#Stiles Stilinski x OFC

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // prev, chapter 2, next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Original Female Character, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall, Allison Argent Pairing: eventual Stiles x OFC, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.6k Warnings: canon typical gore/violence, parental death, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author majored in english lit and is a choatic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: Four years ago, Drea Dickinson's entire life fell apart. Her mom died, her best friend replaced her, and all she could do was watch listlessly while everything else burned down around her. All she wants is to forget and maybe get through her sophomore year without flunking chemistry and completely unraveling at the seams—a seemingly impossible task with the sudden appearance of ghosts from her mother's mysterious past and a hair-raising beast ripping people apart all over town. It would be easier to pretend if she hadn't accidentally entwined her life with the most interrogatory bastard in town. She could have gone her whole life without meeting Stiles Stilinski, and she would've been perfectly fine, but now she's stuck knowing that she's made her bed in the fragile, breakable bones of the boy with all the answers. Chapter Summary: After an awkward encounter with Lydia Martin, Stiles realizes that his new acquaintance might be the perfect person to jumpstart his 15-year plan. Drea, on the other hand, isn't interested in discussing her ex-best friend; she's much more focused on the man who was attacked by the mysterious beast ravaging the town.

A/N: This is an entirely selfish project. This rewrite has been so incredibly nostalgic, and I may or may not have cried a few times because the TW era was such a special time of my life. To be 17 again, sigh. You can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)!

Her dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when Drea finally pulled into their circle driveway. It was a rare sight; her dead battery had disrupted their usual routine. She was supposed to be safely tucked away in her room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if she was feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time her dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way they could function in the same space. 

He used to stare at her from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way Drea knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, Drea thought. They loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her now. She wondered, and she desperately didn’t want to find out.  

Drea shouldered her backpack and made sure her car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. She could hear the buzz of the microwave as she toed off her sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Her dad loved their al pomodoro. 

She tried to make herself as small as possible as she skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to her ears and grip tight around the strap of her backpack. Her dad’s back was to her; she could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once she reached the island. 

“Did…” her dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?” 

Drea shrugged even though he couldn’t see her, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at her. Drea stared at the back of his head and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Look at me. Her brows pinched, and her back molars ground together. Look at me. 

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” Drea shoved her hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that she forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time. 

“That’s not what I—” Drea’s dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.” 

“Oh,” Drea shifted her weight onto her other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Her dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but she supposed it was the closest she’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud. 

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.” 

Drea nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. She’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when her dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe she could if he would look at her.

Monday came, and Drea had forgotten about Stiles Stilinski and his sweatshirt. In all fairness, she almost forgot her essay too. Lack of sleep, maybe, or perhaps lack of Wellbutrin—she’d also forgotten if she’d taken her pills before she left for school.

Drea crinkled her nearly empty can of Red Bull a few times and twisted the tab in circles until it snapped off. Nervous habit. She flicked the tab into a trashcan and squeezed the can until it crumpled in on itself. Okay, she’d definitely forgotten to take her pills. However, on her list of things to forget, homework outranked antidepressants by several places, so her day wasn’t off to the worst possible start in the world. Dr. Lin always said that she should spend at least five minutes every morning changing her ‘self-talk’ to ‘gratitude, not negatude’—she also said that consistently taking her meds was imperative to her mental health, but one out of two wasn’t so bad. See. Positive thinking; she was killing it. 

It was, however, pretty damn difficult to put a positive spin on a bloodied school bus cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. 

Drea lingered on the outskirts of the swarm of teenagers gawking behind the barricade that a few deputies were fruitlessly attempting to enforce. The back door of the bus was crumpled in the middle, wrenched open, and barely clinging to life with a lone intact hinge. More concerning, was the blood smeared across the yellow paint and the bloody handprints pressed against the windows.

She peered through the mass of shoulders in front of her and squinted. There were four large gouges in the door and tears in the vinyl seats—claws: Drea realized. They were claw marks. 

Baffling. The entire scene was, in all sincerity, baffling. 

