bastards and not hold back on the punishment. This is still darker than the things I've written so far so please tread lightly. The Debriel at the end was just me indulging in my ship.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

A notebook and some pens flew across the motel room. Dean had had enough composure to not throw the laptop away along the other stuff.

“Dean, calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down!? This bastard could be doing something to any of those kids RIGHT NOW and we don’t have a way to get anywhere near them or get them out!”

Sam sighed while Dean dragged his hands through his hair in desperation.

“We can’t help it, after those kids tried to escape two days ago security has been reinforced…”

“Maybe we should just shoot the bastard down.”

“Dean, we don’t have actual proof that he is doing anything to them...”

“Sam, that kid Jason was trembling, TREMBLING when the cops told him they had to take him away from me and towards that bastard! You saw him crying for god’s sake!”

“...And it would be really bad if we caught the attention of the police if we suddenly disappear after the deed is done.”

Dean just glared at his brother. He was obviously right but it still sucked to be placed in this situation. They had come because they had read the corpse of a kid had been found in a riverbank nearby, the odd thing was that the kid had been at an orphanage run by a local church that according to rumours had apparently been missing children throughout the years that the church said they had transferred but never arrived to their destination.

After Jason and the other kid Rhys escaped, Dean was dreading that it had actually been the absolutely not supernatural but just as monstrous priest the one that had killed these kids. The worse was that now that the priest knew their faces they were unable to even walk two blocks near the building before any of the people at his congregation pointed them out and shooed them off. What could he actually do to gather proof that these kids needed to be rescued? He started to pace around the room trying to think of something.

“We need to think this out.”

“A fucking miracle, that’s what we need...” Suddenly, Dean stopped in his tracks. “Of course!”

Sam watched his brother sit at the edge of the bed and join his hands in prayer.

“Uh, maybe it would be easier to just use the phone, Cas can’t answer back with a prayer.”

“Shhh, dammit I’m trying to concentrate”

“Well maybe you could try harder, your prayers are the most laughable thing I’ve ever heard.”

Sam turned towards the newcomer’s voice, gun in hand before realising who it was.

“Gabriel!?”

“The One and Only” Gabriel winked at Sam “So—oomph!” Gabriel had been almost tackled by Dean with how hard the hunter had thrown himself to hug him.

“Man! I’m so glad you came! We need your help so bad! You’re my only hope.”

“Wow, I.. I’m happy to see you too...”

Sam looked at Gabriel with suspicion, he wasn’t sure if he had just seen the archangel blush for a fraction of a second. Quickly, Dean filled him in on the situation at hand. It was frightening to see how his usual aloof stance slowly turned into a mask shadowed by something terrible.

“...That’s why I called you, I want you to fly yourself in there and find proof against that bastard.”

“Oh, I’ll find proof alright.”

“...Gabe?”

After a snap of his fingers, Gabriel delighted himself with the look of shock both hunters gave him. In front of them, instead of the usual archangel, a fourteen or something year old version of Gabriel stood back at them. A thinner, more delicate frame than what was expected of him, soft locks of brown blondish hair curled over his blushed face, fairer skin that enhanced his rosy pouted lips. An evil grin that reflected the sparkle in his huge whiskey coloured eyes was the only thing that broke the angelical image he was giving out right now.

“Well, how do I look?”

Dean gulped down dryly.

“I mean this in the best worst possible way given the situation Gabe but… Man, you look like you’re literally asking for a banging from that son of a bitch.”

Sam snapped his head towards Dean with a glare of disapproval. It was true that right now Gabriel looked like a… depraved man’s wettest dream with such angelic looks but surely there was some sort of punishment for saying something like THAT to the face of a friggin’ actual archangel!

Surprisingly for Sam, this actually made Gabriel smile more. He snapped his fingers once more and surely a lightning came out of nowhere outside and rain started to fall, a minute later it was literally a downpour. Taking off his jacket and giving it to Dean he messed his hair more, undid the laces of his boots and a wave of his hand made him look like he had not been able to sleep under a roof for a week. He went to open the door.

“Well, I’m off.”

Before he stepped out, he felt someone holding his arm for a second. Gabriel turned to look at Dean.

“Gabe… be careful.”

Gabriel laughed. It was obvious the only person who would have to be careful was that bastard priest, he didn’t understand the reason Dean looked so concerned.

“Sure Dean-o, don’t worry about it.”

Confidently, he stepped outside and made a run towards the church five blocks away because of-fucking-course he had to be that extra with the scenario. Dean stood at the door until he could no longer see Gabriel before closing it back, went for a beer and sat down on the edge of the bed once more.

“Do you think he’ll gather enough proof to get that bastard in jail in just a night?”

Dean turned at his brother with an odd look.

“Sammy... If he gets proof that he’s doing something, anything, to those children; he’s not gonna let that bastard rot in jail.”

It took Sam a couple of seconds to realize that they had literally unleashed the wrath of heavens against the fucker, he was not going to survive the night. His concept of right and wrong told him that letting Gabriel kill that man was almost as bad as shooting him in the face but still, it was Gabriel the Archangel the one delivering judgement. That had to count for something, right? Sam grabbed a beer and sat by Dean’s side.

“Well then I guess that’ll serve him right.”

“Just desserts alright...”

They drank their beer in awkward silence, getting ready to wait for Gabriel to show up once more. This was going to be a long night.

---

It took Father Roland almost an hour more than usual to bid goodbye to everyone that night because of the sudden downpour and he was already getting on edge having to smile so much at Mrs. Rowan’s stupid idle remarks on yesterday’s tv show. He had to do something about this frustration soon, little Rhys still had to pay some punishment for trying to escape like that. He had just closed the door when a sudden movement at the nearest corner called his attention, looking closely in the dimmed lights it looked like a person.

Father Roland neared them cautiously until he was upfront. “Who are you?”

The crouching figure jumped scared and turned towards the priest taking his breath away. Behind layers of sticky and wet dirt beautiful melted golden eyes and features that could put all the angels in heaven to shame were staring at him in fright.

“Please don’t sack me. I… I won’t do anything bad.”

Father Roland gave him the disgustingly sweet smile he gave to his favorite boys.

“Dear me boy, I would never think of sacking you. My god you’re drenched, let’s get you dry. Come on over this way, you can clean up at the house.”

Listening at the man’s thoughts disgusted him. Images of bruised flesh and screams of innocent children filled his brain. So Gabriel focused on the charade of pretending to be a sad little runaway runt that was being picked up by the (overly) caring priest. He had promised Dean he would get enough proof first so he just had to wait a little more and stoically stand the bastard’s hands holding him up with a bit too more strength than what should be normal. He expected it wouldn’t take long, the first point of alarm had been triggered when he clearly read how Father Roland was rejoicing on the fact he had in his hands a boy that apparently no one would miss.

So you’re already sinning in mind eh, Father Roland?

He was led to a bathroom in a small apartment adjacent to the church and was told to wash himself. Sighing, Gabriel made a go to undress. He was disappointed when the priest didn’t actually attack him while taking his bath but that obviously was because he preferred to be a voyeur, otherwise there was no reason for the shower not having any curtains. Gabriel took some time to finish his shower considering that a boy that hadn’t taken a bath in such a long time wouldn’t really rush. In the middle of it the priest arrived with a towel and some clothes. Gabriel covered himself in apparent shame while the priest laughed it off telling him it was perfectly alright and not to feel ashamed.

“Don’t feel ashamed my ass, you obviously scanned me over entirely in the process.” mumbled Gabriel after the priest had left him once more. Second point of alarm triggered.

Finishing the shower, he dried himself and cursed under his breath. A deteriorated large t-shirt and some old tight shorts. For someone dealing with an orphanage it didn't look like he cared much about the things he had for the children. Third point.

“Well look at that! You look like a completely different boy now! Come, have a seat, let's have dinner.”

Gabriel sat in front of him mumbling something he hoped passed as ‘thank you’. Taking a bite of the mashed potatoes he groaned in pleasure he didn’t expect.

“You like it?”

“Yes… did you do this?”

He leaned forward a bit and winked at the boy. “One needs to find joy in the simple daily tasks.”

