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snowbellewells · 6 months

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CSSNS23 Fic Update: "Carolina Moon" Chapter Four

I am more than a little embarrassed and sorry about how long it has taken me to update this story. It was never my intention to keep you waiting so long. However, here at long last is an update, and I hope to have another one to you this week yet - and this to be more regular (at least close to weekly) in the future. Thank you THANK YOU to those who have been patient and stayed interested in this story. I hope you will enjoy this new chapter!

Thank you as ever to the @cssns for running such a wonderful event that I have always been thrilled to be part of. And thank you for the gorgeous fic cover art to @eastwesthomeisbest and to @xarandomdreamx for the massively encouraging beta reading and thoughtful comments.

Can be read from the beginning HERE on Tumblr or HERE on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter Four: No Use Running Anymore

Killian Jones felt his own breath rasping frighteningly in his lungs, barely forcing its way raggedly through his chest as he watched Emma shuddering in his loose embrace, her whole body trembling and the gaze in her eyes glassy and faraway. It scared him, the intensity of the power which had taken her over - beyond either of their control - and he wasn’t sure what to do to help her. He could keep her from collapsing to the ground and lying there boneless in the dark, from hitting her head or flailing her arms, but Killian was at a loss as to how he might reach her wherever she had retreated to in her mind.

Finally, drawing in a sharp gasp for oxygen, Emma’s lungs seemed to fill, and she began to breathe more normally, her eyes were on her trembling hands and she edged far enough away that there was some distance between them, as if embarrassed at having leaned on him and letting him witness her what she’d just gone through. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and it was clear she still felt uncertain and off balance; the weak tremor still running through her limbs as the after effects were visibly obvious. And yet it was the haunted pain clouding her eyes that held him captive, unable to blink, move, or even look away - though he could sense she would like him to do so. Emma might be able to read most of the folks around her and think to hide her own thoughts and feelings, but to him she was an all-too-open book.

At least somewhat assured that she was herself again, well on the way to recovering her breath and her composure, Killian’s mind returned to her staggering revelation without any conscious effort on his part. “Emma… what you said… about Rose’s killer? What did you mean?” he questioned gingerly. His dark brows lowered over his eyes intently, studying her with a concerned but necessary focus. “You said she wasn’t the only one.”

Looking up to meet his searching gaze, Killian could see Emma’s reluctance, and he hated himself for pressing her, even as he knew she needed him to do so. Still, the film of tears he saw in her green eyes and the way one spilled over the lower lid and trailed down her cheek, was almost his undoing; he bit back words rescinding the question with all the force he could muster. This was important, painful or not. Though he knew Emma had to recover, and that she had lived with her abilities - her “sight” - being pushed aside, ignored, belittled, even persecuted, all her life, there was a reason she could see the things she did. Her supernatural knowledge could help as well as hurt. He knew she had used it for just such a purpose in the years she had been gone. He might not have found the right time to tell her yet, but he had followed her successes in Boston, devouring each news story of the “psychic” - he could just see her huff of disbelieving annoyance at the catch-all term too - who could find missing people when all others had lost hope. He had cherished each article of a child found, holding every tidbit of praise for her close to his chest. He didn’t know how things had fallen apart in Boston, or what exactly had brought Emma back to Storybrooke, but he mourned the scars of youth that still lingered in her bearing. A part of him had never stopped hoping she might one day return, but he would never have wished for her to remain so alone and so haunted.

Her trembling fingers caught at his suddenly, as he moved to brush her hair from her flushed cheek, and she held on tight, needing his steadiness like a lifeline in a howling gale. Those wide, emerald orbs were searching his as if not sure what to make of his question. “W-what did you just ask me?” she murmured, voice fragile as a butterfly’s wing on the still night air amidst the crickets chirping and bullfrogs calling from ponds hidden in the trees at their backs.

Was she really so used to being doubted? After so many times she had saved lives, provided answers no one else could, and proven herself over and over, was it still that much of a shock to be taken seriously? Killian was ready to follow her lead, to charge into action at her back, once she had her bearings again and he was sure she would be alright.

“You aren’t going to ask how I know? Where the pictures come from? If - If I’m sure they’re real?”

He shook his head gently, never breaking eye contact with her for a second. This was important, and he needed her to see he meant every word. “Of course not, Lass,” he finally answered, words calm but sure. “I’ve known you all my life and have never known you to lie - or to be wrong in the visions you’ve seen… no matter how they might hurt.”

Looking down at their joined hands, their fingers now intertwined as he held onto her just as tightly. “No questions asked?” she mumbled dazedly, as though encouraging herself to take him at his word. “Really? Just like that?” And when she raised her face to meet his eyes again, there were still the shining tracks of tears on her cheeks, but they were no longer falling; she had blinked them away and a look of willful determination was taking over her features. “Why?” was all she whispered then, staring at him so open and raw it seemed as if she wanted to drink in his every word. “Why would you do that?”

Killian brought their joined hands up to his lips, bowing his dark head slightly over them as he hardly dared breathe, pausing to make sure she wouldn’t pull away before pressing the softest pursing of his lips to her knuckles and holding them there, breathing warmth against her skin. “Because, Emma, as I said… I know you. Love and trust, even basic kindness, have been all too rare in your life. People have always treated you a certain way - the wrong way - doubting you, hurting you, using you until they don’t need you anymore, and then throwing you away.” He wet his lips, trying to gather his nerve and praying he wasn’t about to say more than he should - or that he hadn’t done so already - then plunged on. “I aim to be different. I’m right here with you for the long haul, if you’ll have me.”

For a moment, Emma seemed frozen, stunned beyond response, but she finally shook her head wonderingly and offered him a tremulous smile, still clutching his hand but moving to stand, which he did as well, then helped her up beside him. “How did you…?” she finally asked breathily.

A crooked smile pulled at one corner of his mouth as Killian sighed, gingerly moving to tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow and guide her back toward his truck, still idling on the rough shoulder of the quiet country road. “I know that lost look in your eyes all too well,” he explained as best he could while he helped her with the high step up into the cab. “Our circumstances may be different, but the feeling is the same. We’ve both been lost for too long.”

He closed the door with those words, but Emma caught at his sleeve through the open window, keeping him in place before he could round the front of the vehicle. “Thank you,” she whispered - only two small words, but full of meaning. She would take the support, the belief in her, he was offering. She had been fully prepared for him to back away, to be too discomforted by what the visions did to her for him to stick around. She’d experienced more people like that in her life than she could count or even remember. But instead, Killian had witnessed the flashes of horror and darkness sweep over her, seen how much it took out of her and he was still standing right there looking at her the same way he always had. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so surprised. Rose had been the only person who truly seemed able to understand the magnitude of her gift and curse and was always there trying to help in any way she could. It made a poetic sort of sense that her brother might do the same.

“We have to look into this, Killian. If Rose w- wasn’t the only one…” she stumbled at the thought of her friend’s pale, bruise-mottled limbs against the muddy ground that morning so long ago, swallowing down the nausea in heaving gulps. “If her killer’s kept on all this time… I should have known. I should have done something…”

Tremors seized her once again until Killian pulled her into his chest, holding her tight until she steadied, and then pulling back just enough to firmly cradle her cheeks in both hands, pulling her focus back before she could sink into the void grappling to pull her under. “Hey, no, none of that,” he coaxed firmly, holding her steady until she nodded her assent. His own heart was beating against the confines of his chest, but he would calm it later; Emma needed his certainty. “We’ll figure it out, Swan. I promise you that. If you’ve seen there are others we need to find, Love, then that is exactly what we’ll do.”

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Early evening dusk had come to rest lightly on the rumpled covers, smushed pillows, and his clothes tossed haphazardly all around the room when Dr. Graham Hunter blinked back into awareness near the dinner hour. Groggily, he berated himself for dozing off so early while attempting to piece together why he had stripped stark naked and went to bed before even having any supper. Then, his brain caught up with him, and he sighed, Ruby’s arrival in his office downstairs, her seduction and his weakness in falling for it once again, all coming back to him in a rush. He scrubbed a tired hand down his face and felt the weight of realization pressing heavily on his shoulders - even before he turned to look at the pillow beside him and his hand reached out for her to find empty space.

He was a fool. When it came to Ruby, he always had been, Graham admitted to himself as he rolled over with a frustrated curse, allowing himself a whiff of her decadent camelia perfume and honeyed musk on the pillow before flinging it away with a growl. How he fell into this pattern with her - crawling to her on his knees when she crooked her finger or batted an eye his way, and then waking up alone and picking up the pieces of his shattered dignity when she vanished (and she always did) - he wasn’t quite sure. He had fallen for it years ago, and yet somehow, despite knowing better, he was still such a lovesick pup over her that he settled for the scraps she offered him every time.

A noise downstairs caught his attention suddenly, breaking into the well-known litany of shame and self-recrimination. Maybe her trying to slip out unnoticed had been what woke him from his doze. Without pausing to think or second guess, Graham vaulted out of bed, pulled on the track pants he’d draped over the chair in the corner after his morning run, and pounded down the stairs, intending to catch Ruby before she made her quick exit. Fueled by angry hurt and adrenaline, he could only think she wasn’t going to get off quite so easily this time.

He caught her with her fingers grasping the door handle, her wicked heels held tightly in her other hand; her intentions blatantly clear. At his strangled call of her name - sounding a far sight more desperate than he’d meant for it to - she whipped around with a guilty, wide-eyed look painted across her face as she stared back at him over her shoulder. Neither of them moved or spoke for several long moments; Graham because he was practically vibrating with desperation, hurt, and anger in equal measure, Ruby seemingly waiting to see what he would do.

‘Or figuring out if she could sweet talk her way back into his good graces,’ his more realistic inner voice chided. ‘Had he still not learned how ridiculous he was to hope for anything else from her?’ Trying to steel his heart against the natural inclination to charm and cajole her back upstairs, to try to get her to stay while he made supper and to spend the evening together - just spend time with him out of bed, actually allow him to get to know her, or even show that she could want something more from him than the occasional physical thrill he could provide.

Before he could find a way to put any of this into words, Ruby tilted her head slightly, a guarded and slightly embarrassed half smile pressing a sweet little dimple into her cheek as she prepared to wheedle her way out of the awkward spot, just as he had predicted.

“Hey there, Handsome,” she crooned, the smile growing when he didn’t interrupt, clearly gaining confidence in her comfortable and familiar ploy. She let her graceful fingers release the door, her hand falling back to her side as she took a step closer to him. “Sorry if I woke you. I wanted to let you rest, even though I got a call and had to head out. No reason you shouldn’t be able to enjoy a break. You work hard enough, you’ve definitely earned it.”

Damn her for knowing exactly what she was doing to him! Graham swallowed hard as Ruby stood before him coyly biting her lower lip and staring up at him through her lashes innocently. One brightly lacquered red nail traced up along his bare chest between his pecs, and he struggled not to flinch, not to let the way his body immediately reacted to her touch be known.

But, of course, she did know what a word, a look, the slightest caress of hers could do to him. He had allowed her to play him like a fiddle too many times before for her to be convinced now by feigned indifference. Graham clenched his fists, closing his eyes for a moment and praying for strength, before catching her wrist and removing her hand from his chest, holding her gaze determinedly as a muscle in his jaw flexed with his aggravation and the amount of restraint it took not to pull her into his arms and give into her playful touch, pretend to buy the poor excuses and give into her charms. He didn’t want to force the coming confrontation; he knew it was going to hurt and likely wouldn’t end in any way he would hope for. Yet, he couldn’t go on blindly like this either - not anymore. He could only hope, deep down somewhere, as he barely allowed himself to wish in his quietest, most raw moments, that she needed more too, that she did care for him more than she wanted to admit. Maybe - just maybe - if he forced her into honesty, she might grasp it and open herself up rather than let him go.

“Please,” he managed to choke out, his voice rasping, but steadier than he had feared it might sound. “Just stop with the excuses,” he pressed on, hating the way her eyes clouded with hurt, those ridiculously big, liquid brown eyes he usually couldn’t deny a thing. “We both know there was no phone call. You just wanted to get out of here before I woke up and tried to get you to stay, to really be here with me longer than it takes for a romp and to scratch your itch. I’ve done a poor job of showing it,” he hurried on, seeing she was about to interrupt, “but I’m not a puppy to trail along behind you and be at your beck and call. You know how I feel about you, Ruby; I’ve been more than half in love with you since we were about ten years old. But I can’t live on scraps anymore. No matter how much…” The words back up and he shook his head angrily, turning his face from her when she reached out to him again.

He’d heard her gasp sharply at his declaration, but she too was shaking her head, a lone tear running down her cheek. There had never really been much hope left within him that she could give him what he needed; she wasn’t ready, or wouldn’t allow herself. The expression on her face and the tension in her long, lean frame - poised to run - told him all he needed to know.

Finally, his eyes dropped to the floor, no longer even wanting to look at her and think of all they could be together, and what he would never have. With a final exhalation of defeated breath, he gave her his terms. “Don’t sneak in here like this anymore, knowing how I feel about you, when you plan to sneak back out again with the sunrise and not give me anything of yourself in return. I can’t do it anymore.”

Ruby’s breath caught on a ragged inhale, as if she were gathering herself to argue with him and then the words fled her in the face of his honesty. He knew if he met her gaze it would be glossed over with unshed tears, panic covering her features at losing the passion and connection they had always shared, but unable to expose her true self - her psyche, her heart, her soul - to keep him. He forced himself to hold his resolve; if he allowed her pain to catch at him, he knew he would have to comfort her. It was who he was, and where his weakness had always been when it came to Ruby Jones.