Awful, Drea quickly corrected herself. The carnage was awful, first and foremost. It was awful, horrific, and totally tragic…but it was also bizarre. Animals, wild or not, generally didn’t hunt on school grounds; that honor was reserved for creepy super-seniors and perverse volleyball coaches. 

Drea chewed on her bottom lip and stewed. A bear seemed most likely, given the battering the bus took, but they were a long way from Los Padres. Mountain lions and coyotes, however, often strolled into small-town suburbia to snack on unaccompanied emotional support animals. Still, she doubted they had the strength or dexterity to rip a steel door off of its hinges. 

The first warning bell rang, and it was especially shrill while Drea was lost in her own head. She managed to not flinch with a herculean effort and pushed through the remaining voyeurs towards the front doors. Stuffing her airpods into her ears, she turned up the volume on her phone until the bass vibrated all thoughts of coyotes, cougars, and bears out of her mind. Oh my. 

Positive: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded her full and undivided attention. 

Negative: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded her full and undivided attention. 

She grabbed her chemistry notecards, a few highlighters, and a fat stack of books from her locker just as an overly-cologned jackass shoved his equally pungent friend straight into her crowded arms.

Positive: She hadn’t gotten the chance to organize her notes by unit number before they scattered all over the floor. 

Negative: They were still scattered all over the floor.

Biting back a few choice expletives, Drea crouched down and gathered her notecards into a messy heap. She stretched across the scuffed tile for her highlighters; one brushed past her fingertips and rolled into the pointed toe of a sleek brown leather boot. Drea glanced up, apology ready, but her tongue went cottony when she locked eyes with Lydia Martin.

Lydia Martin was many things to many people, but Drea supposed the general consensus would be that she was the apex predator—regardless of what the bloodbath outside might lead a person to believe. 

Most students were consenting prey. Enthusiastically consenting, in fact. Drea understood the impulse. Knowing she could destroy you, that was the thing that made Lydia so undeniably captivating. There were few people who proved the theory of the sublime in the flesh, let alone before they had the chance to get out of Dodge and really grow up. It was only natural to gravitate towards the only exception in Beacon County. Lydia was the duality of fear and attraction. She defined indefinable beauty—because she wasn’t just beautiful (anybody could be beautiful), Lydia was fiercely beautiful and, in the same breath, the grace of girlhood. She was…she suckerpunched Jordan Aadams in the third grade for making fun of Drea’s eyes without lifting a single manicured finger; that was the closest Drea could come to explaining the phenomenon Lydia Martin left in her wake.

Lydia’s thick red curls spilled over her shoulders as she looked down at the obstacle in her path. The angry pinch in her brows softened briefly once she made eye-contact with Drea, but she quickly corrected her slip and schooled her face into a blank expression. Returning her attention to her friend, Lydia’s heels clicked against the floor as she stepped over Drea’s copy of Metamorphosis and continued on with her conversation like it hadn’t ever stopped. Like Drea was just a mirage or a distorted oil-slick reflection—like she was a ghost who just wouldn’t fucking die already. Drea watched her go, forgetting to blink, until they reached Lydia’s locker on the other side of the hall.

Before she got extensions, Lydia liked to wear her hair in a French braid. Before she discovered full-coverage concealer, her freckles were golden against the fairness of her cheeks. Before everything fell apart, she was her best friend.

In the end, it wasn’t a terribly dramatic thing. There wasn’t a melodramatic scene or an explosive fight; sometimes, Drea wondered if that would've been better. There was a certain kind of brutality in a slow, quiet death; one that lasted long after the hot water had run out in the shower and shampoo stung her eyes. After the funeral, Drea could taste decay in their conversations, in their silences. The rot crawled listlessly—everything did back then—tauntingly sluggish. She saw the end coming weeks before they stopped speaking, and she didn’t even try to stop it. To be fair, Lydia didn’t either. On the first day of seventh grade, Lydia had new friends; they all smelled like vanilla and owned matching couture purses. She had always been magnetic, but evidently losing her only constant was her final quest before she transcended to godhood. Drea made her human; that must have been the problem. They were babies together. They were more than family. Now, they sat across from each other in a class she couldn’t bring herself to care about, and they did not look at each other unless it was straight through.