Well fuck it thought Gabriel, this is why this world seems so unfair most of the time. Here I am, sitting in front of a child abuser that prepares mashed potatoes worth of a showdown against Dean’s. If it weren’t for how he’s looking at me right now I wouldn’t suspect a thing, heck, he could be poisoning me right now and… Gabriel stopped his train of thought and carefully began to disentangle the molecules that formed the mashed potatoes.

(C6H10O5)n

That was starch, definitely from the potatoes, and over there were the fat molecules and further more salt and testing a little bit more water and lactose and...

C16H12FN3O3

Oh.

There it was. Roofies.

It was so obvious, crush the bitches and mix them in the mashed potatoes. Not a single kid would find out. Well, too bad for you Father Roland, I’m not a normal kid at all.

So far all evidence had been circumstantial, Dean’s telling of the events, sinning in mind was still not an action so he could easily make the priest repent on that, even being a disgusting voyeuristic pervert could be forgiven to a point if he didn’t do anything else, he would eventually land in Hell when he died but that wouldn’t be Gabriel’s problem. But things had changed now that he was actively trying to drug him.

“What’s your name kid?”

Gabriel turned to look at the man, if he was going to do this then it was going to be all tricks out and for a man that falsely professed upon religion, a religious styled punishment was the most fitting things of all.

He left his fork down at the plate and gave him a smile.

“Gabriel. They call me Gabriel.”

“Gabriel eh? That’s a very nice name, did you know that your name is the name of an angel?”

“An angel?” Gabriel went forward to drink a bit of the adulterated soda.

“An Archangel actually. They hold the highest of ranks in Heaven just below God.”

“Who else holds that rank?”

“Well, there’s Michael and Raphael.”

Gabriel frowned a little.

“What about Lucifer?”

“What about him?”

“He’s an Archangel too.”

“No he’s not.”

“Why not?”

“Because he has fallen. He cannot hold the title of Archangel because he refused of it when he fought against God’s will.”

“How do you know? Where is that written in the Bible?”

Father Roland stammered for a second.

“That’s just the way it is kid.”

“Just like that? Shouldn’t we like, reeeally check the book? Or maybe ask Lucifer about it?”

The priest snorted, he was obviously getting frustrated. Figures, thought Gabriel, a person that preaches religion but doesn’t believe in God wouldn’t really spend much time actually reading his books.

“You cannot ask anything to the Devil boy, if you mess with him, you’ll end up in Hell.”

“Have you even tried?”

“Are you asking me to give up my faith?”

“I’m just telling you to fact-check your statements, it wouldn’t do good if a priest was unable to talk about the most basic of things with his congregation.”

Father Roland stood up livid and moved towards Gabriel’s seat with a forced smile.

“You’re getting a little snappy, maybe we should rest and keep with this very interesting talk tomorrow.”

“Oh I think not. I like myself snappy, thank you.” Gabriel smirked at him.

The priest slapped Gabriel with so much force that any normal kid would have literally been thrown off the chair. Gabriel just turned his head a little.

“Don’t be disrespectful to me!”

It took the priest a couple of seconds to perceive the unnatural pain in his hand, when he turned to look at it it was already turning red and swelling a bit.

“Is everything alright Father Roland?”

Gabriel could practically see the cogs in his brain turning at full speed trying to understand how on earth this kid was unfaced and unblemished despite how hard he had hit him. A second later the man was picking Gabriel up from the shirt with evident anger. He obviously had to be more thorough with this little brat. Gabriel wanted to see what his plan of action was so he allowed the priest to manhandle him.

Father Roland dragged Gabriel to a tiny room at the end of a stretch hallway and threw him on a bed. Gabriel perceived the acrid undertones of sweat drenched with fear and other less graceful fluids. It apparently was the same room where the priest sleeped. This was beyond disgusting, he acted like an animal, revolving over his past victories and dragging them on, only to increase the fear of the next child. He was visually frantic, his orderly plan of drugging the kid was not working at all but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get away with what he wanted. He always got away with what he wanted.

And he wanted Gabriel.

The priest placed himself on top of Gabriel while turning him around, holding his hands backwards, tying him up with a rope he naturally had at hand.

“We’ll have to give you some lessons on how to respect your elders you little piece of shit.”

“What are you gonna do?” Muffled Gabriel through the sheets.

“Wait and see.”

A moment later, the man was pulling Gabriel’s shorts down and the next one he was thrown against the wall by an unknown force. The priest had a grunt forced out of him with the impact, it had been so hard that he temporarily lost his sight, almost fainting.

“Aaaaand... That’s it.”

The priest looked upwards and looked at Gabriel disoriented. Instead of the old clothes he had given him, he was wearing the clothes he had before, only now they were clean and nice.

“What the hell!? What’s going on!? Put me down you little bitch!”

Gabriel magicked himself a chair and sat down to properly look at the man. It was funny to see how out of his element he was right now. This was his space, this was his room and in just a flash Gabriel had turned it all over and made him feel defenseless. He radiated hate towards the archangel. Gabriel laughed in mirth. It was a laugh that would have been labeled as beautiful if the situation had been a completely different one.

“Are you sure you should be using that kind of language with me? Right now I’m the one holding you at will.”

“I don’t know how you’re doing this but once I find out...”

“What? You’ll make me pay for it? Oh man, don’t be an idiot. You’ve been beating and raping kids for years and you managed to keep yourself out of punishment until now. Too bad for you the Winchesters found you along the way… Long story short Roland, you picked the short end of the straw this time and I’m here to pass on some good ol’ Judgement. But not before you tell me what you did with the rest of the kids.”

Father Roland laughed, he was desperately trying to hold onto some sort of power.

“Good luck with that, I’ll die first before telling you a thing.”

Gabriel smirked “You just don’t know how happy I am to hear those words Roland, there’s no other way I’d prefer to go around this.”

With a movement of his hand Gabriel brought Roland back down and on his knees and stood up in front of him.

“But first, maybe a demonstration of what will come to you if you don’t start talking.”

With a snap, Gabriel turned the floor below the priest’s knees into heated coal. Immediately burning his flesh. The man wailed in pain throughout the long 15 seconds the torture lasted. He was sweating already when the lumps of coal disappeared once more. Threads of burnt polyester fabric from his pants adhering painfully to the raw flesh.

“So, Roland. Feeling up for a confession?”

Four hours later, the priest’s entire body was covered in burnt flesh and blisters. And it hadn’t been the man’s fault, with the type of torture he had received he would have confessed everything in less than 20 minutes if Gabriel hadn’t taken his voice away every time he was about to talk.

“What did you say? I can’t hear you Roland! Are you sure you’re trying enough??”

Eventually, Gabriel allowed him to talk. Moments after Roland would have collapsed if it weren’t for the fact that Gabriel was keeping him awake.

“No can’t do Roland, these are your last moments alive, you should treasure them instead of letting them go by.”

Roland started to cry, he couldn’t keep the farce of strength any more.

“Wh… What are... Are you a demon?”

Gabriel turned to look at him like he had grown a second head, sitting sideways on his chair.

“You didn’t listen to me well when I told you my name did you?”

Gabriel loved it, that moment of realization hitting a person’s eyes. The myriad of questions flowing at once. How? Why? All followed by denial.

“You can’t be Gabriel...” His voice was fading away.

“How come?”

“Gabriel is… an archangel… from Heaven… He wouldn’t…”

“You know Roland, I think you’re forgetting a very important thing.”

Roland looked at him, expecting his words, it wasn’t like he could do much anymore.

“All angels are soldiers, and I am a High Commander of My Father’s legions.”

Eyes flashed bright blue and wings spanned behind him in light while he stood up with pride. He could literally feel how Roland paralyzed in fear, tears streaming down his wrecked features while his lips mumbled the first words of the Lord’s Prayer.

Sam and Dean woke up startled by the sound of a Fire truck siren and police cars passing by the road next to the motel. After a couple of hours waiting for Gabriel, they had eventually fallen to a light sleep on the same bed watching tv. Looking at each other, they strode outside the room and ran outside, a dark cloud of smoke rising up from the place they knew the church was.