“Graham…” she finally whispered shakily, her voice a wavering breath not much like the silken purr she usually employed. “I can’t - you don’t understand - “

But he cut her off, gently taking a step back, a safer distance away from her before he crumbled and gathered her up in his arms. “I understand more than you think, Ru. You’re not the careless, untouchable vixen you try to play. There’s more to you, more than anyone else has bothered to see, more than you let show. I want that for you… and for us. And I can’t keep tearing myself apart hoping while nothing ever changes.”

Her shoulders slumped as she saw that his mind was made up, and she blinked moisture from her lashes quickly, biting her lip in determination that she wouldn’t be hurt enough to cry. “You’ll regret this, Graham. You know that, right? Can’t the fact that you are special to me, that I always come back to you, be enough?”

“Not this time, Ruby,” he murmured, sorry already, even as he spoke, but still adamant that he deserved more than the dregs of her attention, even if that meant she left his arms forever.

“You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Hunter,” she commented sadly, one last plaintive attempt at banter with a half-hearted smile that died before the upward curve of her lips was completed. “Ever think maybe you’re asking too much of me?”

But he shook his head slowly, studying her intently now - in a way that didn’t allow her to avoid him. “No, I don’t.” He spoke softly, deliberately, intoning the words that he genuinely believed. “For far too long, I haven’t asked enough. There is so much more within you, Ruby Jones. A capacity for love and greatness that you refuse to let yourself experience. I know that… whether you can see it yet or not.”

She shook her head regretfully, mouth twisted in a sort of grimace. “Then you may need to have your head examined,” she retorted, her hand on the door again.

With her almost gone, and not knowing when he would see her again, or be able to speak with her or touch her, or smell the sweetly ripe and enticing scent of the shampoo she used on that silky mahogany curtain of hair, Graham panicked a bit and recklessly reached out, clutching her upper arms and pulling her just close enough to press his lips to her forehead and breathe her in once more, knowing it might have to hold him indefinitely. He almost took it all back, but clung to his pride by the very tips of his fingers.

“You know, I’ll be here… right?” he murmured, breath hot across the skin of her brow. “If you ever decide you want to make a real go of this…”

Ruby had her pride too though, and that wildness and fear which twined together to keep her running and at enough of a distance from everyone that she had convinced herself she couldn’t be hurt. Tall and as elegant as a statue, that poise trained into her since she could walk, she let out a watery chuckle. “You had your chance,” she warned, trying for offhanded nonchalance. Though it fell far short of her mark, she didn’t back down. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” She pushed the door open and slipped out of the clinic as quickly and quietly as she had appeared hours before.

Sadly, Graham sighed as he raked his hand through his disheveled curls before bowing his head in defeat. It hadn’t seemed that he had another choice, and yet in the moment he felt as though he had just made the worst possible mistake… and lost something he might never get back.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Once she’d left Graham’s clinic, Ruby found herself wandering aimlessly. Of course she’d returned to her snazzy little car and rummaged around in the duffle she’d stashed in the back for a more normal and less blatantly seductive outfit. She didn’t have any trouble wriggling into it in the backseat undetected. It was a slow, sleepy, late afternoon in a small town, creeping toward dusk, and there was no one in sight. However, by the time she had finished and settled herself back in the driver’s seat, Ruby was sniffing back tears and angrily wiping the silent tracks of those which had already escaped down her face. ‘Why did he have to ruin everything?’ ran on a fuming, repetitive loop in her head, crying out against her desire to shrug it off as if it didn’t matter that much anyway. They’d had some good times, and he was a catch, sure, but Graham Hunter wasn’t irreplaceable she tried to convince herself. ‘He wasn’t happy with her in his bed? Fine. He’d be sorry once he’d been without for a little while.’

The rant she was trying to build up in her head sounded good, but she couldn’t put any feeling behind it - not really. She wasn’t even fooling herself. Graham was different from the other men she had charmed, toyed with, and strung along for a time. He always had been. She simply hadn’t wanted to admit that truth, and now it was boring its way into the center of her chest with all the strength of a drill bit. ‘How in hell had that happened?’ She’d sworn she wouldn’t give a real damn about anyone - not since even her own parents couldn’t be bothered to save a care for her. ‘How did he sneak through the cracks?’

‘Because he does care about you,’ a chiding but concerned voice that sounded a lot like how she remembered Rose’s whispered in her mind. He was there before you tried to lock everyone out, it added, and she shook her head, trying to scatter the unwanted reminders. With a growl of frustration, she swung back out of the little two-seater, noticing vaguely that though Storybrooke did not look very lively there were several small shops heading back toward the town square that had not yet closed for the day. ‘A distraction,’ she decided firmly, with a sharp dip of her chin and squared shoulders. ‘Take my mind off it for a minute, and before long, he’ll be in my rearview.’ The self-comfort rang a bit hollow, but she was already loping down the sidewalk with purpose, looking for something to catch her fancy.

The Sweet Shoppe on the corner had their door open, allowing a decadent and enticing scent of buttery pastry to drift out to passersby. Ruby grinned, cheered at least a little by the prospect of flaky layers of cinnamon sugar, crackly baked dough and butter in one of their famous pinwheels. One of those treats certainly wouldn’t right all that had gone wrong since she’d woken in Graham’s second story apartment an hour ago, but it surely couldn’t hurt, and she was grinning in spite of the hollow ache which had settled beneath her breastbone by the time she opened the door and entered the shop to the sound of the little bell above it chiming merrily.

Sure enough, she did feel rejuvenated after biting into the freshly-made and still warm delicacy. By the time she stepped back out of the bakery onto the sidewalk - one pinwheel happily devoured after practically melting in her mouth, and another bagged up for later in her hand - things didn’t look quite so bleak.

As Ruby headed on down the sidewalk, slowly starting to convince herself - for the time being at least - that she was recovering her equilibrium, she found herself reaching Emma Swan’s new store front, the displays in her window truly beginning to look much like a big city gallery and the potted flowers out front on the walk looking nearly ready for the upcoming grand opening. Some old, deep-seated pettiness stirred at first, as her dark eyes took in the signs of Emma’s determination not to quit - every bit as stubborn as any of the Joneses, too much so to back down, no matter who tried to keep her away.

But the longer she stood there on the pavement hopefully out of sight of anyone who might be inside since she was standing there gawking like she’d been frozen in place, Ruby couldn’t muster up the indignation and hateful bitterness she’d harbored before. Much as she had been hopeful to at last please her mother with her compliant agreement, or continue to feel hurt and jealous over the kinship Emma Swan had shared with her lost twin, the anger just wouldn’t come. In hindsight, with the light of day and the wisdom of years in between, she knew that Rose’s murder, the horror of that nightmarish day lost in the muggy, strangling soup of that long, horrible summer had not been Emma’s fault. In many ways, Emma had been another victim; one who kept being punished instead of laid to rest.

Despite the messes she had already made that day, Ruby determined that she was going to stop following the chosen family line. She would never earn Cora Jones’ elusive approval anyway, so why should she continue making herself and others miserable in pursuit of it? She had just reached out to try the door, just in case Emma was there, when the woman herself pulled into a parking space and exited the ancient VW that Ruby actually remembered her leaving town in years ago.

“Ruby Jones?” Emma questioned, her brow knit in concern as she moved to stand beside her on the sidewalk. “What are you doing here?”

Ruby shrugged a bit sheepishly, with what she hoped was a convincing smile. She wasn’t about to admit all that she’d just been thinking, and so she was at a loss for how to explain her presence.

“You can’t think I’m crazy enough to leave the place unlocked, surely?” Emma queried, moving the bag she carried to the opposite arm and fishing a ring of keys from the bag at her side. “Not with how many people hate me setting up shop here. Speaking of, wouldn’t egging the place be a little simpler than trying to break in?”

She quirked a challenging brow at Ruby, but also waited patiently for an answer, standing in the opened doorway as the warm air drifted through around them. And Ruby had to give her that one; she had never dropped even a single hint that she would simply pay Emma a friendly visit.

Finally relocating her usual sass, she winked, slipping in the door on Emma’s heels before the other woman could change her mind. “Nah, that’s for the riff raff. I can do better than egging if I really want to make my point.”

“I bet you can,” Emma drawled, looking bemused by the whole situation.

Rather than saying anything else for a moment, Ruby roamed around the small but beautifully arranged space, taking in all that Emma had done to make the building her own and have it looking its best. She couldn’t help being drawn in by the photographs themselves as well. While she might have been too hardheaded to acknowledge it before, her eyes were open now to recognize that Emma Swan truly had a gift - one for capturing her subjects in a way Ruby had never seen the like of before.

Emma, meanwhile, had moved to the counter to deposit her things and turned to watch Ruby Jones with genuine curiosity. Not speaking, she merely observed, wondering what had changed to bring a self-appointed enemy to her doorstep, seemingly anxious to play nice. Someone could have knocked her over with a feather, as the old saying went, when Ruby suddenly turned with a broad smile from where she’d stopped to study a huge canvas bearing a close-up of a single, stunning, blood-red azalea blossom as its focal point. Some sort of mischievous glint was in her eye that Emma didn’t fully understand until she asked, “Any chance you’d sell this one to me before your official opening? It’s just the thing my mother ought to have for her birthday.”

Too startled to catch the surprised snort of laughter that escaped at Ruby’s words, Emma slapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide in shock. The brunette vixen she had always somehow felt was looking down her nose at her, looked genuinely pleased with her reaction, her pearly white smile broadening even more to look sharp and dangerous as well as alluring.

When she thought herself capable of calm speech instead of disbelieving laughter, she met Ruby’s eye and replied, “Oh, that can certainly be arranged, especially for such an illustrious recipient as your mother.” Emma was capable of her own sweet as pie with steel beneath expression, and she employed it now with a stealthy smirk of her own that made Ruby’s eyes widen in their turn. “Of course, I might have to charge you extra for not letting me be there to see her face when you gift her with one of my photos.”

The deal was struck, and somehow the unexpected exchange between them was healing. Nothing more needed to be said, but the years of avoiding one another, skirting painful history and old grudges, were past, and a weight fell from both their shoulders. They were two completely different people, with very different experiences and unique wounds to bear, but the one person they both had in common, and the fierce, proprietary love each had held for her - which had always stood between them - had brought them together at last. Just as Rose had always wished. As they laughed at their own impudence, and the vision of Cora’s affronted face when she realized the full import of the present, Emma gift wrapped the large frame, and Ruby gladly paid her for her first sale. Emma could almost feel her old friend’s presence over her shoulder and the echo of Rose’s sweet voice cheering her on.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

He’d nearly gotten caught that morning, lingered almost too long as the dawn’s first rays spread across the sky, bringing light and warmth to the the early gray and beginning to dry the dew on the grass. ‘Should have remembered the little hellcat can’t sleep through the night! Never has been able to!’ he cursed to himself as he awkwardly lunged into the deep underbrush a few feet from the porch. He felt damned lucky she’d chosen to come back to the little cabin of horrors so close to the woods, and so secluded from any neighbors… That could have been a fine end to things before they could really get going - and he’d bided his time far too long already, been more patient than a man should rightly have to bear - to get caught with his hand in his pants on her front porch and blow everything he’d worked for. She’d go running then - just like she’d done before.

Emma Swan would not escape him a second time. Just as they had been all those years ago, all the points were aligned, but now he was ready and prepared - he wouldn’t allow her to slip from his trap. Still, he needed to be careful… couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Dark, hungry eyes watched from the safety of the trees as the screen door flew open and his quarry dashed across the porch, down the rickety steps and into her car. He drank in her curves like a wino would savor the first sip from a hard-won bottle. Hard again, he gritted his teeth before succumbing to the empty pleasure of his own hand. ‘Not much longer,’ the mantra repeated in his head. ‘Not much longer, and she will be mine.’

It was almost too easy; she had stepped into his web better than he could have planned, more naturally than he had dared to hope. It wouldn’t pay to get overconfident, but he could feel everything falling into place.

Oh, he could bide his time a little longer - after all, he’d waited this long - but soon she would be within his grasp. Just the two of them, and no one near enough to interrupt, or be any the wiser. She wouldn’t be able to run from him then.

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ghostlycorvid · 9 months

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2023 Introspective

This year started with cutting off a toxic person who had already shut me out of mutual friend spaces but kept stringing me along with "maybe in a few more months I'll let you back in". 2022 was rough on its own, especially pre-antidepressants, but a huge part of it was stuff involving this person. Blocking them and finally accepting that it was not worth trying to repair what little relationship was left was the most freeing thing I've ever done and helped me to continue that with any other rude unpleasant individual I've had to share spaces with. It's been genuinely wonderful to realize I don't have to sit there and listen to bad takes or people who are needlessly mean, so I'm glad something came out of that friendship nightmare scenario.

It still took a lot of time to not sit there in anger and frustration spirals over the way things ended up, but in February I got permission from my bosses to bring my dog Chili to work with me due to needing to keep him and our other dog from playing while she was recovering from her spay. I ended up realizing that even though Chili is a huge anxiety baby, having him with me legitimately was helping distract me from negative thoughts spirals and gave me something positive to focus on when I was getting frustrated by work-related stuff in the moment. He ended up helping a couple coworkers come down from panic attacks later in the year too. My boss likes how "calm" he is enough that he gave me permission to bring Chili to work all the time (within reason), so he's come with me on most non-event days. His progress has been slow, but he's also been improving from the regular socialization!

I finally started to really focus on my own art and developing my own products and designs, both for my personal shop and for the shop at work. I've come out the other side of this year with 9 new enamel pin designs between the two! (A couple I haven't shared yet! ;D)

I was finally given an Adderall prescription which magically solved my problem where I couldn't stay awake during the day no matter how much sleep I'd gotten! And also it started helping me focus a little better too, but genuinely the non-sleepy thing was the most lifechanging part of the medication for me. The pit in my stomach when I was told that person felt like I was stalking and surveilling them if I was quiet in a call or stream despite years of me communicating that I was constantly struggling to even stay conscious was... HOO BOY. After years of fighting for my life to stay awake in college and sometimes even while DRIVING TO AND FROM WORK,,,,,,,, I really thought something was seriously wrong with me (besides the ADHD since I didn't realize it was a symptom of that)

With toxic people removed from my social spaces and general perception, I've finally started to join group calls with my friends again without anxiety or fear of not being welcome. It's helped me start to get back into playing games again, and I've been able to get into a few that either have built in accessibility features to avoid hand strain, or I've been able to modify my hardware setup to help with issues I was running into before. I've finally managed to pick up Warframe again, and I'm bouncing between that and Path of Titans without being hopelessly deep in a hyperfocus.

I officially got promoted at my job to Retail & Visitor Services manager (and got a $3 raise in Nov!!). While I'm struggling with finding help to ease my increased workload, I'm definitely way better off than before we hired on extra staff. It's given me a lot of networking opportunities (and excuses to go on field trips on the clock for ~*networking*~) and I've been juuuust starting to poke my head into local groups. One is a monthly artists crafting meetup right by work that starts right when I clock out! :D

I had the energy and free time to start branching out and trying other arts and crafts hobbies that had been interesting me! Ended up getting a serger machine to help really tidy up clothes that I make! I got into linocut & block printing, and have been having a lot of fun working on designs for that kind of printing. I even made a few printed shirts! And of course there was Andromeda, the first puppet I've ever made, and pretty much my proudest achievement in all my years of art so far.

I've honestly been spending less time on social media proper, usually forgetting to check tumblr for days or weeks at a time. Which has been good and bad, but overall better for me to stop feeling like I HAVE to fully backlog everything ever.

I got my first tattoo this year after wanting one for years and years! And that opened up a whole new can of worms and now I'm ending the year with 5 tattoos and 2 more scheduled in the next couple months oops! My first tattoo was Joltik, with my first ever pet spide!

I started keeping spiders this year after years of being too concerned about keeping pets that required live feeding! That also was a slippery slope. I picked up Indrid my red-backed jumper and Autumn my pumpkin patch t at the end of January, and now I have them, a regal jumper, a red-knee t, and a togo starburst t. You'd never guess that less than a decade ago I was scared shitless of all spiders. :> Especially now that I will occasionally free-handle wild spiders that need relocation to someplace safer. (Mostly still just jumpers tho)

Things aren't perfect by any means and I still have a lot of areas I want to personally improve myself in, but I feel like overall this has been a really really good year for me and I want to keep that momentum going into 2024! More art! More projects just for me! More time with friends! More enjoying games! More tidying my space literally and metaphorically!

#in fairness re: driving it only was a danger when i was seriously sleep deprived on top of the adhd understimulation #i am fine now if i am seriously sleep deprived but taking my medicine. that's normal levels of sleepy

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lapinaraoflimbo · 10 months

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Dylan was trying to stay calm. He knew how to fight, he had been in all sorts of fights before, lawless street fights and chaotic brawls and boxing matches with rigid rules about exactly what was and wasn't allowed. He knew how to fight. He was skilled enough to know the girl in front of him had her own share of talent with brawling- but talent alone wasn't enough to explain what was happening to him.

He had already identified multiple openings, and effectively went to punish them. Each time he did, his body felt like it stalled, always moving slower than he expected it to. Always moving slower than it was supposed to. The truth of the matter was slowly beginning to dawn on him- this had never been a fight about martial arts, it was a magician's fight, and he was nothing more than a defenseless child.

The barrage against him picked up. Each hit landed quicker than he could comprehend, and each of his movements was slowed down. It felt like the air itself was fighting against him. His energy was draining from him. Hit after hit made his ears start to ring, his focus start to fade. There was no helping it, he was simply outclassed.

He held on for as long as he could. Healing the damage done to his body through clerical magic was all he could do. It was nothing more than stalling for time, but despite knowing that he couldn't stop trying to fight back. It wasn't just out of pride, he knew there wouldn't be any shame in conceding when a loss was this apparent. It was just that the longer he could stay conscious the more of that beautiful boxing he'd be able to see.

Each punch of hers was quick and precise, each punch of his was slow and easily countered. Every time, his body would be moved- almost as if the air itself was trying to hold him in place. Even when he tried to throw her off with unpredictable movements she was quick to adapt.

A few times he had managed to get the best of her- to push through her magic and throw a real punch- but every time she managed to avoid him. Her own body moved in ways that shouldn't be possible. Falling back or sliding to the side- her body could stop moving faster than what should be humanly possible. Slowly, he started to understand what was really happening.

"It's wind" he thought to himself. "She's controlling the air itself. I had become so used to the pressure of the air I forgot it existed, but she's mastered it all. Oh, how lucky I am to be able to fight against someone like her. If only it could last forever."

As he thought this, his vision started to fade.

"Just a little bit longer, body. Let me fight just a little bit longer. I haven't been this excited by a fight in ages. I don't want it to end so soon!"

The darkness soon overtook him, and his mind went silent.

#creative writing

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dckweed · 2 years

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hello my favorite lil whores, i know i haven't been very active and a lot of you guys have sent in messages asking if im okay..i am very much okay, just honestly needed a little break from request/fic writing and wanted to go focus back on my roots for a second. i am working on new requests and fics and as you read this, though i don't want to give any timelines because im never accurate lol.

i did however, want to give you guys a peak into what my original works look like, and right now im currently working on a book that contains the little snippet ill be posting below..

warnings: MINORS SAFE TO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. mentions of drug use and overdose, mentions of nudity, mentions of death/CPR.

𝖇𝖆𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘

Dazed and trying to hold on to what bit of clarity was left in her now drug adled brain, it took Arya a while before she was able to make a conscious thought. She lay on the back seat of Zak's nice, shiny car with her head in his lap. Vaguely she could feel his fingers in her hair, could smell the leather and pine of his cologne. She could see his lips moving out of the corner of her eye, heard his voice but couldn't comprehend the words. He looked like he was upset, she thought maybe he was shouting and she wanted to ask why, but her eyes wouldn't move away from the lights above them, speeding by one by one on the side of whatever road they were on. They were pretty, blurring together in one giant smear, the edges of buildings and headlights from other cars mingling in the mix of them all. She wanted to speak, to tell him it was okay, that she was alright. She wanted him to calm down, he wasn't much help when he was upset, only her brain wasn't moving fast enough to make words happen anymore, she could barely even blink her eyes.

She could feel her breathing hollowing out, and god she was so cold. Im going to die. She thought, and panic set in, kicking her brain into high enough gear for her to be able to do something other than groan. "Zak.." She could barely hear her own voice, and she was shocked when she finally managed to tear her gaze away from the windows to find him looking at her.

His hand was on her face, tapping her cheek as if to keep her attention on him. His lips were moving, her ears were ringing. She groans, closing her eyes tightly for a moment, swallowing despite her throat being so dry. She opens them again and for a moment everything comes into focus.

"Zak, Zak.." Her voice was still so quiet, but he could hear her. "I'm overdosing.." His eyebrows furrowed, and his thumb rubbed across her cheek, god she loved the feeling of his hands.

She saw his throat bob as if he was swalling before she finally heard his voice. "I know, I know sweetheart, we're getting you to the hospital okay?" He says, trying to reassure you that everything was fine. She couldn't help the small smile that spread across her lips, and even though it felt like it weighed a million pounds, she lifted her arm up to rest her hand on his.

"We're not going to make it." She says, shaking her head. "Zak, baby, listen to me okay..my heart is going to start slowing down to the point where it's not going to pump enough blood through me, it most likely won't kill me immediately.." She could see him start to freak out, the panic in his eyes as he tried to stay calm. "Baby listen..you're going to lay me down flat okay..can you do that please?"

Zak couldn't help but chuckle just the slightest bit, only his girl would be bossing her around while she was dying. It was good to hear her voice, even if it was barely just a whisper. "Okay.." He says softly, kissing her forehead as he lifts her head out of his lap and turns so he's kneeling as best as he can on the floor, his long, lanky legs not easy to manuever as he lays her down completely flat. He noticed her slight shiver and pulls the flannel he had left in the back seat over her, trying to keep her warm as best as he could. "..what now, baby, hmm?"

Arya struggles to keep her concentration, her eyes closing and then reopening after what feels like an eternity. "I need you to prop my legs up okay? Keeps the blood flow to the heart..just like that.." She feels him shove something under her ankles, a small duffle bag she thinks, his hands rubbing everywhere he touches in an effort to show some kind of affection. "Now straddle me..but don't sit on me."

Words were becoming increasingly hard to form, hell, they were becoming hard to even remember at this point and she knew she had to be faster about this if she wanted to have any chance of survival. God, she wished one of them had been smart enough to grab her bag from the hotel, there was a good dose of narcan in there that she would have shown God himself her breasts for.

"Okay.." She was going through the steps in her mind, and trying to be thorough and quick. It felt like it took her forever but she grabbed his hand and slowly pulled it up to her neck, where she knew her artery was. "Press two fingers very lightly..you feel it?" He nods, looking increasingly nervous by the second. "My heart is already slowing, i can barely remember the words im trying to say..when you feel it slow to the point where you can't hardly feel it at all, just a few slow beats..you're going to start compressions."

His eyes go wide, and he opens his mouth like he was about to protest. Arya shakes her head at him. "Remember what i taught you? how to form your hands?" He does it, right above the spot on her chest where she had once taught him compressions were the best. "you're going to do sets of five. Check my pulse, start again." She looks up at him. "My ribs are going to break, okay? You're going to feel them break, maybe even my sternum, but do not stop the compressions. Do you understand me? If you want any chance at me surviving this, do not stop compressions until we are inside that hospital, do you understand, Zakary?"

God, why did she hsve to use his whole name? He knew how serious this was. How could she think he didn't. "I understand, I'm not going to let you die.." She smiles at him, the corners of her mouth tugging up faintly and he can't help himself as he leans down and presses his lips against hers, holding her there as she slips back into her daze. "I love you.."

It felt like forever, it truly did, and he was hoping that they would hit a hospital before it happened, but they were too far out in the desert for that, he couldn't just leave it to chance. This was his girl, his sweetheart. He wasnt going to let her die, not after what she had gone through because of him, and certainly not because he was stupid enough to not keep an eye on her.

He presses his fingertips to her artery point after a good ten minutes, it had to have been the hundredth time he'd done it though, only this time, he could only just faintly make out her heart, once and then after what felt like too long, twice.

"Henry, fucking drive!" He yells to his friend in the front, pressing his hands against her chest and pumping downwards. "One..two..three..four.. five.." Round and round he went, five compressions, check her pulse, five compressions press her pulse. After the fifteenth round of compressions, he felt something snap, something that felt just as painful to him as it probably did to her, but he didn't stop. She had said to keep going, and he wasn't going to disobey her.

He watched with watery eyes as her head jolted every time he pressed down, looked for any sign of life in her upon her pale, sunken in face.

God, he was so fucking stupid. How did he let this happen to her? To sweet, sweet, Arya.

Everything blurred after a while, he remembered yelling at Henry, but he couldnt hear what he had said, he could only hear his repetitions of five in his mind, hear her voice telling him what to do. He stared at nothing but her face, didn't move off of her until a security guard had to forcefully remove him off the stretcher he didnt remember getting on, her orders to not stop ringing loudly in his ears.

Had they made it? Would she be okay?

Once he has finally calmed down, the adrenaline worn off, he sunk down into a chair in the waiting room, hand on his face as he tries horribly not to cry.

#kara writes #kara writes things #original works #original fics #original books #good girl x bad boy #drama #romance #drugs

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thisdreamplace · 2 years

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Hi Dream 💞💞 how are you?

I want to get something off my chest. There's this SP that I've been having the typical experience with, you know, hot and cold behavior. Since last year my approach to the law has been a bit similar to yours, allowing things into being, letting go, living and loving life hehe. But my romantic relationships and my self concept in romantic relationships is still somehow... chaotic? A mess? I isolated myself from any potential romantic interest for over a year thinking that being alone was going to be the solution. I then met this guy, let's call him B. B and I met online, I was not really interested in him but eventually I started having fun with him and our chats were cool. I was enjoying who I was with him and I was very chill tbh. Then B started being too busy to chat with me (this has been a pattern, that I have experienced even in friendships) and I started freaking out and chasing him. B slowly started fading away and then it became a cycle of him texting me whenever he was not busy, and basically giving me breadcrumbs, and I was down so bad that I got addicted to this.

Now I'm bored of this dynamic, and also bored of B and don't have any energy left. I decided I seriously need to focus on my self love because I clearly haven't been giving myself enough. I want to move on from him, but I don't want to hold the image of me being his victim, idk if you know what I mean? I was conscious all the time, and I knew what was happening, and I allowed it. I am a victim of myself. I don't want to hold him responsible? Or to hold judgements of him? Yk to keep him in my memory as the asshole B hahah. But also, he kinda was an asshole. But somehow seeing him like an asshole consequently makes me feel like his victim and it keeps me attached to this narrative of "oh he damaged me". I don't know if you understand me HAHAHA. But I also feel resistance towards seeing him like an angel boy lmao. Do I believe he has potential to be an angel boy? Sure, everyone can change, but at the same time, I do feel victimized if I'm fully honest with myself. I do feel like a part of me knows I am fully responsible for myself, and there's no point in blaming anyone but it also feels very easy to blame it all on him and hate him, but then again, I don't want to hate or judge.