They ran towards the church, a group of kids were already herded two blocks away from the commotion, the two kids Dean had found broke into a run towards him when they saw him and held themselves to him despite the efforts of the policeman. Dean calmed the man down and moved with the kids closer to their group so that he wouldn’t make a fuzz.

“Are you alright kids? What happened?”

“The church’s on fire.”

“I woke up to go to the bathroom and I smelled the smoke, I made the call.”

“That was very brave of you.”

The kid smiled, it was the very first smile Dean had seen on him. He left them to approach his brother.

“The fire started on the priest’s house, it’s apparently been controlled at the moment without danger of it reaching other buildings but they’re still on hold...”

“And what about the priest?”

Sam looked at Dean with a look that showed him he was unwilling to say more about it with the kids so close.

“Pretty sure he’s well past the Reception Committee downstairs by now. Thanks for bringing my jacket by the way.”

Both men got startled when the currently teen Gabriel talked behind them and grabbed the piece of clothing Dean had under his arm. The man looked at him trying to assess his expression.

“Are you okay Gabe?”

Gabriel stared at Dean with a funny look.

“Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m sorry but with the way you look right now I...”

“...You were actually worried about me? Like, for real?”

“It’s not like I don’t understand you’re still an archangel, I just—”

Dean was cut short when Gabriel gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks.”

Sam felt just as shocked as his brother but just as him tried to ignore what had just happened to keep his own sanity if for nothing else.

Two weeks later Dean was still following up the news on the priest case despite being five states away at the bunker. When the flames of the priest’s home had been finally doused, they discovered all the evidence of the child abuse in his bedroom which had been miraculously untouched by the fire and the investigation began. Just that morning the police had discovered the remains of a third child, probably the last they would find considering the time that had passed from their disappearances until now. All the children at the orphanage had been moved to different places. Rhys and Jason had called Dean twice already, once to tell him where they were going to land and then when they arrived, he had given them his phone in case they needed him for anything, at all. Someone reached over his shoulder to look at the screen of his laptop.

“Still looking at that?”

Dean turned to look back at Gabriel, he was back to being the man he had always known. It was the first time he had seen him after the events of that night, the archangel had excused himself by stating that there were some things in heaven that needed to be addressed. He looked at him for a second before starting to quote a part of the article.

“It has been a miracle that all the evidence of the whereabouts of these poor children was intact after the fire. Even when there is nothing we can do to help them now, at least they can be given proper burial, their memory shall remain.”

Gabriel looked at the screen while taking a seat by Dean’s side, he was unfazed by the text.

“Is there anything funny ‘bout that?”

“...You made up some of that evidence to lead the police, didn’t you?”

“Hmm, maybe?”

Dean looked at the archangel profoundly and nodded gravely.

“... Thanks Gabe.”

Gabriel just arched up his eyebrows in surprise. He actually expected Dean to tell him off for making up evidence after he had answered so nonchalantly. Not for him to give him that look of… of… of what?

“Uh… You know it’s not like I care much about this but… are you alright Dean?”

Dean tore his eyes once more from the screen towards Gabriel.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.. I mean… it’s just… you… you should already be lashing back at me for something… anything” Gabriel waved his hands like he couldn’t get anything around him. “Heck, you didn’t even complain about the beer I got from your stash!” Now he waved his hand in front of him where he was indeed holding out a beer from the dark ale six pack Dean had bought for a special dinner a week ago.

“What are you talking about? What you did was amazing! You helped so many children to escape an awful fate with that bastard! Why would I scream at you for that?”

“Because I don’t know you anymore! I can’t handle you this way!”

Dean was taken aback for a moment, Gabriel was upset now and it was obvious he didn’t understand what the problem about Dean being grateful towards him made him panic like that. But Dean got it. He understood that feeling of helplessness when the world around you turned in a way you never expected better than anyone else. And he also understood another thing, it was true that he liked the archangel enough to trust him like family despite all of their differences or probably because of all of them.

“Then you’ll have to learn how to handle me again.” He looked at Gabriel with a look that said ‘Come at me’.

Gabriel blushed and looked away, was there anything he could say to banter against him now?

“But I am kind of angry about the beer. I hope you know how to make it up to me before I fry your wings in holy oil.”

Gabriel turned back to him, the tone of his voice was definitely not even close to upset. It was soft and warm and… and what?

“Well, good luck making me do that, I could make some killer burgers but I have nothing to work with here.”

Dean smirked.

“I think that can be arranged.”

He stood up and began moving towards the kitchen, stopping just a moment to wait for Gabriel. Cautiously, the archangel stood up and went to follow Dean. Other times the hunter would have already been kicking him out but to be honest Gabriel didn’t really mind having a Dean that looked forward to something he had cooked.

#debriel #dark themes #gabriel #archangel gabriel #bamf gabriel #fanfic #one shot #fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic

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incursionofthedamnedrpg · 5 years

Photo

Name: Nathaniel “Nate” Walker Birthday: June 10th (29) Species: Warlock Lookalike: Luke Mitchell Availability: Taken

Personality

Nate is one of the most relaxed people you could meet. He doesn’t care about drama but at the same time, if a friend is in trouble or needs to vent, he is the first person who would be there for anyone. He cares immensely about people and trusts quite quickly. Nate just wants people to be happy and often takes chucks out of himself to make others happy. He is the type to give someone a cheesy present to cheer them up without being asked. He is a lovable person with a good heart that is always in the right place. He has suffered with depression in the past and that is why he focuses on other’s happiness now. He knows what it is like to be hurt but all of the pain in his past has just made him kind. Nathaniel may not reference the darker things in his life or even in what is going on around him but he is very much aware of what happens. He likes to observe situations around him before he acts and will always defend an underdog. He is always happy to help; no matter how big the request but often he can bite off more than he can chew. He just can’t say no.

Past

Nathaniel was born and raised in Sydney and more prominently in the suburb of Bondi Beach. He was the oldest brother of three sisters: Mia, Ava & Zoe. Being the oldest brother of girls meant that he was often protective of them but also willing to play their own games. He would play dolls and let them put make up on him. Not his most manly moment. His dad left when he was four years old with just the explanation of: I need to find myself. This was where Nathaniel had gained his magical abilities from. His father was losing control of his magic - being one of the more powerful warlocks of Australia - he left to go to Asia in a bid to recenter himself but never returned. When he found his pregnant mother crying over the letter, he went up to her and hugged her. He told her everything would be okay and he would be the man of the house. He never let her down on his promise. Even at the age of five, when she gave birth to Mia, he helped make things as easy as possible for his mother in this hard time. Mia was his last full blood sister. He would do anything for his mother that she asked him to do. A couple of years later, she gave birth to Ava who was made by yet another man who left his mother when he found out she was pregnant this time. Nathaniel now being seven could help much more than he did when he was five. Nate was starting to show signs of being a warlock which worried his mother but she was still in touch with his grandfather (his dad’s father) who was very active in Nate and Mia’s lives. He taught Nate all he ever needed to know about magic and gave him the grimoires of his family when he died when Nate was 21. The last of his sister’s was born when he was twelve but this time, the dad became a step-dad which Nate was happy to see. Someone who will treat his mother with respect.

Nate was always a smart kid academically and even with taking time to learn spells and magic, he still got A’s. Once he was 14, he showed an interest in one of his mother’s passions - surfing. He loved to be out in the water. It gave him time to think and time to recalibrate himself. He didn’t need to run away on some spirtual journey of control like his father. He would go surfing and spend time in the water swimming to calm down. That or going to the gym to work out any tension. But it was when he was surfing that he found a girl drowning. He got her on to his board and swam her back to the shore and performed CPR and ultimately saved her life. Her name was Sage and shortly after this incident, they started to date. They dated from when he was seventeen to when she cheated on him when he was twenty five. They were married at the time she cheated and had been married for a year but she had been cheating on him before they even got married. Of course he was hurt but he used that hurt to appreciate the time he did have with her and move on to new pastures.

When he was in college in Sydney studying social care. He had grown up raising his sisters with his mother which was the thing that made him want to help children out of bad situations but also help families that just needed a little bit of help along the way. He loves kids and always wanted to have kids and thought he would have those with Sage but that was not meant to be. For now he would settle for looking after kids. His youngest sister, Zoe, was the first to have a child in their family and he loved being an uncle but what made things harder was when Zoe died in a car crash. His niece, Rosie, was luckily not in the car but that didn’t help the sting of his sister being taken away from him. He practically helped her partner raise Rosie when Zoe died when he was 22. Now Rosie is 7 and is a happy young girl. Ava took the death of Zoe particularly hard which turned her to alcohol which Nate and Mia would tag team to help her get off the stuff for the next year on top of trying to raise Rosie. Ava has been alcohol free for four years now. During her time being drunk, Ava was found in the hospital with vampire bite marks and a lack of blood around six times and luckily didn’t die. This is how Nate found out about the supernatural beings as well as learning about angels and demons from the grimoire.

Present

In his grimoire, years prior to now, he had found a symbol of a family heirloom that had been buried in Mystic Falls in America. His family history had previously come from America, to England and then taken to Australia from there. He wanted to go to America to find this family heirloom but forgot about this mission due to all the heartbreak in recent years but now he feels ready to try and find this heirloom. He has, obviously, done his research on the little town. He can obviously see the cover ups that the town has done to hide just how insanely high the number of attacks have been so he knows to expect the worst but he is hoping to find his heirloom and keep himself smart to use his magic as a defence. Nate has had to take out a year visa to work in the US as a social care worker and managed to get himself situation in Mystic Falls and surrounding areas.

Connections

Molly Reynolds

He met Molly when she came to Bondi Beach. They did have a one night stand but afterwards when she tried to bite him, he had to use his magic to restrain her. He doesn’t know where they stand at this point…

Logan Booth

Nate met Logan when he came to Australia. Logan doesn’t know that Nate is a warlock but shortly after Logan disappeared one day, one of the local covens had been found dead. It was covered up as a satanic ritual.

Chester Lawrence

Nate enjoys Chester’s company over the few times he came to Australia. They became pen pals after the first visit and invited him back a second time.

#tvd rp #spn rp #to rp #luke mitchell fc #male #oc #witch #warlock #taken #taken male #tm #Taken OC #nathaniel walker

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sevens-evan · 6 years

Text

it ain’t love if i can’t feel it in my body and my blood

author: daisys-quake

rated: t

pairing: daisy johnson/jemma simmons

word count: 2554

summary: Jemma meets Daisy in a bar in Bulgaria. She then lets Daisy drink her blood in an alleyway. It’s maybe not one of her wiser decisions.

a/n: inspired by two dialogue prompts sent by an anon: “quit it or i’ll bite” and “killed him? wait, what, literally?”. the obligatory vampire au. i felt kind of stupid writing this, but you know what, i’ve also written entire fics about french fries, so this isn’t that bad. it was funny, then considerably more risqué than anything else i’ve written, then it took a decidedly angsty turn. i hope you like it.

For the record, when Jemma had decided to travel across Europe after graduating from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, she hadn’t intended on getting her blood drunk by a stranger in an alley in Bulgaria. She doesn’t even have an excuse for it, honestly. The girl is pretty, and Jemma has recently discovered that she is, in fact, very, very gay.

Besides, Daisy is shockingly upfront about the whole vampire thing. She leads Jemma out the back door of a bar and into the alley, shows her the fangs that push against her lips, and asks Jemma if she would mind being bitten by a vampire. Jemma doesn’t exactly hesitate. Daisy is gorgeous, and she’s giving Jemma the same look she gave her in the bar, all dark eyes and lips quirked up, only now her fangs are showing, and—well.

Jemma finds out, a few hours later, that Daisy has excellent taste in wine. She’s sitting against the headboard of a ridiculously large bed, with the softest sheets she’s ever encountered. Bruises mark her throat and thighs, some from Daisy drinking her blood, some…not, and Daisy returns from the kitchen, wrapped in a luxurious-looking white robe, carrying two wineglasses. She hands one to Jemma, who takes it with a smile, and sits on the bed at Jemma’s feet, tucking one leg beneath her.

“So you can taste things?” Jemma asks, sipping the wine and sighing appreciatively. Daisy seems to find that funny.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be able to?” she asks, smiling in amusement.

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I hadn’t given vampires much thought before today,” Jemma says. “Seeing as, you know, you’re not supposed to exist.” Daisy tips her head in acknowledgement and sips her own wine. Jemma doesn’t even try to hide the way she’s admiring the curve of Daisy’s throat, and if the suggestive grin Daisy gives her is any indication, Daisy catches her looking.

“Yes, I can taste things,” Daisy says, answering Jemma’s earlier question. “Food, alcohol, whatever else. I don’t need to eat, but I can still enjoy it.”

“And the blood?” Jemma asks, driven by an odd sort of morbid curiosity. “Does it taste good?” Daisy considers the question for a moment, leaning over Jemma and setting her wine on the nightstand. Jemma tries not to be visibly affected by their sudden proximity. Judging by the small, smug smirk that appears on Daisy’s face, she’s not all that successful. Daisy doesn’t return to her position near Jemma’s feet; instead, she crosses her legs and settles by Jemma’s hip.

“It’s different each time,” Daisy says, frowning thoughtfully. The expressions is…cute, is the word that springs to Jemma’s mind. It occurs to her that perhaps cute isn’t a word that normally applies to centuries-old, undead creatures, but the irrational side of Jemma’s mind (the side that’s been growing since she agreed to let someone she met in a bar a few hours ago drink her blood and subsequently slept with said someone) decides that it absolutely applies to Daisy. “Some people taste good. I usually drink blood bags, so I put them in smoothies and such to improve the flavor.” Jemma blinks. That is…not a nice image. Daisy catches Jemma’s disturbed look, and she smiles, sort of sadly. She looks vulnerable, which is another thing that Jemma wouldn’t expect from someone who literally cannot die. “Sorry,” Daisy murmurs, looking down at the sheets. “That…well, I guess it is kinda gross.”

“A bit,” Jemma admits, because she’s fairly sure Daisy would have some kind supernatural way of knowing if she lied. In a moment of bravery, she reaches out, setting a hand on Daisy’s leg. “But I asked.” She drains the last of her wine, setting the glass on the nightstand by Daisy’s, which is still partially full. “What do I taste like?” Daisy’s eyes shoot up from the sheets, and Jemma inhales sharply at the dark look in her eyes. “That…wasn’t meant to be a come-on,” she says, although the way her voice rasps sort of belies the statement. Daisy smirks, and oh, her fangs are showing again.

“Oh, it wasn’t?” she asks. Jemma shakes her head. Daisy glances down. Jemma follows her gaze, and oh look, her fingertips are tracing circles on Daisy’s thigh. She isn’t sure when that started. Daisy breathes out, long and slow, and suddenly, faster than Jemma’s eyes can see, her hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around Jemma’s wrist. “That tickles,” she says, and Jemma bursts out laughing. It’s ridiculous. Daisy is…Jemma hadn’t gotten an exact figure, but she’s well over two centuries old, and ridiculously badass, and superhuman, and ticklish.

“Stop laughing at me,” Daisy grumbles, but she doesn’t sound particularly upset. Jemma just laughs harder. Daisy reaches out, catching Jemma by the hips and lifting her effortlessly, pulling her away from the headboard and pushing her down onto her back on the mattress. “Quit it or I’ll bite you,” she says, placing her hands on either side of Jemma’s head and holding her body above Jemma’s, close enough that Jemma can feel the heat of her.

It’s an odd thing, that a vampire should be warm. Jemma would’ve expected her to be cold, physically and in every other way. Dead. Instead, Daisy is one of the most firmly alive people Jemma has ever met; kind and funny and mysterious, yes, but in a way that makes Jemma want to talk to no one else but her. And she’s warm.

“What if that’s the point?” Jemma says breathlessly. Daisy grins, and Jemma can see her fangs lengthening.

“Then you’re in luck,” Daisy says, and Jemma laughs again, because honestly, Daisy acts more like a dorky college student than a centuries-old, immortal monster.

Then Daisy’s fangs sink into her neck, and suddenly Jemma isn’t laughing anymore.