Thank you for this blog, it has been a source of support and guidance for me...

hello lovely !! <3 i am doing very well, whenever spring is in the air, i feel so in love ! :)))) how are you ?

that bit about isolating yourself bc u thought it was the solution. so relatable, lmao. thank you for sharing all of this !

i totally understand everything you are saying, as for the past couple years since knowing the law i also felt that way. i refused to hold anyone accountable for anything, because i felt like it was my responsibility to take as, just like you said, i was fully conscious and am a victim of myself. but tbh, this only made things harder and didnt stop people from doing what they wanted. when i started to accept the pain i felt, the way i saw them (they did this to me, and yeah it hurt and im upset, etc etc), i actually started being able to move on and stop harbouring resentments. (bc telling myself i should take responsbility for them only created resentment, bc it wasnt true to how i rly felt inside of my heart) this isn't so much about blame but staying true to yourself. let yourself have that moment to fully digest and feel the way your experience with him has been. bc then you will feel much more free to move into love and nonjudgment and ultimately freedom... rather than trying to force yourself into it now, because you know its what you "should" do. i hope this is helpful <3

i'm so thankful that my blog has been helpful for you, thank you for sharing that :') xo

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xandri-art · 8 months

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I want this blog to be a place where I can keep most of my art in one place, but I also made it because I wanted a place where I can post more of my more "weird" art and originals without feeling so self conscious.

I don't want it to just become an extension of my main blog. I like doing the cutesy or silly fan arts because those are also important to me, but I also want to have the freedom to explore and express more uncomfortable or complex things.

Going forward, I want to be more diligent about posting most of my fan art on main, (@cuppa-ale) and then reblogging it here. Like how I post OCs on my OC blog (@cuppa-crud) and then share it here. And then everything else in between.

I often think about my original projects and plans that I have for them, but I realize that I haven't actually talked or posted much about them, and so I think that most people who find and follow this blog don't really know what that entails. So maybe I should talk more about them.

I've spent a lot of time agonizing over how to curate my art places online, to the point where I still feel self conscious about being passionate about anything and actually sharing that passion, which should be the whole point. Just, so much anxiety and uncertainty from past experiences and often not knowing what to think, or what to make of things.

I feel like that has made it very, very hard to find my "niche", because I am so consumed by self-curation and just feeling lost and out of place no matter where I go. I feel like I have to constantly scrutinize myself, and I never truly feel like I belong or that I will be accepted- but at the same time, I have also isolated myself and haven't branched out much as a form of self-protection, also due to this hyper-vigilance and doubt.

It's only been recently that I can scroll through sites without feeling overwhelmed by a sense of dread and anxiety, and even then I can't stay on for long.

I want so badly to be interested and curious and have passion for things and to reach out. It's just also that I don't want to have to carefully curate and censor everything I make out of fear or to be accepted, either. Or have to refrain from posting things out of fear, which I believe defeats the purpose of having an art blog at all/being here at all. I'm getting older, I don't want that. I just want to be real and for people to be real with me.

And as far as original projects go, I know that it will not be for everyone, and that there's things I'm willing to depict which I know may be uncomfortable for others- like weird relationships between adult characters and underage characters (not sexual unless in a one-sided way on the younger character's part, but still just... weird), or pseudo-sexual nightmare fuel based on my own specific experiences.

And the truth is, I don't know how people will respond to those things, or how they will interpret or misinterpret them. All I know is what they mean to me, and the things I want to convey through them. They are personal and I want to do it for myself, but also for anyone who it may resonate with. And I want to be able to share them.

I'm saying this because you will either find that out through here, or by seeing the projects themselves, which I do plan to have the appropriate warnings for on their own sites/blogs. And I still will not post anything "explicit" here, to be clear.

Basically if you didn't sign up for that, you are free to unfollow/block/etc.. This is the personal art blog of a nobody weirdo online and I will not cater to people who might eat my face if they get something other than what they followed for, or otherwise.

I still feel out of place, and I don't know where I should go in terms of an online presence. It may wind up being that I migrate from here to somewhere else one day. Or have posts here and on main fizzle out over time and become rarer while working on things elsewhere. But for now I want to make this work, and most of all, focus on doing things and being passionate about them, truly.

TL;DR: I have GOT to start posting more about my weird and alienating OCs.

#Xandri Speaks #i'm just tired of my 'online life' feeling like a source of anxiety instead of fun #'cause it feels like a (metaphorical) nuclear bomb is abt to go off any second cuz someone decides they don't like u #or your work #and i don't want to feel that way in what's supposed to be a creative space #again: I'm getting older and I don't want that. I've had enough of that

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v1ctimplagued · 11 months

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I stayed

memes. / always accepting.

the receiver has told the sender that they haven't slept for several days due to intense nightmares, and asks them to stay the night so that they might be able to sleep. send in " i stayed. " for the receiver to waken the next morning and find the sender to still be sitting by their bedside, having stayed the whole night to ensure they slept.

　IT WAS DISBELIEF. It circled the foggy, sleep-deprived, dulled blue eyes. Painted purple underneath the crescents of his eyes from the many restless nights prior. Some part of Billy had expected him to be gone. After all, that had always been a recurring theme in his life. No one stuck around whether they said they were or not so why should this be any different?

But it also makes a lot of sense 'cause it was probably the best Billy has slept in so long. His limbs tangled with the other male's and his head pressed too close for comfort now that he was conscious. He moves languidly to unravel himself from Eddie uncertain where he began and ended on his own. ❝ You stayed, ❞ He says after a moment when his mind is a little more awake and things are coming more into focus. He doesn't mean to sound so fucking in awe of it. Eddie had said he would stay, hadn't he? And Eddie had never given him any reason to disbelieve him—not that he had to 'cause Billy was determined to come up with reasons to let himself down so Eddie would never have to.

Peeking up from the comfort of his pillow and the curtain of his hair Billy smiles faintly, lopsided and tired. ❝ Didn't drool on me, at least. ❞

#ebbiemunson #&. dialogue.#&. answered.#( crying throwing up )#( cute n gross )

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haechanokeh · 4 years

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I’m right for you [pt. 3]

[teaser] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 2 ]

(you can play Die For You by The Weeknd while reading this 😌)

pairing: popular college! mark x average! reader

genre: romance, smut, angst, series.

warning: corruption, oral sex (both receiving and giving), cream pie, rough sex, mention of religion, rough sex, self-esteem, psychology, public sex, sub! reader, sex toys. possessive mark two-faced mark

I think I’m right for you, babe. You know what I’m thinking, see it in your eyes. You hate that you want me, hate it when you cry. It ain’t workin’ ‘cause you’re perfect and I know that you’re worth it I can’t walk away. (Die for you by The Weeknd)

today is you case presentation with mark. you were deeply affected of what happened in the cubicle but mark seemed unbothered because he was greeting you as usual. it wasn’t weird, he always greets everyone but what was really weird was your classmates. they were looking at you and it made you felt conscious, they were not saying anything but sometimes you catch them glancing at you but you brushed it off and focus on your brainstorming with mark.

yes you do dislike mark but you thank god that he's your partner. he never missed a question from your professor during case study on the other hand you're just standing beside him dumbly. you only understand the question AND the answer once mark responded. well, mark a very kind person he was, despite of answering it alone he made sure that you're included in the case saying base in y/n and my research, even lied that some are from my own research but of course not. plus, for some odd reason, your classmates' eyes were literally made you uncomfortable to the point you were having a hard time to breathe or your social anxiety attacking you. however, at the very moment, you want to give mark a tight hug for making your life easy.

the whole presentation ended. you were putting your things back to your back while standing while mark scrolling in his phone because his dad texted him asking if he could buy him some new pen. you gasped when an arm was on your shoulder, and that caught mark's attention but he hid his annoyance.

"hey, y/n, i heard you like someone ha?" his brows were playfully raising. it was lucas, he gave mark a meaningful glance but mark smiled confusingly.

"what?" you didn't have any idea what he's telling you.

"i heard someone saw-"

"mark!" mina suddenly appeared calling mark's name a little too loud which made lucas stop from talking. "we're going to a milk tea house, do you want to come with us?"

“y/n, come with us.” lucas pulled you closer to his body. mark was taring at lucas arm around your shoulder. you weren’t aware of mark’s expression because your mind was thinking ways to breakthrough from lucas.

“no!” mina exclaimed. he caught everyone’s attention, and she became flustered. “i mean, we will only make her feel uncomfortable and lucas please remove your arms to y/n, she doesn’t look comfortable.” she mumbled. lucas did remove his arms from you.

“milk tea? can we also come with you?” then the people started to surround mark. it became noisy, knowing you who’s allergic to people and noise sneaked out from the circle and left the room.

mark turned his head to look at you but you’re nowhere to be found. he sighed and forced himself to interact with his classmates.

your mother texted you that he will be away for one week because of their excursion. she left you an allowance good for one week including your meals for the whole day and transportation. you already had your dinner outside. right now you were just laying down on your favorite long sofa in your living room, watching NCT 2020 funny moments. suddenly, mark's name popped. mark is your class representative, he has access to class contacts and it wasn't that mark called you because you're always late in the class so for almost past 3 years he's the one you always contact just to inform the class that you're just late.

wait, did i miss an announcement? you quickly left the class maybe something came up.

"hello, was there an announcement?" you directly asked

"none, just checking you. we haven't had a proper conversation awhile ago unless it's case related."

you heart melted, he's very kind and sweet... that scares you.

"ah okay." you simply answered. it wasn't because you want to talk to him, well you really don't want to talk to him but it wasn't that he's annoying or anything- it was just you hate phone calls. you hate talking with someone in general unless it's your mom.

"well, have you eaten yet?" he tried to save the conversation, he wanted to hear your voice longer.

"yes." it was a one-word reply.

mark was slightly shattered because you don't seem to want to talk to him. he just thought that maybe you were tired.

"okay, goodnight."

"yeah." then you hang up.

you returned watching youtube until you drifted into your dreamland... no it wasn't your dreamland.

you gasped and sat up as you woke from another perverted dream with mark. your chest was rising aggressively and you look down as you felt the wetness between your thighs. you raked your hands over your hair as you felt frustration and guilt. this was your second time that you dreamt of mark doing erotic things. you looked at the digital clock it was already 2 am. you groaned and stood up, you want to wash your body because the stickiness just made you feel more guilty if it stays there longer.

you entered your room and stripped, walking directly into your bathroom. you opened a warm shower and as the water trickled on your body, hands unconsciously trailing to the south. your dream was so hot, you can't lie about that. it was in the same cubicle but instead of his digits, it was his dick inside you.

your eyes closed as you rubbed your bead slow while recalling your dream. you squeezed your left breast and imagining it was mark's squeezing it. you want something to fill your womanhood so you inserted your two fingers and thrust it. your lungs felt like being suppressed by pressure, your thrust became furious.

"oh my- mark fuck." you moaned his name and you have never been so ashamed. it was so wrong but the feeling was so good that you weren't able to stop yourself from moaning. you felt the tension in your thighs. you knelt down and the hand that squeezing your breast was now on your clit rubbing it furiously.

"mark! fuck right there." you felt the tension in your abdomen and your legs started to shake. your body just gave in, bending down, cheek shoved against the wet tiles while the warm water splashed on your body.

you screamed erotically, eyes rolling and lashes flickering. your legs were shaking as you reached your high.

mark hasn't slept yet, it's okay for him because there are no classes. he was staring at the ceiling and mind preoccupied by you.

he was trying to understand why do you keep pushing him away even though you clearly wanted him too. mark did remember where you say he's very different from you, and so? what's wrong with it? what he didn't like is the thought of changing just for a single person but...

"shall i?" he chuckled bitterly. he was really close to his insanity. he feared that this affection will grow into something that is uncontrollable- like an obsession.

he checked the time through his phone. it's 5 in the morning. he decided to jog outside, so, he took a quick shower and wore his tracksuit and running shoes. maybe if tiredness hits him, he will feel sleepy. mark already went to your house and he didn't tell you that his house is just a few blocks away from you, instead of going to his normal route, he changed it, jogging in your house direction.

when he was closed to your street, he was surprised to see you outside. he stood and admire your naturalness from afar. your hair was disheveled, your eyes weren't completely closed yet, and your face was a little puffy but it doesn't take away your beauty. plus, your cute teddy bear pajamas made him smile. he sends his gratitude to god because he created a masterpiece.

yeah, mark is deeply in love and he thinks there's no way out of this feeling.

you were actually waiting for your breakfast, your pancakes from mcdonalds and a warm chocolate drink. when the delivery arrived, you paid and gave him a tip for being quick. you were about to go back inside when you heard a VERY familiar voice which was owned by the person who sleep deprived you

"Y/N!" his voice was loud, it even cracked.

"what are you doing here?" you asked.

"morning jog, and good morning to you." he replied and greeted at the same time.

"jog.." you paused and gasped. "from your condo to here?!" you exclaimed in disbelief. mark laughed at your reaction. of course it'll shock you because you already been in his condo and if he jogged it from there to here, he was supposed to be passing out right now.

"no, my family house is actually a few blocks away from here." he said.

WHAT?! this is not good. you thought. the more he gets closer the more he has access to your mind and body. you masked your displeased face and just nodded.

"okay, ahm. i'm heading back now. bye." you pointed at your house door and awkwardly turned your back walking towards your door.

you expected him to do something because he always do that but to your disappointment he didn't. you looked back to check if he was stil there but he was no longer standing there but you saw him jogging away from your direction. you sighed in disappoinment that made you mentally slap yourself for feeling very contradicting .

you ate miserably your affordable and favorite pancake.

mark took a bathe and go down to eat breakfast together with his parents. they prayed before eating. the cooked food by his mom made him question why your ordered delivery food for breakfast.

"how's school?" mark's dad asked him.

"good, still the same." he replied.

"your father will lead a service, you can invite your classmates. oh mina, you can invite her, she's very sweet girl." his mom said but she doesn't have any motive. she knew mark have not interest in romantic relationship as of the moment, her child was so focus in maintaining his grades and scholarship. at least, that's what he though.. if she only knew.