Jemma falls asleep, this time. Daisy hasn’t taken too much blood; she’s very controlled, very cautious, but Jemma’s body decides it’s time for a break anyway. She falls asleep in Daisy’s arms, feeling…safe, she supposes is the best word, in her half-asleep mind. Daisy makes her feel safe, warm.

Jemma’s last conscious that is that she’s having far too many feelings for a vampire that she’s known for less than a day.

Jemma wakes up some unknown amount of time later. It had been dark when she and Daisy had arrived at the hotel Daisy is staying at. It had been past midnight when they’d had wine. Now, predawn light is leaking in through the glass balcony doors. Jemma sits up, pushing her hair out of her face. The bed is empty beside her, but Jemma can see Daisy’s silhouette out on the balcony, leaning on the railing. Jemma retrieves a robe from the bathroom, wrapping it around herself and stepping out onto the balcony. She shivers at the cold concrete underneath her bare feet.

“I thought vampires burned up in sunlight,” she says, settling at the railing at Daisy’s side. Daisy is smoking, and Jemma has to make a conscious effort not to make a face at the smell.

“Common misconception,” Daisy says. “The European ones, occasionally. I just burn easily.” She sounds melancholy, contemplative.

“I would tell you the cigarettes could kill you,” Jemma says. “But…” Daisy half-smiles, putting out the cigarette (it’s mostly gone anyway) and tossing the butt into a trashcan in the corner of the balcony.

“One of the benefits of immortality,” Daisy says, almost bitterly. “No cancer.”

“You don’t sound particularly happy about that,” Jemma points out, as gently as she can. Daisy shakes her head and looks down at the street below, letting her hair hide her face from Jemma’s view.

“Just thinking,” she says, that same note of yearning and resignation in her voice. Jemma wants to say something to make it go away.

“How did you end up a vampire?” she says instead. Daisy straightens up, fixing her gaze on the beginnings of the sunrise before them.

“I was born in China,” she says. “Around three hundred years ago. My mother fell in love with an English merchant, who got her pregnant and then sailed back to England and abandoned her. She…she was a good mother.” Daisy still sounds sad, pained, but it’s more bittersweet now, that wistful ache gone. “It…wasn’t easy, back then, for her to raise me by herself. I’m sure you can imagine.” Jemma nods, not speaking. This doesn’t seem like a story meant to be interrupted. “She became a trader, which was very controversial back in the day, a woman running a business. I think she was always sort of hoping that my dad would come back to China someday, so she tried to raise the chances of seeing him again by going into the same business. Didn’t work, but we ended up moving around a lot, buying goods from all over the place and selling them to foreigners. I didn’t have to get married because of it. When I was twenty-four, I met a British captain. He offered me a spot on his ship back to England. I took it, and my mom never forgave me.” Daisy shifts, running a hand through her hair. “We had a fight, the day before I left. She wanted me to stay. I called her…some bad things. I insulted her for letting my father leave. The next morning, she wouldn’t speak to me. So I got on a British trading ship and I left. That was the last time I ever saw her.”

“Daisy,” Jemma breathes, because she can’t hold her sympathy inside anymore.

“Turns out, nice British captain was a vampire,” Daisy continues. “He turned me, and I killed him.”

“Killed him?” Jemma repeats. “Wait, what? Literally?”

“Yes, literally,” Daisy says, almost amused. “He was evil. I didn’t want to be a vampire. I didn’t want any of it. He didn’t give me a choice.” Jemma bites her lip. She supposes that’s a fairly good reason to kill someone, if such a thing exists. “I got to England, fell in with a group of vampires from London,” Daisy continues. “Stayed there for a few decades. I went back to China eventually, tried to track down my mother.” She shakes her head. “She died, a few months after I left. Fever.”

“I’m sorry,” Jemma murmurs, setting a hand on Daisy’s where it rests on the railing.

“She was human,” Daisy says quietly. “Humans die.” Jemma grips her hand a bit tighter. Daisy clears her throat. “Anyway,” she says. “There’s about two and a half more centuries to that story, but most of it is pretty boring.” Jemma doubts that, but she lets it go.

“What did you do before blood banks?” she asks instead. Daisy gives her an odd look. “What?”

“Kind of a weird question,” she says. Jemma shrugs.

“Well, we’re in a kind of weird situation,” she says. “Call it scientific curiosity, if you want.” Daisy smiles, shaking her head.

“I asked,” she says simply. “And if no one said yes, I drank animal blood. Gross, but livable.”

“So you never drank from someone without asking?” Daisy exhales.

“Once,” she admits. “I’m not going to lie to you. I did it once. The vampires in London, it was what they did. The girl survived, but…did you know I can taste fear?” Jemma blinks at the sudden change of subject. “There’s something in the blood, when someone is afraid.”

“And it tasted bad?” Jemma assumes.

“No,” Daisy says. “I liked it. And I knew I could never do it again.”

“Well,” Jemma says. “That’s…rather noble of you.” Daisy snorts.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the first time anyone has ever called me noble,” she comments. She lets go of the railing, and Jemma lets go of her hand.

“So you asking is normal,” she says, turning to lean her hip against the railing and look at Daisy. Daisy mimics the posture. “Is…” She gestures at the balcony doors, at the bed on the other side of them, with its rumpled sheets and the partially full wineglass still sitting on the nightstand.

“I don’t normally sleep with the people I bite, if that’s what you’re asking,” Daisy says, seeming to find the idea amusing. “You’re…I don’t know. Special, I guess.” Jemma should not be reacting to that as strongly as she is, but the compliment makes her feel floaty and lightheaded regardless.

“Well, I think you’re spectacular,” Jemma says. Daisy smiles. Her fangs are retracted, and other than the air of inhuman something that surrounds her, she looks normal. Like any other twenty-something girl, if a particularly gorgeous one. “Come with me,” Jemma blurts suddenly. “I’m going to Greece next. Athens. You’ve probably been there before, but—“

“I haven’t,” Daisy interrupts. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t look happy. That yearning ache from earlier is back in her voice, in her face. “But it doesn’t matter. I can’t go with you, Jemma.”

“Why not?” Jemma asks. “Surely you have a passport. Even if you don’t, we can—“

“That’s not it,” Daisy cuts her off again. She reaches out, cupping Jemma’s face in her palm. “You don’t want this, Jemma. Not really. You don’t want this to go any further than one night. Let it be a good memory. Nothing more.”

“Why would you say that?” Jemma asks, quietly enough that, if it had been windy, Daisy probably couldn’t have heard her. The air is still, though, heavy and quiet.

“Because it’s true,” Daisy says simply. “I’ve fallen in love with humans before. You’ll age, and grow, and change, and die, and I won’t. I’ll be this—“ she gestures at herself with her free hand. “—until the end of time. And the only thing that being with me will do is break both our hearts.”

“Love?” Jemma echoes, mouth suddenly dry. Daisy smiles softly at her.

“It would be easy for me to fall in love with you,” she murmurs, tracing Jemma’s jawline with her fingertips. “If I went with you, I don’t think I could stop myself.” She lets her hand fall back to her side.

“So don’t,” Jemma says desperately. “Don’t stop yourself. Come with me. Please.” Daisy looks down. The sun is halfway up now, painting the sky in pink and gold. Daisy looks beautiful in the soft light, ethereal, almost imaginary. Like she’s about to fade away.

Jemma reaches out, catching Daisy’s hand with one of her own, feeling the sudden, irrational need to anchor her here, like she’ll drift out of the world if Jemma lets go. Daisy looks at their interlocked fingers, a curious, half-scared, half-awed expression on her face.

“Okay,” she says after a painfully long few seconds, and Jemma swears her heart is about to break through her ribcage.

“Okay?” she echoes. Daisy steps forward, slipping her fingers into Jemma’s hair. Her fingertips drift over the bite mark on Jemma’s neck on the way, and Jemma shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the cold of the morning or the thinness of the robe she’s wearing.