"i'll try." he forced a smile but behind it was growing tiredness. he knew that his classmates doesn't really want to praise but because they were so fond of mark and they just love to hang out. it defeated the purpose of going to church.

after the breakfast, mark's parent left for their work. he washed the dishes and went up stairs and stayed in his room with his music and guitar. it helped to detach his mind from thinking of you, but it was just temporary as he saw you name appeared in his phone. he almost threw his guitar just to answer your call very quick.

"y/n? why?" he sound so excited.

"ahm, mark... well.. perhaps, do you ahm, have notes from yesterdays discussion? i mean in all cases, not just ours?" you were very stuttering because of shyness. your class have long test about the cases but you're notes are everywhere and you can't understand your writings.

"yes." he said. he knew where this is going. he quickly get out from his bed and go straight to his closet, choosing shirt to wear. "do you need it? i can bring it to you."

"no, no. ahm, you do digital notes right? mind if you could send it through gdrive?" you really don't want to bother him... nah lies. you're just preventing things from happening.

mark paused for a moment and was a little hurt, he understood your statement as if you don't want to see him. but mark will not having any of that.

"it was handwritten though." he faked sorry. he hoped you didn't notice what he did there, hoping that you received it as if it was literally handwritten like directly to paper since he sounded apologetic.

"oh... i see. well, ahm, can you drop by in the house?"

mark still not satisfied by just dropping by.

"how about we study together? we can review together."

you translated it like 'the smartest in your class can help you'and that's very tempting. you can't easily study 8 cases and you need him. you used his diuretics notes in lecture, you almost aced it. now, your lab needs him.

"then, pizza is okay for you?" you whisoered from the other end.

mark secretly fist pump and grinned in triumph.

"yes."

you spayed air freshener in your living room and changed your shirt to another shirt? you only have tees just in different colors, you changed your short into black sweatpants. you made sure that your hair was far different from the hair he saw this morning. you already ordered the pizza.

the doorbell rang. your quickly opened the door for him. mark was standing, carrying his ipad and his other hand holding a two milk teas in a cup holder. he's wearing dark blue t-shirt and gray sweatpants. you smiled awkwardly and let him in. you scanned his body, looking for paper or at least a piece of paper but you didn't see any of it. mark was looking down at you, watching you observing him.

"where's your notes?" you curiously asked.

"here." he lifted his ipad. your jaw dropped.

"i thought you did not do digital notes?"

"i don't recalling telling you i didn't, i just said it was handwritten and when i saif that handwritten in my ipad." he reasoned. taht made you think later realizing that he was right and that made you dumb.

you sighed in defeat.

"by the way, bought you milk tea since you missed it yesterday." he said, you acually don't care if you missed it or not.

you walked towards the single couch and patted it.

"you can seat here." you said.

he quickly sat down and put the milk teas on top of your living room's table. he confusingly watched you when you sat on the long couch and it was the end of it. you were too far from him.

you noticed his sulking face.

"mr. mark lee, what's with your long face?" you chuckled teasingly.

"why are you too far from me?" he pouted.

"damage control." you replied shortly and get your case 3 notes which is very illegible to read. "can i borrow your case 3?"

"why? what did i do?" mark asked was clueless. he did not pay attention to your question

"mark, being alone with you is not healthy anymore." you directly answered him.

"orgasm is healthy, what do you mean?" mark didn't get your.

"mark, that's not what i mean. we're like horny teenagers doing unappropriate things."

"we're already passed in that phase in life, we're both adults." he rebutted.

you mentally face palmed yourself in frustration. why is he so smart and dumb at the same time.

"mark, that's not why i mean. we're being to touchy, every time we are left alone the next thing we knew we're touching each other. do you know how scary was that to me? it only happened twice but i am already longing for more! when i don't feel your touches i go craaazy! i even touched myself for freaking 2-" you froze when you realize what you were telling him you stared blankly at him.

on the other hand, mark was very pleased hearing you exploded from frustration as you became honest for the first time.

"you touched yourself? what 2?" he smirked and lifted his brows.

you cleared your throat.

"can i borrow your ipad? i need your case 3." you murmured and look anywhere but him your face heat up. you want to be swallowed by your favorite sofa.

"then get it."

you look at his ipad sitting on his manly wide spread apart thighs. your eyes stared at the mark that makes your knees weak and wet pussy. his fiery eyes looking directly toyou while he was sitting comfortably on the couch and arms are both in each side of the armrest.

"mark lee, i need it." you tried to use your stern voice but failed because your voice was too small.

"i told you, you can get it.. here." he glanced at his ipad.

you gulped and the living room's air became thick. your submissive self switched on and you just found yourself walking towards him. your hands felt cold as you reached for his ipad. when you lifted it, his bulge forming in his gray sweatpants made you almost drool. you were reminded how fucking hot it was.

you want to touch it and do anything you can possibly could but your single rational braincells keeping you in the light.

"you don't seem sure of what you really wanted to do." he snapped you from overthinking. "should i make you choices?"

"what?" you asked confusingly but your voice was shaking.

"you bring that ipad with you and go back to where you were sitting, or..." he looked up to you with his dark eyes, leaning a little forward you trace the side of your hips with his palm..

"put the ipad on the table and sit in my lap."

mark knew that you can never say no at this state. if you could only see how your body shivered and how defeated your face was, he knew you already gave in.

and his was right.

the original draft was deleted because of my stupidity 😭 idk think this is good as the original draft.

hello, some of you asked me if i have a tag list, i will be creating one.

✨if you want to be added in I'm Right For You Tag List, you can DM or Ask me so i can add you ✨

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anyways, i would like to say thank you for supporting this story. i did not expect some of you will like it. i also want to thanks people who leaving message through dms and ask praising this story. also to those nctzens hearting it 🥺🤗

#mark lee #nct mark #mark lee smut #mark lee fanfic #mark lee nct #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #mark #nct 127 #mark lee angst #nct #mark lee imagine #nct dream #nct 127 smut #mark lee scenario #mark smut

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dylinski · 4 years

Text

Come Back Home

Warnings: angst with happy ending, smut (vanilla), language, vomiting, seizure, lots of kissing, fighting

Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Word Count: 10465

Author: @dylinski

A/N: so, i spent six months on this lol. i also haven't written anything in three months so yay! let’s just hope i can stay in the groove and keep my muse. ☺️ this is also a submission for sterek bingo 2020

Derek walked into the seedy motel room, the sound of panging rain echoing through the small space. He collapsed on the bed exhaustedly, not bothered to remove his soused clothes. He let out a distressing grunt and winced in pain from shifting in bed, forgetting he had been wounded. There wasn’t much concern for it since abnormally rapid healing was expected, so he let sleep take him willingly despite his discomfort.

It had been like this for months now, the endless cycle of wasting his day away chasing his demons and passing out in a shady rented room to do it all again the next. He found comfort in this, or at least a numbness from all the memories he was hopelessly trying to suppress. It kept his thoughts occupied and he was always too engrossed or depleted to allow his mind to wander without his consent. Unfortunately, he had even less control over the slumberous plane versus his conscious one.

Dreams were never a relative concept to Derek since they customarily failed to linger after he opened his eyes. He could always feel the essence of the illusions of sleep, but that would soon dissipate as well. There was always that one nagging feeling in his abdomen that he could faintly feel albeit his attempts to choke it down. Always there, always lingering, to the point that he thought he might feel empty without it.

Typically, when suffering from a nightmare, Derek would wake suddenly and still as if he were petrified. No screaming, no cold sweats, no rapid heartbeat. As if he had been given a dose of kanima venom, his body found no reaction to the terrors that absconded once his lids flew open. So what made tonight different? What suddenly changed in him, allowing everything he had spent months taking apart to force itself back together, pulling like a magnetic field until it was recognizable?

Derek sat up violently in bed, his eyes flashing blue in the stark black of the room as it was riddled with the sounds of panting and a rapid heartbeat. Being a werewolf meant the muscle in his chest was already accelerated, with the rate at which it thumped now could end in sudden cardiac failure for anyone without supernatural aptitudes. He sucked air through his teeth at the sudden jerky motion upwards, instinctively bringing a hand to his stomach. Through the darkness, he could see his fingers laced with blood. Temporarily sidetracked, he jumped from the bed and flicked on the light switch, shielding his eyes at the abrupt flooding of brightness.

Derek lifted his shirt up while standing in front of the rancid sink and mirror to reveal the bullet wound that had befallen him earlier that night. He peeled off his shirt, raising his arms slowly as the pain began to radiate through his body in hopes to examine the spot more easily. Pulling the skin back, it appeared that his injury had not only failed to improve but began to deteriorate. A rush of horror made his stomach jump, nausea overcame him, knocking him to his knees as he emptied his belly into the toilet. Leaning back, he wiped the corner of his mouth and rested his head against the cold linoleum walls of the bathroom.

With his eyes closed, all the images he suffered during his slumber came rushing back, and a sting like being stabbed repeatedly manifested where he was starting to bleed again. Sitting on the floor, distraught and terrified, he let a single tear cascade down his cheek as he clasped at the lesion in his side. What was happening? The inability to recover physically was pushing his body to its barriers mentally, assuming that was what was happening here. He took in a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly, preparing to shut his lids and face what was haunting his mind. There were flashes of memories and voices, but nothing concrete, like a puzzle that was still trying to piece itself back together.

Derek knew exactly what his subconscious was trying to communicate, exactly what recollection he had thoroughly stored away in the recesses of his mind. Regardless, he was able to call upon the record of his life. He drew in deeply as the breath hitched in his lungs, holding back the hot tears that were brimming in his eyes. It probably should have been archived as a happy memory, that moment in someone's life that alters their course and turns their world on its head, which it was, but being Derek wasn’t an exact science.

***

The large metal door flew open with a loud clang, reverberating through the large loft, as Derek swung it open. His arms were full, carrying the lanky boy, hooking his legs over his arm while wrapping his other around his back and under his shoulders. “Derek! I said I’m fine, okay? Just put me down!”

“No.”

The freckle-faced boy slacked his jaw and glinted in distaste while Derek avoided eye contact, focused on the task at hand. The boy grunted in defiance and tried to wiggle out of his arms, but Derek tightened his grip making it almost impossible without supernatural strength of his own. “Jesus, Derek. Why are you acting like a crazy person?”

Derek only responded with a grunt as he approached his bed, laying Stiles down gently. He disappeared into the bathroom as Stiles leaned back on his elbows, rolling his eyes and throwing his head back as he shouted, “Seriously dude, I'm fine!”

Derek started back towards Stiles with a first-aid box in hand and a brooding mug. Stiles scoffed when he thought about the idea of a werewolf keeping a first-aid kit around, but then it occurred to him and his face went flush. Derek scurried to his side and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Do you need me to take the pain?” Derek grabbed Stiles’ limp hand and anchored him back to the moment.

“Huh? What? Oh, no. No, I’m fine.” Stiles was easily distracted.

Derek rolled his eyes as he let Stiles’ hand go reluctantly and turned to get a better view of his ankle.

“You keep saying that.” Derek’s voice was gruff and annoyed. He pulled off Stiles’s shoe and the boy winced as he pulled in air sharply. “And as usual, you are not fine.” Stiles rolled his honey eyes and let his head roll between his shoulders mockingly.

Derek peeled off the brunette’s sock and turned up the hem of his pants the best he could without causing discomfort.

Stiles was trying to hold his breath to hide the pain that radiated from his ankle up to his thigh as Derek worked on him, but the rhythm of his heart betrayed him. His eyes were screwed shut and the pain started to fade, allowing him to relax, but when he realized what was happening, his eyes flew open.

“Hey! I said don’t do that!” He swatted Derek’s hand away, the black veins in his arm paling. Derek grunted and put his hand back on his skin, the charcoal lines pulling the ache from him. There was no point in fighting Derek because Stiles had no doubt that if he kept it up Derek would have him tied down so that he couldn’t push his hand away. If there was anyone to rival the stubbornness of Stiles Stilinski, it was Derek Hale.

The pain dispersed and he could only feel a slight tingly sensation along with the impression of the swelling. Stiles sat up to bring Derek and his foot into view. The ankle was roughly the size of a tennis ball and he had had enough broken bones and injuries in his life to know that wasn’t a good sign. “How bad is it? Is it broken?” Stiles coiled back, preparing for the answer. Derek didn’t respond so he wiggled his leg to get his attention. “Do I need to go see Melissa?”

“No.”

“No, what? I asked three questions.” Stiles squinted and pursed his lips.

“I know.” Derek kept his focus on Stiles’ ankle, continuing to care for the injury.

“Okay, grumpy-pants, that still doesn’t clarify anything,” Stiles said as he waved his hand and rolled his eyes.

Stiles seemed more easy-going since Derek took the pain and the wolf found comfort in that. From the angle he was to the boy, Stiles couldn’t see the small uptick on the corner of his mouth.

“No, it’s not bad. No, it’s not broken. And no, you don’t need to see Melissa.”

Stiles unknowingly let out a long sigh of relief as he let his head fall back. Stikes took a deep inhale before he looked back up and Derek was finishing up wrapping the white compression gauze around his foot. He couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips as he watched the man care for him, a side Derek tried to keep buried down but Stiles had seen break through the surface many times.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Derek hadn’t removed his eyes from Stiles’ injury, so the brunette shook his head in awe, startled that he was able to notice. Damn werewolf senses.

“Looking at you like what?” Stiles didn’t even try to hide the sass in his tone.

Derek sighed and pulled in his lips as he turned his head towards Stiles. He tilted his head and knitted his brows together.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak eyebrows,” Stiles mocked.

Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles and picked up the items he had littered around the foot of the bed while nursing the boy's ankle. He placed them all back into the kit and stood up, walking over to the center of the room. He placed it on the table in front of the couch as he sunk into its cushions. Leaning back, Derek rubbed the place between his eyebrows and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was so exhausted. Letting out a long sigh, he straightened his back by sitting up, knowing he couldn't rest yet.

He looked over to Stiles who was still examining him adamantly. “You need to rest, Stiles.”

“Apparently, so do you.” He threw an arm up at the man as he shifted in the bed, pulling himself up to lean against the headboard.

Derek sighed and let his head fall into his hands, digging his elbows into his thighs as he leaned forward.

Stiles scooted over to the side of the bed as best he could without twisting or moving his ankle then cleared his throat. Derek looked up hazily and saw Stiles pat the spot on the mattress next to him.

Quizzically, Derek looked the scene over and drew lines into his forehead. Stiles tried to offer him assurance with the softest of smiles.

Nervously gulping, Derek let his thoughts run rampant. It’s not that the idea repulsed him, but that fact that it didn’t. He’s known Stiles for a few years now and he has successfully drowned his feelings for him in that time frame. Stiles wasn’t very subtle and he could tell that the brunette felt...something too, whatever that may be.

No matter what he did, Stiles seemed to weave himself into the structure of Derek’s existence and there was no denying it, so he ignored it. Giving in to his weariness, he stood up and walked over to the bed, falling into its embrace. He edged the side, trying to put as much space between him and Stiles as he could.

“Look, I know you bite, but I don’t.” Derek rolled over to face the boy and glared at him with tired eyes.

Shrugging his shoulders, Stiles slid down onto his back and let his fingers tap restlessly on his belly. Derek drowned out the noise by honing in on the boy’s rhythmic breathing. In...out. In...out. In...out.

***

A surging pain woke Derek on the bathroom floor, wrenching his intestines as he leaned over to puke again. He opened his wet eyes and saw that everything in the toilet was black. A cold chill ran down his spine and his body started to tremble as he leaned against the wall again.

With his mind spinning, he couldn’t focus on anything around him let alone a coherent thought. He pressed his palms to the cold floor, pushing up to attempt bringing himself to his feet. Before he could raise himself higher than three inches, his arms gave way and he settled back onto the ground.

If he wanted to live through the night, he was going to need help from someone...anyone. He was desperate and his instinct was taking hold, his need to survive no matter what. His wolf howled as his fragile body was decaying from the inside out.

Derek’s eyes flew open, their brilliant cyan shining in the dimness of the small space as he let out a pained shout. He needed to call for help before he passed out again fearing he wouldn’t wake up next time. He reached into his pocket, pulling his phone out and agonizingly typed in a number. His fingers were weak, along with the rest of him, struggling to enter the digits with one hand. He left black blood on the screen as he tapped, there was black blood everywhere.

His lids grew heavy and his hand went limp just as he managed to send the call. He listened to the shrilling ring on the line as he faded into the absence of reality. The last thing he heard was the familiar voice calling his name with panic. He wanted to say something back, he wanted to comfort them and convince them he was okay, to take the worry from their mind but he couldn’t.

***

Derek awoke to the feeling of fingers tracing the lines of his face. Without opening his eyes, he smiled and grabbed the hand, pulling the person it belonged to into his chest. They shifted and turned, placing the curve of their back into Derek, slotting them together perfectly. His arm was draped over them and placed over their heart, feeling the rapid pumping of blood. He nuzzled his face into the crevice of their neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and feeling tingly at the scent he loved.

The scent.

That Scent.

Fuck.

Startled with reality finally catching up to him, Derek jumped up from the bed, and Stiles fell off the other side in response. Derek ran over to him and kneeled down next to the boy as he groaned. “Oh shit, sorry... I didn’t...I just...sorry.” Stiles was rubbing the back of his head and sitting up while Derek looked him over frantically, terrified he had broken him.

“It’s fine, sourwolf. I’m still relatively in one piece.” Stiles leaned back on his hands, giving him a content smile and Derek let his features wash over him. Like a crashing wave, everything hit him all at once. All the emotions and thoughts he had built a barrier to hold back. The dam had cracked and the pressure became too heavy. For the briefest of seconds, he lost all control and brain function, purely acting out of instinct.

He frantically grabbed Stiles’s face with both hands and pulled him to his lips, kissing him as if his life depended on it. There wasn’t any tongue or sexualization to it, but a hunger and desire to be closer, to be one.

Every movement of their lips clashing together felt like breath was being drawn out of his chest, pulling him in like a mist into the other man’s lungs. He was so enamored by the feeling of Stiles’ mouth that he failed to realize the fingers weaving into his hair, pulling so tight that it stung his scalp. He needed Stiles so fervently that searing tears welled in his eyes and leaked past their closed hoods.

When Stiles felt the warm moisture between their cheeks, he broke the kiss and ran his fingers through the wolf’s hair, then bringing his palm to cup his cheek. He brushed away a stray tear as the raven-haired man leaned into it, eyes still refusing to crack. He inclined forward and kissed Derek’s damp cheek where the tear had been wiped away. They sat there in silence, taking in the presence of the other.

They didn’t need words to communicate, they never did. Words were pointless between them, unable to bring light and understanding to what the other was truly experiencing. If you took a look back in their history, you could catch the longing gazes that failed to hide their affection while the other wasn’t looking. The ability to connect and comprehend one another without even speaking. Conversations of the eyes that allowed them to converse with their souls rather than their words.

Possibly, they weren’t entirely aware of it themselves, but it was there nonetheless. When they did become vocal, it was banter and words of indifference, contrasting everything their bodies spoke truth to. Their subconscious’ blatantly aware of what was happening between them, but their primitive brains just needing to catch up.

“Derek…” Stiles’ voice was barely above a whisper and it made the wolf knead deeper into his hand. The way he said his name, it was dangerous. Dangerous in the sense that it was raw and desperate.

Derek’s eyes finally opened and they were the piercing cobalt that bore into Stiles’s whiskey ones.

Gnawing on his lip, Stiles leaned back in slowly and searched for some kind of rejection in the cerulean orbs, but found none. He kissed Derek so gently that the brush of their lips was almost non-existent. He kissed again, somewhat harder. He repeated the action, each kiss becoming more and more demanding.

They made their way back up to the bed, refusing to break their lips and found themselves with Derek stradling Stiles’s legs. Their pelvis’ clinging together like magnets as they deepened their kisses. Derek licked across Stiles’s bottom lip as he pushed his hips hard against the boy.

Stiles moaned and the wolf took advantage, agonizingly pushing his tongue into the other’s mouth. He searched the open space, exploring its crevices and swirling around against the opposing muscle. Stiles let small keening sounds move past their locked lips and met Derek's crotch with his own small rolls of his hips.

Derek let his hands grip Stiles’ shoulders and brush down his arms until he intertwined their fingers, bringing his arms up and over their heads.

Their bodies rubbing together caused both their shirts to ride up and Stiles whined at the lack of skin. He pulled back and tugged at the hem of Derek's black shirt, prompting him to remove the item.

Derek reached behind the brunette, gripping at the end of Stiles’s shirt and bringing it over his head. He then sat up tall after he tossed the garment on the floor, then stilled, taking the boy in for all of his worth. His fingers brushed his collarbone and made their way down, ghosting his skin. He let the pad of his thumb sweep over his nipple, causing Stiles to shudder at the contact, then down over each bump of his ribs that protruded through his flesh. Over the line that formed half of the infamous “V” on his hip and to the patch of hair below his belly button, leading down past the waistband of his chinos.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Stiles’ cheeks flushed pink at the compliment and he gulped, the bump in his throat shifting slightly as he swallowed. Derek leaned down and kissed it, leaving a trail of wet kisses around his neck, up under his jaw, and around the base of his skull until he reached behind his ear.

Stiles was absolutely blanched, his breaths thready and mouth dry.

“I need you, Stiles.” Derek’s words weren’t desperate or pathetic, but whole-hearted and demanding. A simple statement of truth.

Derek sat up again, causing Stiles’s hand that was resting on his shoulder to drag down his chest. Stiles kept it there, against the defined abs of Derek’s stomach.

Derek was waiting for any sort of response from the brunette, but Stiles was unbelievably silent in all manner of the word. Derek Hale had managed to leave Stiles Stilinski speechless. He searched the younger man’s face and found a hint of awe, making him smile.

In return, Stiles broke his lack of reaction with a toothy grin that was comically large, but utterly pure. Derek’s smile grew even wider and he let out a small chuckle, leaning in for another chaste kiss.

Derek couldn’t wait anymore, he had to have Stiles now. He hovered over him, tugging on his bottom lip with question and the brunette turned his head minimally, mimicking the uncertainty. Derek pulled away a bit more and curled his fingers into the top of the Stiles's pants.

Stiles’s eyes grew wide and he gave a weak nod. The ebony-haired man unbuttoned the pants and pulled them off, leaving behind the plaid boxers. The hardness beneath them was undeniably visible as the head of Stiles’s pink cock peeked out at the top.

Derek swung his leg over Stiles and got off the bed, the boy whining in protest at the absence of his weight on him. He pulled off his own pants and briefs, leaving himself on display for the brunette to ogle.

He was large and thick, his cock not entirely up despite its hardness. The weight of it caused him to hang slightly. Stiles’s breath hitched as he looked at the man before him.

Derek looked to be carved from stone, a masterpiece by Michelangelo himself. His eyes seared into the flesh as he examined him, the bits of his hair sticking up from where his own fingers ran through, thick brows that rested above his kaleidoscope eyes. Lips that were pink and soft as clouds, his tongue running across them with desire.

Stiles followed the line of his jaw, littered with scruff down his neck that was thick and strong, shoulders that too often bore the weight of the world and arms that showed muscle without flexing. He looked at his hands that were deftly underrated, strong rough hands that he didn’t see as weapons the way Derek did, but as gentle tools. He remembered how those very hands had been used to take care of his injury and take away the agony that came with it.

Stiles’s eyes drifted to the surprisingly boney hips next to where his hands were hanging. Lines shot downwards from his hips into his pelvis but were cut off by dark hairs on his crotch. The hair extended up and onto his stomach which was hard and toned. A red blush covered his face as he looked back down to his thick cock, now being pumped by those full hands. Derek’s head was pink and swollen, liquid leaking from the slit at the top. Stiles could feel his own precome pooling on his stomach from the tip that poked above his underwear.

Stiles swore he was close to coming just from the sight of the man alone. His mouth was a contrast of watering with desire and dry from astonishment. It matched the oxymoron of his body, now breaking out into a cold sweat. His jaw was slack and he took in a shaky breath. “Fuck.”

Stiles had imagined Derek before when he let his mind wander, he even had seen him shirtless countless times, leaving little to the imagination, but seeing him fully, and in this way, wanting Stiles, was like gazing upon him in a new light. It felt like he was seeing him for the first time.

“Don’t just fucking stand there,” Stiles threw up a noodle of an arm, and Derek wasted no time to climb back on top of him. He wiggled his way between the brunette’s legs, letting their cocks rest next to each other.

He went in for a kiss, this one more sloppy and heated than the others, different and less sensual. Derek involuntarily began to buck his hips down, rubbing his cock alongside Stiles’s, only the thin fabric of the boxers between them. Stiles let out a moan from the friction against Derek and resented the barrier between them. He wiggled his pelvis up and Derek hissed with the unexpected pleasure.

“Off,” was all Stiles could manage as his heart pounded in his chest, and Derek complied. He sat up, pulling the waistband down and bringing Stiles’ legs in front of him and straight up. He tossed the item and brought his legs back down slowly, but Stiles was impatient and sat up to meet his lips. He made his way onto Derek’s lap, straddling him.

Derek would roll his hips up into Stiles and keening sounds escaped with each brush. Their cocks caught between their stomachs and mixing the precome into their flesh. Stiles wrapped his legs around the wolf’s back as he was lowered back down. “Derek, please. I need you inside me.”

The beta reached over to the table next to the bed and opened the drawer. He pulled out a bottle of lube and spread it across his fingers. Stiles looked on in anticipation and couldn't help but to gnaw on his lips.

Derek traced the ring to Stiles’s entrance and the boy shuddered at the touch. The lube made Derek’s fingers cold at first, contrasted to the heat irradiated off Stiles’s body.

“You gotta talk to me, okay?” Stiles nodded at Derek’s words with his eyes closed, basking in the pleasures he was feeling. “No, talk.” Derek wasn’t demanding, but still adamant.

“Okay.” Stiles breathed out hard, his voice almost nonexistent. He realized Derek was waiting on him. “More.” He could hardly keep his eyes open, his head back and neck exposed as he wiggled beneath his lover.

Derek pushed in a single finger and Stiles let out a harsh breath that turned into a moan. The sensation was strange but felt amazing. When he adjusted, he looked up at Derek and let him know he was okay. The man slowly inserted a second digit, stretching Stiles out. Stiles’s cock twitched, a steady stream of clear liquid leaking from his slit and onto his belly. He bucked his hips, begging for movement, and Derek started to incite his fingers, pulling them out and pushing them back in.

As Stiles relaxed and loosened around him, Derek’s movements were faster and stronger, pulling elicit moans and whines from Stiles.

“Der-” Stiles couldn’t manage to say his whole name between his hitched cries of pleasure.

“What do you need? Talk to me, remember?” Derek kept the rhythm of his fingers, twisting and scissoring inside Stiles.

Stiles let out a grunt of frustration, unable to form words. He wasn’t sure why Derek kept wanting him to speak, but he’d comply as best he could. “You.” He let out another groan of satisfaction. “I need you.”

Derek halted his hand and tilted his head at the boy. He watched as Stiles let out a whine of protest and looked up at him pitifully. Derek offered him a small smile and leaned over the brunette to get more lube, placing a small kiss on his lips. Derek poured some in his hand and then applied it to his enlarged member, flinching at the sudden chill the liquid brought.

Stiles watched over his belly and through his legs in awe as Derek pumped his cock in his hand. Stiles found himself bringing a hand to his own dick and wrapping his fingers around it as he pleasured himself.

Derek looked up and noticed, pushing Stiles’ hand away. He leaned down, still stroking himself with one hand and enveloping Stiles in the other.