“Yes,” Daisy clarifies. “Yes, I’ll go with you.” Jemma smiles, and then Daisy is kissing her again, and Jemma doesn’t think she’ll ever be cold again.

my skimmons fics

my ao3

#skimmons #daisy johnson #jemma simmons #agents of shield #marvel #aos #otp: us against the world #my fics #fic: skimmons

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pantstomatch · 7 years

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msdistress said: I saw that civilized werewolves being super competitive when it comes to other packs, and now I can only imagine an AU where (adult) Stiles and Scott are renting a house together, and Derek moves in the same area. And while the McCall pack and the entire Hale pack (Talia, Laura, etc.) are on civilized terms, Scott and Derek just can’t help themselves. And maybe a part of the showing off is actually a way to impress (court) Stiles, as in “My lawn ornaments are much nicer than his!”

So this is kind of that, but kind of not? This is pretty silly :) Happy Halloween!

“You’re not dead,” Stiles says as Scott bangs open the door and shucks off his shoes in the next movement. They hit the wall and then bounce into an ungainly pile in the middle of the hallway that Liam will no doubt trip over when he gets home.

“Nope,” Scott says. He looks confused by that part.

“So… That’s good?” Stiles has pumpkin guts all over his hands, but offers Scott a fist bump anyway.

Scott follows Stiles back into the kitchen and then plops down across from Stiles’s half-finished jack-o-lanterns at the counter. He’s a couple weeks early, but Halloween has to be taken seriously. These are practice pumpkins.

Scott says, “It was weird. I think they’re all models. They force-fed me pie.”

Stiles arches a skeptical eyebrow.

“I mean, the pie was great,” Scott says, face screwed up. “I think they were happy I ate the whole thing?”

Werewolf metabolism, Stiles thinks sourly. He’s getting to that age where he has to watch his beer and pizza intake. It sucks. He says, “I’ll make them brownies,” and then apparently it becomes a thing.

Stiles doesn’t know if the Hale pack are actually all models, but they’re definitely taking the supernaturally hot thing to a whole other level.

Scott’s betas are reasonably attractive, sure, but Liam’s the size of a cave troll and Mason’s on this whole hippie-chic kick that makes him look like a train hobo.

Stiles holds out the plate of brownies and tries not to stare at Erica’s boobs. Boyd has the bulging chest of a roman gladiator and Stiles could cut his hands on Isaac’s cheekbones, it’s insane.

Stiles says, “Nice to meet you guys,” and Erica’s lip curls up and her hands hover around the plastic-wrapped plate like it’s made of poison and-or possibly oatmeal. He waggles the plate back and forth. “Promise they’re wolfsbane free.”

And then Jackson fucking Whittmore comes swanning down the staircase and Stiles says, “You’ve got to be shitting me. Jackson?”

“Stilinski,” Jackson says with a scowl.

“Lydia told us you got eaten by a giant lizard.”

Jackson scowls harder. “Fuck off.”

Stiles would like to say that the addition of Jackson makes the pack less appealing, but despite having the personality of a canned ham, Jackson still looks like he was carved out of marble. Balls.

And then someone says, “Do I smell chocolate?” from behind Stiles and he definitely does not jump three feet into the air, but it’s a close call.

He flinches and spins around and says, “Fuck my life.”

The hottest mountain man Stiles has ever seen is frowning at him and Stiles wants to bury his entire body in his beard. He wants to weasel his way under that soft-looking Henley and lick his collarbones. Stiles is ninety-nine percent sure this is Alpha Derek Hale, even though Scott had failed to prepare him for the way Derek’s eyes are eating Stiles’s soul.

Stiles wordlessly holds out the plate of brownies.

Derek takes them with a resigned silence. No one else is saying anything either, and the back of Stiles’s neck is starting to prickle with unease. Are they going to eat him now? They’d moved into town so Liam and Mason could go to the local college, expecting some kind of resistance, territorial posturing, possible brawl for dominance, but Scott had been tirelessly optimistic—even more so since the pie eating thing.

Stiles slinks around Derek, hands up. He says, “I’ll just, uh… leave now,” and backs down the sidewalk so he can see any kind of attack coming. He’s got a taser in his back pocket and he’s not afraid to use it.

The Hale pack all watch him with narrow, calculating eyes and Jackson gives him the finger.

Stiles thinks that if this is the way they react to brownies, he’s going to bake them a motherfucking cake.

Originally, Stiles thought it was a giant mistake on Scott’s part to rent a place nearby the Hale pack house, but now Stiles thinks it’s good to be able to keep an eye on them. They’ve never had to deal with another pack so close before. It’s both nerve-wracking and exhilarating, and Stiles tries not to think too hard about why and focuses on the important stuff: decorating for Halloween.

Stiles starts out with three jack-o-lanterns in front of their modest little pack house, but when he sees Derek staple-gunning orange lights around the entire front of their porch, he comes home with a six foot dinosaur skeleton with glowing red eyes.

“You spent actual money on this,” Scott says, hands on his hips. He doesn’t seem mad, just sort of baffled.

Stiles very carefully doesn’t tell him that it cost almost two hundred dollars. They don’t have ‘pack money’ and Stiles has a very good job, but there’s spending money on a video game and then there’s buying a giant skeleton that’s probably going to break the minute Liam tries to ride it.

Stiles can’t exactly explain it, the way Derek was aggressively hanging lights and glaring at him. It could have had something to do with the way Stiles was openly gaping at Derek’s butt when he was at the top of the ladder, but Stiles is going to up his game anyway: no one actually hangs Halloween lights unless they’re going to war.

Scott would probably not appreciate Stiles telling him this, though.

Instead, he pats the dinosaur’s back fondly and says, “He was on sale.”

Five days into October, Stiles blearily makes his way into the kitchen at seven AM to find Liam, Mason and Kira halfway through a giant dish of lasagna. They have full forks and zero table manners.

“Seven AM?” Stiles says, pouring himself an enormous mug of lukewarm coffee because he lives with heathens. “Where did that even come from?”

Mason mumbles something about a handsome roman gladiator while shoveling pasta into his mouth.

Kira says, “I want to marry this. I want to have this lasagna’s babies.” She stabs Liam with her fork and flashes orange eyes when he goes for the corner of the dish she’s staked out.

Liam says, “Did you just hiss at me?”

“If you marry this, I’m gonna eat your babies,” Mason says, and Stiles moves forward curiously, taking a deep sniff but careful not to get too close—he’s pretty sure Kira will take out his eyes.

Steam is still rising off of what’s left. Someone got up super early in the morning to make this fresh. Huh.

So they’re resorting to full meals now. Stiles can deal with that.

Stiles bakes a cake. Three layers of chocolate with vanilla pudding in between, and he covers the whole thing with an entire can of orange icing, using Oreo cookies to make bats. He also makes a cheesy chicken casserole in Boyd’s lasagna dish and has Mason take them both over in a wagon.

Stiles peeks through the window shades and gleefully watches Isaac open the door.

“What are you doing?” Scott asks, coming up behind him to peek too.

Stiles rubs his hands together and says, “Winning.”

“Winning what?” Scott says. He’s adorably befuddled, and Stiles pats his tummy and says, “I’m not sure, but whatever this is, I’m really good at it.”

“Is whatever this is why we have an entire ceramic haunted town on the front bow windowsill now?” He waves his hand to where Stiles is carefully kneeling in between a giant light-up Gothic mansion and a half-ruined churchyard.

“Exactly,” Stiles says.

Derek’s yard is now riddled with headstones that have each of his betas’ names on them. Cool, but not cool enough. Stiles is going to go with an undead army, he just has to convince Scott to sign up for Amazon Prime.

When Mason finally turns around he’s got a dazed look in his eyes and what looks like a homemade scarf wrapped around his neck. Damn it. He’s underestimated Isaac.

“Scott, buddy, you’re gonna have to learn how to knit.”

“What? No,” Scott says.

“Crochet?” Stiles says hopefully. “Cross-stitch?”

“No,” Scott says, but he scruffs a hand through Stiles’s hair. “I think Liam knows how to latch hook?”

“Everyone knows how to latch hook,” Stiles says, but he places a curled finger over his bottom lip and hmmmms. Liam is very impressionable. “Would you call Liam artistic?”

“Uh, no,” Scott says, “but his enthusiasm will probably make up for it.”

“Right,” Stiles says. He’s gonna need some red paint and a lot of old clothes.

“What is supposed to be happening here?” Derek says, standing on the sidewalk with his hands on his hips. He’s wearing some kind of fleece lined flannel jacket that is fucking with Stiles’s head. He wants to slip his hands inside and around and have Derek try and button it around Stiles’s back like some sort of comfy two-man cocoon.

Stiles rolls his shoulders and resolutely turns away and really takes in his masterpiece. “It’s the undead rising to defeat the skeleton army.”

“Is that one riding a dinosaur?”

“Yes,” Stiles says proudly. “If you walk past it, it cackles.”

It’s only October 10th. Mrs. Carbunkle to the left of them has stopped speaking to them completely. Scott’s the only one who complained about it, though.

Derek has an enormous blow-up spider that he’s somehow managed to attach to his roof, and someone rigged up his lights to a sound system that plays This is Halloween.

Stiles finished a carved pumpkin that is, quite clearly, Derek’s face. It’s prominently placed at the top of the front steps.

“I’m finding this incredibly satisfying,” Stiles says, grinning over at Derek.

Derek has the flat mouth of a man who’s trying very hard not to smile. There’s pink on the tips of his ears.

Derek says, “Last year we put out a bowl of candy and a sign that said ‘Go Away.’”

“Classy,” Stiles says, grinning even wider.

“I hand painted those tombstones,” Derek says, tilting his head toward his yard.

“I’d make fun of you, but that dog skeleton over there is made up of squeaky bones that I glued together.”

Derek chuffs. Not even his beard can hide the way his cheeks bunch up when he smiles. “It’s a very good dog.”

“Is there any other kind?” Stiles says.

Stiles becomes acutely aware that Derek and him are just staring stupidly at each other when Kira clears her throat from the top of the driveway and says, “Uh, Stiles? Your boss is on the house phone.”

“Shit.” Stiles is, technically, supposed to be working. He should probably take that. He waves at a still adorably amused Derek and then runs for the door.

Kira says, “These are the cutest cookies I have ever eaten in my life.” There are crumbs all over her sweater and icing smeared over one of her cheeks. She’s halfway through a plate of ghostly sugar cookies. When Mason comes near her she throws one of them at him and then mourns the loss with a, “Oh, darn it.”

Liam says, “I think those were for all of us,” but backs off when Kira bares her teeth at him. Stiles is unsure whether a wolf or fox is more vicious, but Kira’s the only one of them that also owns a deadly sharp weapon, so.

Mason holds up a little card and says, “This says they’re for Stiles, Yukimura.”

Stiles grabs for the note and smiles down at the little, “for Stiles,” and “-D” and then shoves it into the top pocket of his flannel. He says, “That’s okay, she can keep them,” and thinks about how hard it would be to make cinnamon rolls from scratch.

“Aren’t gingerbread houses a Christmas thing?” Scott asks, leaning his elbows onto the counter and resting his chin in his hands.

“Not gingerbread murder houses,” Stiles says. He’s putting the finishing touches on the little Jackson werewolf, sprawled out on the ground with his guts spilling everywhere. He’s using spun sugar.

“Huh. Why don’t you and Derek just do this together?”

“What?” Stiles straightens up, blinking at him.

“I mean. He likes you, you like him.” Scott knocks their shoulders together, grinning.

“He doesn’t like me, Scott,” Stiles says, cheeks heating. “We’re in a competition!”

“Right,” Scott says skeptically. “That’s what this is.”

“Yeah!” Stiles hunches his shoulders up around his ears and ignores the fact that his entire face is probably red by now.

Scott wrinkles his nose. “A competition.”

“That’s what I said.” Little Jackson keeps trying to fall apart, so Stiles lets it crumble—he can just add more blood.

“Right,” Scott says again.

The lengthy silence after that is damning, but Stiles is totally not going to talk about how Derek might like him. He’s not twelve. He’s gonna paint a sugar glaze on this thing, put it on Derek’s front stoop, ring the doorbell, and then run away.

Derek tops off his cemetery by adding stone-like walls and an archway that is, somehow, twined with real night blooming flowers. It’s impressive.

“I’m impressed,” Stiles says to Jackson.

Jackson sneers at him and says, “Who cares?”

There’s also a witch on a broom hanging from a big oak tree, and some kind of animatronic black cat that—

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, backpedaling away from where the cat jumped up and lunged at him. Stiles clutches at his wildly beating heart while Jackson nearly busts a nut laughing.

“I almost fucking peed myself,” Stiles says indignantly, while the black cat winds himself around his legs in greeting.

The front door of the house flies open and Derek appears like an avenging angel, chest heaving, wolfed-out. He says, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Jackson has his face covered, hysterical.

Stiles says, hands flailing, “Did you buy a cat for this?”

“Did I…?” He trails off, staring at Stiles with crazy eyes. The beta change melts off until he’s normal, stern-looking, hot Derek. He looks from the cat to Stiles to the cat and then back again before saying, “We’ve had Jinky for five years, Stiles.”

Jinky? Stiles thinks. “You named your cat Jinky?”

“Erica named the cat Jinky,” Derek says, stomping down the steps to pick him up. Jinky goes boneless in his arms, instantly purring, and Stiles stares at the big hand Derek splays over Jinky’s belly. It’s a good hand. It would fit nicely all over Stiles’s body. Yep.

“Um.” Stiles is having trouble concentrating.

Derek says, “Are you here for a reason?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean…” Stiles looks down at his shoes and tries to remember why he came over here in the first place.

It’s the middle of October. He’s three days behind on his latest work project. There’s a huge pumpkin that cost him fifty bucks waiting to be carved in his kitchen. What was he doing here?

He says, “Um,” again and presses his palms to his cheeks, mind completely blank. Then he takes a deep, bracing breath. “Right, yes, this is,” he waves an arm around, “really good, Derek! Like, super good, I’m gonna go—”

“Jesus Christ, Stilinski,” Jackson says, now done with laughing and just staring at him like he can’t believe Stiles is upright, walking and talking.

“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles says, and then marches back across the street to his own much better decorated yard.

Stiles comes home from the supermarket on October 21st to the entire pack lying in wait for him in the den. Allison and Lydia’s faces are even on separate laptops propped up on couch cushions in between Scott and Liam.

Stiles freezes in the doorway and says, “Is this some kind of intervention?”

“I don’t know,” Scott says carefully. “Do you think you need an intervention?”

“No!” Stiles has this thing with Derek perfectly under control. Obviously. He did not just buy ingredients to make even more fake blood.

Scott nods his head. “Okay. Then this is about the Halloween party next Saturday. Allison and Lydia are driving down!”

“Are we sure that’s wise? What with,” Stiles makes fangs with his fingers, “you-know-who and L-Y-D-I-A?”

“I know about werewolves, Stiles,” Lydia says dryly. “And also how to spell my own name.”

“Did you also know that Jackson Whittmore is in the Hale pack?”

Allison says, “I thought Jackson was eaten by a giant lizard,” but her eyes are sparkling.

Lydia purses her lips and says, “I am a grown woman, Stiles.”

“I know you.” Stiles points a finger at her. “There will be bloodshed.” Jackson broke up with her via text in high school before his family moved away. He’s a spineless asshole.

“He’s a werewolf. He’ll heal.” She’s got a dangerous but pleased look in her eyes. She nods at him and he winks back, because she knows he’ll help hide the body.

“All right, so, Halloween party.” Stiles drops down into a chair. “Are we adulting or slumming it with Liam and Mason’s friends?”

“Everyone’s invited!” Kira says with jazz hands. “I’m making jello shots.”

“Not everyone is twenty-one,” Stiles points out. They’ve never had to really worry about that with pack, since none of the werewolves can get drunk anyway.

“The neighbors are invited,” Scott says, straightening up into Pack Dad mode. “And Liam and Mason can each have one friend.”

“Balls,” Liam says, scowling.

“Adulting, cool,” Stiles says. He rubs his fingers together, already thinking about candy, and bobbing for apples, and scaring the shit out of Jackson. He’s gonna need lots of sheets. And fake eyeballs. And spaghetti.

“Sexy or scary?” Stiles says, holding up a Little Red Riding Hood costume in one hand and a distressed mummy one in the other.

Mason makes a face. “Overdone,” he says, pointing first to Little Red Riding Hood and then to the mummy, “not scary.”