Derek made a long stripe from the base of Stiles’s cock to the swollen head with his tongue and took him into his mouth, tasting the salty-sweet precome. Stiles let out a loud gasp and tensed slightly from the surprise as he bucked his hips up into the back of Derek’s throat and wrung his fingers into the man’s black locks. Realizing how close he was to finishing, he stilled Derek’s bobbing head, “Wait. Derek, just wait.” His words were strained.

Derek stopped and let Stiles’s throbbing cock fall from his mouth with a pop and hit his stomach where the patch of hair was thick on his belly. He raised an eyebrow with concern that Stiles wasn’t happy. Sitting up, he separated himself from the mole-speckled man slightly, in fear he was changing his mind.

“No! No, come back. I just…” Stiles looked to the side and bit his lip. Derek couldn’t help but let out a needy noise at the sight. “I was close and didn’t want to finish in your mouth.” Stiles sat up and placed his hand at the back of Derek’s head, locking their eyes. “I want to finish with you inside me. I want to feel you fill me up, coming on your cock.”

A thundering growl escaped Derek’s lips as he crashed them onto Stiles’s, knocking them both back down into the bed. His wolf took hold, no longer buried beneath the surface. His eyes flashed blue as he pushed himself up to look at Stiles and the young man gawked in amazement. Stiles brushed Derek’s cheek with his thumb and worried his bottom lip, gazing deeply into Derek’s sapphire eyes.

They met in another deep kiss, inhaling the moans the other made as their cocks rubbed together between their stomachs, slick from the lube. Derek lifted his hips and reached down, refusing to break their liplock. He positioned himself against Stiles’s hole and felt him flinch at the touch. He looked down to make sure the position was right and looked back to Stiles for affirmation one last time.

Stiles nodded with begging eyes and Derek pressed into him with dragging speed. Stiles let his head fall back and his jaw went slack as he felt Derek’s head slip into him. It was a mix of pain and pleasure, something words couldn’t define. He felt himself fluttering around Derek, adjusting to the protrusion and relaxing as his body became attuned with it. He closed his mouth and looked back to Derek who had stilled and Stiles frowned, whimpering and in need of more than he was given. “Derek…” His voice was hoarse and crackly, barely making a sound.

Derek offered sympathy and responded by slowly sliding in deeper. He was met with some friction as he felt Stiles clench. “Relax,” he whispered as he leaned down and kissed Stiles easily with nothing less than love. That’s what this was. They weren’t fucking or hooking up, they were making love and it scared Derek shitless but that was the last thing on his mind as he looked down at the man lying before him, offering himself wholly and completely.

Stiles felt relief at the reassurance of his lover and relaxed as best he could, his heart beating rapidly against his chest. His mind and pulse were racing at inhuman speeds, relentless, but everything around him stilled. Derek’s lips stuck to his, making a small noise when they separated from one another. God he loved Derek, he loved him with every atom of his being and had for so long, even if he hadn’t known it.

Feeling Derek rolling his hips, his cock moving in and out at an agonizingly slow pace, it forced Stiles to close his eyes despite his desire to stay locked on Derek. The room was filled with his wanton moans and gasps met with Derek’s grunts and shallow whimpers. The sounds rang like music to Stiles’s ears, listening to his lover as he began to thrust at a more unrelenting pace.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles breathed and flew his lids open to see Derek’s wolf eyes beating down at him. They had both acquired a sheen of sweat, causing their chests to glisten in the light.

“Stiles,” Derek grunted, screwing up his features trying to hold back his release. His stamina was higher than this, but with Stiles it was different. He could look at the boy naked and come, his body begging and screaming for liberation.

The way Derek said his name told Stiles he was close. “Touch me,” he demanded frantically and Derek complied, reaching for Stiles throbbing dick, a constant stream of cloudy precome escaping his slit and pooling on his stomach.

Stroking Stiles’s cock was easy with the mix of sweat, precome, and lube that had accumulated between them. He kneaded the slit with the pad of his thumb then started to stroke again, Stiles’ breath hitching in his throat, something blocking his airway.

“God, Stiles. I- I love-” Derek faltered for a split second but managed to recover. “Fuck, you’re amazing.” He placed kisses along the man’s spotted jaw and whispered so softly that even a wolf would have trouble hearing. “Come for me.”

Stiles let out a bellowing cry and for the briefest of seconds, Stiles felt his stomach lurch—the feeling you get when you hover in the air right before you come down on a swing. In that moment, everything made sense and the whole world was crystal clear. He looked at Derek for what felt like hours and saw him shining like a star; his beacon of light that would always guide him home—Derek was home.

Stiles’s whole body shuddered violently as he came over Derek’s hand, his body tensing and tightening just before all his limbs went limp. Derek felt the brunette beneath him and around his cock, straining him and pulling his own orgasm with the pressure, having seen the man he loved come because of him. He could watch Stiles come over and over again.

Stiles’ face contorted in the most beautiful of ways, like an angel that wasn’t worthy of his gaze. He emptied himself into Stiles, coating him with his seed and a roar escaped his chest as he collapsed onto Stiles, panting and huffing in sync with the body under him.

They laid there for an unnamed measure of time, Derek now flaccid inside Stiles, both of them too exhausted to move or clean themselves up. After what felt like an eternity, Derek managed to regain some strength and got up to grab a wet cloth. He cleaned Stiles and then himself and after he proceeded to climb back into bed. He pulled Stiles into his side, holding him close and tight, never wanting to let him go again.

They dozed off effortlessly in each other's arms and under the covers, breathing in each other and living in that moment where the world outside the loft didn’t exist. Just two men deeply and madly in love and they didn’t need another damn thing, this was enough.

***

Derek felt hands on his face, a familiar and longed for touch. His eyes opened but his vision was dark and blurred. “S’iles?” He slurred and felt his head roll as the bathroom swirled around him. “S’you?”

“Derek!? Derek, what happened?” The panic was blatant in Stiles’s voice as he coerced Derek to wake. “DEREK!?” He tapped the man's cheek as Derek’s head started falling.

Derek shook his head and opened his eyes, flashing between their beta color and his natural blues and greens. He groaned and tried to sit up, but had no control over any part of his body.

“Derek...” Stiles searched the man as best he could for the source of the black blood under the fluorescent lights. He pulled up the shirt Derek was wearing and discovered the open and festering wound on his side. “Oh my God. Derek, oh my God. What happened? Shit. Shit shit shit shit.”

Stiles grabbed the hand towel from the wall, which he was certain was less than clean in a place like this, and used it to apply pressure with both hands. A cocktail of curses and prayers escaped Stiles’s lips as his eyes began to well. “Derek, I swear to God…”

Stiles grunted as Derek shifted and contorted his face in pain. That was better than seeing his limp body laying on the floor. “I swear to God if you fucking die I will kill you.”

Derek’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell, laying on the ground. His body went rigid and began convulsing.

“FUCK.” Stiles threw the towel down and turned Derek onto his side as best he could. Stiles sat behind him, Derek’s back leaning against his chest as Stiles used his whole body to keep him in that position.

Tears streaked Stiles’s cheeks and he gritted his teeth, a bottomless terror tearing its way through his chest down into his stomach. He was beyond his depth and felt helpless. He needed to get Derek stable so he could piece together what was happening to him.

Stiles held onto Derek like the man would evaporate if he let go. Screwing his eyes shut he clung so hard his fingers were going numb and his knuckles turning whiter than bone. After finally finding Derek, he wasn’t about to lose him again; he couldn’t. If Derek died, he would die on the floor right next to him.

The seizure lasted less than a minute, but it felt like hours. After Derek finally stilled, Stiles let his head fall onto Derek’s shoulder and he could hear shallow breaths. He relaxed into the unconscious body on the floor and let out a choking sob. He sat there a minute, whimpering and soaked in the black blood that was seeping out of Derek.

Stiles couldn’t move, didn’t want to move, finding peace in Derek’s breathing. In...out. In...out. In...out.

***

“How’s your ankle?” Derek spoke softly as he let his fingers trace the side of Stiles’s arm. He was curled into the older man’s side, a smile on both their faces and eyes closed with contentment. Every once in a while, the brunette’s body would mildly shudder from the sensation of Derek’s touch, it wasn’t his fault he was ticklish.

“It’s fine.” Stiles hummed and nuzzled closer into Derek’s side.

“I don’t like that.”

Stiles sat up and looked down at his wolf with confusion. “Don’t like what?”

Derek pushed himself up onto his elbows and showed a sympathetic smile. “When you say ‘I’m fine’. You say it too often and I can always tell that you’re not.”

“Well, I am now. More than fine actually.” Stiles was starting to feel marginally defensive. “What about you? You say it too.”

“I do not,” Derek grumbled and laid his head back down, dismissing the discussion, but Stiles wasn’t finished.

“You do so! All the time actually.” Stiles sat straight up and picked up an accusatory tone.

Derek opened a single eye and glared at the boy who was now speaking with his hands.

“Hey Derek, how are you?” Stiles comically deepened his voice, “Fine.” Speaking normally again, “Yo, Derbear, how’s it hanging?” In a mocking timbre, “Fine.”

Derek was not appreciating the antics Stiles was executing.

“Oh my God, Derek! You’re bleeding from everywhere!” In his Derek voice, “I’m fine.”

Derek growled and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He got up and pulled on his briefs, then walked over to the couch to get some space.

“Oh! Real mature. So it’s okay for you to have a problem with something that I do, but the second I have an issue with you, you turn into a toddler.”

“I’m not a toddler.” Derek’s words were hard and gruff, spoken through gritted teeth. He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to look in Stiles’s direction.

Obviously, that wasn’t going to work, so Stiles leaned over the edge of the bed to find his boxers, then limped his way to sit on the table across from the grumpy wolf. “Really? Because it sure looks like you are to me.”

Derek looked at Stiles fleetingly and huffed in defiance.

“Seriously, why do you put these walls up around me? We just had the most...mind-blowing sex, and you opened up to me in ways I didn’t think possible, but you’re still doing this shit.” Stiles hesitated for a moment, pondering the idea of mentioning what he heard in the throes of it all, unsure if it was something that just slipped out or intentionally said. Shit, he didn’t even know if Derek knew he said it. “For fuck’s sake Derek, you told me you fucking love me! Why are you still keeping up these walls?”

Derek threw up a horrified stare like someone just told him he could never wear a black t-shirt again. Stiles drew into himself, feeling like he shrunk in size, immediately regretting everything that just came out of his mouth. “You need to leave.” Derek looked straight into Stiles’s eyes, bare of any emotion.

“Excuse me?” Stiles widened his eyes and watched Derek stand up and storm off to the other side of the room, his back facing him.

“I said go!” Derek shouted over his shoulder, standing there like an immovable object.

“No! Derek, no. I’m not go-”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles. Just give me some fucking peace!”

Stiles sat frozen, just blinking here and there, not entirely sure if any of this was real. For what was only a minute, in reality, felt like an eternity, but he refused to move and finally spoke up when he processed what the fuck was going on. He didn’t understand it, but he processed it nonetheless.

“Derek…” He heard a grunt from the man. “Please, just listen to me…” He heard no protests, so he continued. “I...I don’t know if you meant it, but…” Stiles paused when he thought he heard a diminutive whine. “...but I do. I get why you do this, I do, but I wish you didn’t keep building yourself up and breaking it all back down in this repetitive and arduous cycle. You show me things, tell me things, that I’m pretty confident you hide from everyone else, but then whenever I try to talk about them with you, you close off and shut down. What are you afraid of? I know you’re scared, I know you’re always scared. You think I don’t see you, but I do. After everything we’ve been through, all the shit we’ve faced...even after this!!”

Stiles took a deep breath and sighed in an attempt to relax and not shout again. That wasn’t his intention, he doesn’t want to make Derek any more defensive. “Even after this, you still can’t trust me.”

Stiles’s words hurt, and Derek wanted to tell him none of that was true, he did trust him, he trusted him with every atom of his being, but something in him, something deep in his gut made him still as stone. Stiles was right about one thing, he was scared, terrified to the point of petrification.

Everyone in his life has left him, whether it be by choice or circumstance, but they left him behind all the same. It became second nature for him to close off, shut people out. Why should he let someone in when they were just going to leave too? Everyone he ever loved or that meant something to him had gone, leaving him alone in this world, taking a piece of him with them when they walked away.

His father, who left him and his mother when he was too young to remember, just the stench of stale cigarettes and smoke. Paige, the first girl he ever loved. Kate, the first woman he loved. His mother, whose death he blames himself for. Cora, finding another pack in South America. Isaac, leaving him to join Scott’s pack. Peter, choosing power over family. So much pain in his memories, the belief he wasn’t good enough and no one wanted him.

“Fine, if you won’t talk to me, I’ll go, but just know…” Stiles felt moisture in his eyes and couldn't hold back the silent tears, burning. Trying not to whimper, he could only manage a whisper. “Just know that I love you. I don’t care about everything else, okay? I’ll never forget the day we met. It was like something clicked, but I didn’t know, not until the pool.”

Stiles didn’t need to elaborate, because Derek knew the exact moment he was talking about.

“I still hated you, oh yeah, but I loved you too. I hated who you were trying to be, the mask you wore, but I loved the man underneath. That’s all I want Derek, I want you.” Stiles pulled on his pants as best he could with his injury, slipped on his shoes and shirt, and headed for the large metal door. He slid it open and stopped to look at the man he so unashamedly was in love with who hadn’t moved a muscle, then regrettably left.

***

Derek woke to the sensation of a numbing pain throughout his body and loneliness in his stomach. Everything was too sore to move, even the strain of opening his eyes. The early morning light shined through his lids, so he raised an arm over his head and laid it on his face. His mind was slowly catching up and the heavy weight pulled down on his heart when he remembered imaging Stiles amid his delusional state.