“Overdone can still be sexy,” Stiles says, frowning down at the skimpy little dress. “I can wear heels!”

“You do not want to wear heels,” Mason says. He’s wearing a Tina Turner wig and Hulk hands, but he’s got his serious business face on. “Nobody wants to wear heels. Heels disintegrate your toes over time and ruin your arches.”

“While I have no idea if that’s bullshit or not,” Stiles says, “I’d only be wearing them for a couple hours.” Stiles had been leaning toward the mummy outfit, but now it’s a matter of principle.

Behind them, Stiles can see Liam pretending to make out with a Freddy Krueger mask. There are several hovering employees with mixed reactions.

Mason says, “It’s a cliché.”

“It’s only a cliché because it works!”

“That would only make sense if werewolves were openly known,” Mason says.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “The same could be said about your argument, dumbass.”

Why is this a thing that’s happening? Why did he bring Mason and Liam with him? Why did he bother to ask Mason anything at all? Liam’s going to get them thrown out of the store, and Mason is a terrible judge of costumes.

Liam runs up, flushed and bright-eyed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He says, “Stiles, please, please,” and holds up a ridiculous red, black and white costume. “I will give you fifteen dollars if you wear this.”

“Twenty, and you can’t get the money from Scott.”

“Deal.”

Despite anything that Scott says, Stiles thinks the fog machine was money well spent.

“You can’t even see the yard anymore!” Scott says. “The entire Quince family fell into a horde of zombies!”

“So maybe I need to turn it down a little.” Stiles kind of tossed the instructions somewhere and forgot about them, but it’s probably pretty easy to figure out, right?

It’s 8:15 on a Saturday night, the neighborhood kids are all in the backyard getting an impromptu archery lesson from Hawkeye, Stiles has already soaked himself trying to get three apples out of a barrel with his mouth, and none of the Hale pack have shown up yet. Stiles is in no way anxious about that at all.

Instead, he crouches down by the totally awesome fog machine and starts poking at it indiscriminately. It sort of beeps at him, like an angry robot.

“What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m a ladybug,” Stiles says absently, fiddling with the side knob—is it getting even more foggy?—before registering the looming leathered presence of Derek Hale. He sees his black sneaks and cuffed jeans first. And then the belt, tucked in white t-shirt, beardless face.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, head tilted all the way back. He’s sort of struck by the dimple in Derek’s chin, the cut of his cheeks and the awkward jut of his ears under slicked hair. Stiles is in awe, he wants to press his hands over his jaw and see if it’s as baby smooth as it looks. “Are you Danny Zuko? Please, please, please tell me Isaac is Sandy.”

Derek rolls his eyes, grabs Stiles’s arms and hauls him up to his feet. “Isaac isn’t Sandy.”

“You’re lying,” Stiles says, curling his hands around Derek’s wrists to steady himself. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life, does he have on a crop top?”

“Stiles,” Derek says, glancing around the yard. “Is it supposed to be this smoky?”

“It’s fog, Derek, atmospheric fog,” he steps back out of Derek’s hold and waves his hands around, “to really set the mood on this spooky All Hallows’ Eve.”

“It’s the 28th.” Derek has this look on his face, like he’s amused but trying not to be. He eyes Stiles up and down. “You’re not even a zombie ladybug.”

“Yeah, no, why would I want to dull down this sexy little number?” Stiles pats his stuffed hips.

“You look like a donut with antenna.”

Stiles frowns. He looks adorable, thanks very much. He says, “And you look like a…” Sexy greaser werewolf, basically, but Stiles isn’t sure he wants to give Derek that kind of ammunition.

After an only slightly uncomfortable silence, Derek says, “Boyd made profiteroles.” A curl of gelled hair falls over his forehead. Goddamnit.

“Boyd can suck my dick,” Stiles says, awkwardly creasing his ladybug costume as he crosses his arms.

“Don’t tell him,” Derek says, grinning a little now, moving closer so his chest brushes Stiles’s forearms, “but I like your brownies better.”

“Are you saying I win, Hale?” Stiles says. It’s dark, and the Halloween lights are muted around them, but Stiles is pretty sure Derek’s newly shaven cheeks are pink. It’s a novelty.

Derek sighs heavily. “I’m saying this fog’s as thick as peanut butter, and I want to kiss you where the Quince family can’t see.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ve been conscripted into the undead army,” Stiles says faintly. Kiss him. Huh.

“Good to know,” Derek says, and then cups his hands around Stiles’s face.

Stiles holds his breath.

From the front of the house, Scott yells, “Stiles, just turn it off before we lose even more children!”

“Even more,” Derek says, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s…concerning.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says. He can feel his heart beating in his throat. “Do you want to kiss me or not?”

Derek’s expression goes strangely serious; the strategically placed spotlights make his eyebrows look like bat wings, and his mouth parts slightly to reveal the cutest bunny teeth known to mankind. It’s incongruous, especially when you factor in the level of hotness Derek exudes on a daily basis.

Stiles says, voice nearly a whisper, “I bet your chest is super hairy.”

“What?”

“Never mind, crap,” Stiles says, and then fists Derek’s tight white t-shirt and kisses him instead.

Vaguely, Stiles registers Liam yelling, “Onward, mighty steed!” a howling crash, and Scott’s pained, “Oh no,” but Derek has his hands wormed inside his giant foam shell, so he really can’t be assed about it.

Derek says, “Should we turn off the fog machine?” in between sucking bruises along Stiles’s throat.

Scott’s voice rises over the engulfing fog, “Stiles! Off!”

“Are you kidding me? That’s the only way we’re going to get out of here alive.” He tugs at the short hairs of Derek’s nape. “Let’s go make out in your graveyard.”

“We have leftover lasagna,” Derek says, threading his fingers through Stiles’s and then dragging him through the yard, deftly dodging skeletons and tiny screaming kids.

“I know what you’re trying to do here.” Stiles hooks his free hand into the back of Derek’s extremely tight pants as they sneak onto the open sidewalk. “You already admitted I won, big guy. You can’t beat me with reheated heaven.”

Stiles takes a deep bracing breath of clean air, fog clinging to their legs as they start to stagger across the street. In front of the Hale house, he grabs onto Derek’s wrists and walks backward to hitch his butt up against the fake cemetery wall surrounding the yard. He wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, forcing him to lean down into him, caged between his knees.

“Uh, Stiles?” Derek says, arms braced on either side of them.

The wall creaks ominously underneath him.

“This is styrofoam, isn’t it?” Stiles says, and then the wall rips in half and Stiles goes sprawling back on his ass, pulling Derek down with him.

Stiles wakes up to off-key warbling and the intoxicating smell of bacon and coffee. He stretches and groans. There’s a warm arm thrown over his middle, he can feel Derek smiling into his nape, scraping his skin with a truly astounding amount of stubble for having shaved the day before.

“Are you a yeti?” Stiles says, and Derek’s soft laughter rumbles all along his spine.

He says, “Erica’s making pancakes. Do you want bananas or chocolate chips?”

“The clear answer is both,” Stiles says. He flops around onto his back, struggling his way out of the blankets tangled over his legs, and then jabs a finger into Derek’s nose. “You’re still not winning.”

“Of course not,” Derek says, expression soft and fond. Stiles doesn’t trust the misty-eyed bastard for a second.

“I’ll have Scott make empanadas for you, don’t think I won’t!”

Derek nods solemnly and says, “We’d be honored.”

“This is some sort of fucked up werewolf crap, isn’t it?” Stiles asks, suspicious.

“Isaac says breakfast’s almost ready,” Derek says, tilting his head in an I’m listening to the cosmos way. “We should get dressed.”

“You didn’t answer.” Stiles sits up, watches Derek slip from the bed with a healthy appreciation for his bare ass. “Am I gonna have to start saving up for Christmas lights?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says with a grin, “depends on whether you think I found someone willing to rent me a reindeer.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, clambering out of the bed. “All right, Hale,” he says, just as Derek slips into the hall, laughing. “You’re going down.”

#msdistress #tumblr prompt #sterek #halloween #there's food decorations and love #and skeleton dinosaurs #and liam #god sorry I edited something and my read more disappeared and I realized it way toolate #tumblr prompts

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