Shifting in the bed, Derek became aware that the last time he was conscious, he was on the floor in the bathroom. Derek’s lids flew open and he managed to sit up minimally with his sudden rush of adrenaline. His eyes scanned the bright room, adjusting to the light, and found the familiar speckled face asleep in a chair in the corner. Stiles’s mouth was somewhat open and tiny snores escaped as his chest rose and fell.

Derek attempted to pull himself up in the bed and winced in agony, clutching his side. He leaned back against the headboard, gasping for breaths and closed his eyes to even his breathing. When the pain became manageable again, he opened his eyes to see the boy unmoved.

“Stiles,” Derek spoke softly as to not startle him, but he was unphased. He spoke his name again with more vigor and Stiles almost fell out of the chair with alarm.

“Huh!? What!? Who’s dead!?” Stiles rapidly blinked his eyes, adapting from the darkness to daylight, and pulled himself up in the chair.

“Stiles…” Derek wasn’t impressed with his antics. Maybe he would be if he wasn’t consumed by the torment of his wound, but it was difficult for him to focus on anything else.

Stiles saw the strain on Derek’s face and stood up quickly, racing to the bed and kneeling on the edge. “Derek? Are you okay? Shit. No. I know you’re not okay. What can I do? What happened?”

Stiles continued to spit out question after question until Derek interrupted by repeating his name for a fourth time.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Stiles shied with embarrassment, knowing the last thing Derek wanted to handle was Stiles’s slew of inquiries. “I’m going to check your side, okay?”

Derek only managed a barely audible grunt and small nod before Stiles began to lift up his shirt. Looking down, Derek realized he wasn’t covered in black blood, and clean clothes had been put on him. “Did you…”

Stiles was focused on the injury and looked up slightly dazed, “What?” His voice was soft and distant.

Derek nodded down towards his body.

Stiles shyly responded, “Oh. Uhm, yeah. It’s no big deal.” He shrugged and pulled Derek’s shirt back down, then got up from the bed. He went back to the chair, slumping down into it. “So what happened? It looks like a bullet wound.”

Derek couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that Stiles managed to drag him from the bathroom into the bed, clean him, and change him. Speaking of which, he began to ponder the idea of how he even knew he was here and needed help in the first place.

“It is. How did you find me?” Derek’s throat was raw and dry, along with his lips. He licked them and longed for some water.

Stiles sat forward in his seat, “Doesn’t matter. How did you get shot? Was it laced with wolf’s bane? That could be why you’re not healing. And it explains all the black blood.” Stiles scrunched up his nose at the memory of almost having to cut off Derek’s arm. “I’m not going to have to amputate you from the sternum down, am I?”

Derek growled and rolled his eyes. The sound tore at his throat. “Water.”

“Oh!” Stiles jumped up and found a glass on the table and filled it at the sink. He noticed a bullet laying inside and picked it up. He mindlessly offered the cup to Derek as he inspected the piece of metal in his other hand.

“Stiles…”

“Hmm?” Stiles turned back to Derek and it occurred to him he needed help with the drink. “Oh. Yeah, shit. My bad.” He sat down next to Derek and helped him take some sips. Stiles placed the glass next to the bed on a side table and looked at the bullet again. “It doesn’t look like it’s laced.”

“Because it’s not. Wasn’t hunters.” Derek slouched some, lessening the pressure on his open wound.

Stiles stared at him quizzically, “What were you doing to get shot at by non-hunters? Who even-” Stiles’s eyes widened and he stood up forcefully, “COPS!? Were you being shot at by cops!?”

“No.” Derek was beginning to feel his body worsen and was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Who was it then?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m dying anyway.”

Stiles shot daggers at Derek, “You’re not allowed to.”

Derek glared and shook his head, of course, Stiles would be the one to challenge death. He turned in bed, closing his eyes.

Stiles sat down hard on the bed and shook Derek until he opened his eyes and groaned. “Listen, asswolf, we’re gonna figure this out. You were pretty bad before. I didn’t…” Stiles looked down at his hands on Derek’s arm for a moment then raised his eyes back up. “Thing is, you got better, but you’re starting to get shitty again. If it gets as bad as before, I don’t think you’ll come back from that.”

Fear was evident in Stiles’s eyes and Derek wanted nothing more than to reach out and kiss him, tell him it was all going to be okay, but he couldn’t and it destroyed him. A surge of pain ran through Derek’s body and he tensed, letting out a seething breath through his teeth.

“Derek! Fuck!” Stiles reached out again, touching Derek’s arm, and his body instantly relaxed. “Oh my God…” The boy grabbed Derek’s shirt and pulled it up, almost off him completely.

Derek was confused and his lack of clarity and consciousness wasn’t helpful. “What…”

“Shh.” Stiles shushed him sternly and traced his fingers over the black veins from the wound and up Derek’s chest.

Derek shivered at the contact, warm fingers against his cold skin, fingers he felt before and a touch he had ingrained in his memory. Something in him pulsed--his heart, his mind, his blood--he didn’t know but it pushed him and for a fleeting moment he could breathe. Stiles’s fingers left his skin but the feeling of his touch lingered.

Stiles looked at Derek and his eyes appeared more wet than normal, “They’re almost to your heart.”

Derek pulled down his shirt, “I know.”

Stiles pursed his lips and furrowed his brow deep in thought. Derek examined him, scanning his face, every mole, freckle, and shape. He always loved the way his nose was slightly upturned, making it easier to kiss his soft pink lips. God, he desperately wanted to kiss him one last time before he died.

“Stop that!” Stiles lightly punched Derek’s arm but it was still enough to make him recoil in his vulnerable state. “I know that look and I hate it. You’ve given up. You’ve decided that this is it and you’re dying. I’m not turning my back on you this time!”

Tears begged to leave Derek’s eyes and he managed a sad smile. He had forgotten just how relentless Stiles was and how much he loved him for it, even admired it. He was right though, Derek was content with this ending, Stiles with him. Although it wasn’t how he thought he would die, it would be enough--Stiles was enough.

“I said stop it!” Stiles hit Derek again and served him a hard scowl.

“I’m sorry.” Derek closed his eyes in shame and let out a heavy sigh.

Inhaling deep with frustration, Stiles took Derek’s hand into his own. He knew those two words intimately, the same way Derek did. Derek wasn’t apologizing for what he did, but what he didn’t do, or what he felt was not enough.

Stiles took his free hand and brought it to Derek’s face, cupping his cheek and running his thumb under his eye, wiping away the tear before it had a chance to fall. “You still got me.”

Derek’s eyes opened and he tilted his head, gears turning in his mind.

Silence took over as they embraced one another with their glances until Stiles’s eyes widened and he knitted all the pieces together. “Scott!”

“What?” Derek was beyond confused now, certain he was hallucinating.

Hurdling a leg over Derek, Stiles straddled his calves and pushed the shirt up again. “Scott!” He shouted with excitement like it was the answer to all their problems. Engrossed by his own mind and thoughts, he was oblivious to the fact that Derek had no clue what he was referring to.

Shock took over Derek as he was being topped, “Scott?”

Touching the decaying flesh on Derek’s stomach, Stiles pressed gently and looked up to Derek’s eyes. “Yes, Scott. This happened to Scott. I know what’s wrong and I can fix it. Well...I can’t, but I know how. You have to fix it.”

Understanding Stiles was an art, and Derek had mastered it long ago, but it was doing him no good right now. His eyes searched for answers, yet found nothing but joy and hope in Stiles’s eyes. He didn’t comprehend it or know why he was so filled with optimism, but it was enough. “Tell me.”

Stiles settled onto his knees, wiggling into Derek unintentionally. Had this been any other time, Derek would have growled and flipped them over. “Okay. When the alpha pack attacked you and we thought you died, the second time,” Stiles squinted and realized they thought he died four times and was going to bring it back up later because that was unacceptable, “Scott blamed himself. He had been hurt too but he wasn’t healing and it kept getting worse. His blame and guilt prevented his ability to recover and did the opposite. He believed he deserved it, the pain and suffering.” Stiles tilted his head innocently and sighed.

Knowing Derek carried the weight of the world, there was an endless list of things that Derek felt unnecessary guilt for. He had found himself in a vicious self-deprecating cycle and it needed to end. “Why do you feel guilty?”

Derek shied away, hiding his conviction, but Stiles took his chin and turned him back to face him. Stiles wore a sad smile that begged for Derek to open up, he always wanted him to open up, but Derek had always been so frightened. That’s what fucked everything up in the first place. Looking deep into Stiles’s eyes, Derek replied, “You.”

Sitting up straight, Stiles donned confusion. “You feel guilty because of me?” Stiles seemed broken and distressed, leaning back subtly, “I...did I do something wrong?”

Derek sat up quickly, ignoring the surging pain and cupped Stiles’s face, “No! No, no, no. You didn’t do anything. It was me, it was my fault. I did this.” Derek searched Stiles’s eyes and tried to offer a sense of solace but he had nothing to give; at least nothing but the truth.

He pressed his forehead to Stiles’s and whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this. I was so terrified of you. You tangled yourself into me, I didn’t know how to handle that, so I ran. I wanted to tell you everything that day in the loft, I begged myself to, but I was paralyzed. My greatest regret was hurting you after we...and then letting you walk out that door. I didn’t want you to blame yourself or think you did anything wrong. I pushed you away, I made that choice for us. As soon as you left, I packed a bag and just drove as far as I could. I’ve been numbing myself ever since, searching for Kate and helping Chris, that’s how I got shot, one of Kate’s goons.”

Stiles pushed their foreheads apart and glowered at Derek, but kept quiet as to not interrupt.

Tracing his thumb across Stiles’s cheekbone, he continued, “Stiles, you were right. I was beyond afraid of you, of us. Everyone who has ever meant something to me left me alone and took a piece of me with them, I couldn’t open myself back up to that, I couldn’t lose you, so I left before you even had the chance.”

“I would never leave you.” Stiles waited for Derek to keep going, but he kept quiet. Stiles could see in Derek’s eyes that he wanted to believe his words, but couldn’t because of the ghosts in his past, haunting, and lingering. “Derek, I could never leave you. I looked, you know. I searched for you after you left, every day. You’re not easy to find.” Stiles let out a sad laugh. “When you called me last night, I didn’t know who it was, but I heard you say my name. I called out but you didn’t answer. I knew something was wrong, so I may have committed a few felonies by tracing your number. That’s how I found you. I’ll always find you.”

Derek licked his lips, feeling warmth return to them and the rest of his body. He leaned in and tilted his head until they were sharing the same breath. He wanted to kiss Stiles fervently but hesitated for an unknown reason. Something in the back of his mind still holding him back like an invisible chain. He told Stiles everything and knew what Stiles said was true, but he couldn’t feel it.

Stiles sensed Derek’s tentativeness and waited for him to close the gap. His heart was pounding against his ribs and his blood was boiling. He missed Derek desperately and finally found him, he was in his arms but knew he had to let Derek make the move. He laid everything out on the table and knew the only way Derek would start to heal was if he accepted the past and forgive himself.

Derek inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. The final link in the chain, holding him back had to be broken. He couldn’t hide behind his fear anymore because it was killing him, quite literally. He had no reason to keep it inside, and why would he want to. It was time to open up, so what if things didn’t turn out okay? Living a life paralyzed by all the “what if’s” was no way to live. He needed to let go of the past and look to the future, look to what was sitting right in front of him, who was sitting right in front of him.

Leaning in, Derek whispered against Stiles’s lips like a prayer, “I love you too.” That was the final piece, to say out loud what he felt so profoundly in his bones. Stiles had been his guiding light since the day they met. They always seemed to find their way back to each other, meeting in the middle and being what the other needed or was missing. Derek loved him so deeply and wholeheartedly that it was painful, but the pain that lets you know you’re alive. Stiles set a fire in his bones and sparks in his veins, reminding him that it’s okay to live, okay to feel, and okay to be human.

Derek kissed Stiles hard and deep, neither of them noticing the black lines on his arms receding. He wove his fingers into Stiles’s hair and gripped tight, trying to get closer to him, his breathing heavy and deep. He pulled back Stiles’s head and kissed down his neck and over his Adam’s apple down to his clavicle, sucking small purple marks along the way.

Stiles moaned and his open mouth gasped for a breath he couldn’t catch. Derek made his way back to his lips and pulled them down to the bed. Stiles slid his hands up Derek’s sides and across his stomach. He stopped abruptly and stilled, then sat up. Stiles pulled up Derek’s shirt and ran his hand across the place the wound used to reside. “It’s gone.” He looked up to Derek, beaming like the sun itself, “It worked!”

Derek laughed and Stiles grabbed Derek’s face, crashing into his lips. Derek couldn’t help but smile and chuckle between each kiss. Derek flipped them over and rolled his hips between Stiles’s legs, pulling a soft moan from him.

They fit perfectly together, like two halves of a whole. The way their lips slotted together, forming the perfect seal. Derek trailed his hand up Stiles’s arm above his head and slid his fingers into his, fitting together seamlessly.

Derek could lie here with Stiles forever, just kissing him, his lips, neck, collarbone, shoulders. The taste of him lingered on his tongue and it was a flavour he never wanted to wash out. He exhaled and fell into the crevice of Stiles’s neck, scenting him and nestling in.

Stiles ran his hands over Derek’s back, tracing patterns unknown to him and inhaling the scent of Derek. They laid there holding each other, consumed by their love and passion. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for them.

Derek rolled off of Stiles and curled in next to him, Stiles playing with Derek’s fingers as he put the other behind his head for support.

“Come back home.” It wasn’t a question or a demand, but a request. Stiles missed Derek and couldn’t imagine spending another minute without him.

Letting go of Stiles’s hand, Derek raised it to the boy’s face and pecked his lips, “You are my home.”

Forever Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24

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