Drea snatched the runaway highlighter and quickly sunk back against the wall, pressing into it like she could force her body through the cracks in the bricks or at the very least shed the sentimentality clinging to her skin. She darted her gaze across the hall and almost snorted when she saw the amount of people who’d flocked to Lydia’s side within the last thirty seconds. Lydia was unobtainable, unknowable—and yet ever so desirable. No one really knew her, so of course they all wanted to be her. 

Lydia only liked one of them, the new girl with shiny black hair and dark eyes; Drea could tell. Her top lip pursed ever so slightly when she was holding back a barbed comment and a violent eye roll. Usually, Lydia didn’t bother with niceties, but for whatever reason she’d decided her new persona should only intimidate peons with looks and confidence, never brains. It was a shame, really; her cave-dweller boyfriend desperately needed educating. 

Drea resisted the urge to look across the hall again and smoothed out the bent corner of a notecard until ‘alpha’ became ‘alpha particle’. A shadow fell over the pink-highlighted text, and she frowned. Glancing up, her frown cemented when she saw Stiles’s elven nose and remembered that she still had his sweatshirt wadded on her desk chair.

“Hey,” Stiles adjusted his grip on his backpack, “did your car make it home okay?”

Drea nodded and shut her locker with her elbow, bending with the wobbling tower of school supplies in her arms until it stabilized again.

“Cool.” He nodded a few times, mouth puckered like a duck, and scratched at the back of his neck, “So. You and Lydia, huh.”

Drea stared intently at her notes, “Is that a question?”

“No, it’s a statement.” He hooked his thumbs around his backpack straps and leaned back slightly, “And that episode of telepathic taekwondo was definitely a statement.” 

Drea glowered until ‘alpha decay’ and ‘helium-4 nucleus’ mushed together into an illegible pink blob, “I’ve got a statement for you—only two words actually.” 

“So it is a thing.” She could hear the smirk in his voice as he grabbed the books from under her arms.

She refused to feel grateful, even as she readjusted her grip on her cards and managed to free one of her hands, “Get lost, Stilinski.”

“That’s three words.” The smirk was deafening now.

The one-minute warning bell rang and a mass of students swarmed the hallway, effectively drowning out Stiles’s smugness with a sea of jock whooping and band geek trumpeting. Drea met his gaze and smiled sweetly before stepping around him, “Kindly. Choke.”

She ignored the sound of Stiles’s large footsteps following far too closely behind her. She wanted to be annoyed with him, but English was his first-period and he did have her books in his stupidly big hands. Instead of flipping him off, Drea focused her itching fingers on stacking cards and pencils on top of her desk until Stiles sat down in the seat next to her—without permission. She changed her mind; he was annoying. 

Stiles scooted the desk closer to hers with his feet, and the metal legs screeched against the linoleum flooring for her. “Was it like a ‘grew apart over the summer’ thing, or did some serious shit go down?”

Drea sighed heavily and lined her pencils and pens next to each other, first in order of length and then color, “Why do you care?”

His mouth remained open for a second, and then he shrugged a little too casually, “I’m a naturally inquisitive person.”

“You’re unnaturally irritating,” she grumbled, low in her throat, and scowled at her picked-apart cuticles like they had done her a particular disservice. 

Stiles huffed through his nose and threw his hands in the air, “Come on, I totally saved your ass Friday—very chivalrously too, might I add. I won’t even press charges for the theft.”

“Theft?” Drea finally turned around in her seat to face him at the accusation. 

Stiles nodded solemnly, “My sweatshirt. My most favorite sweatshirt of all the sweatshirts.”

Oh. Drea deflated a little; she’d forgotten about that pesky little detail again. She snatched her books off of his desk before their lives could become further entangled and replied flatly,  “I’ll overnight it.”

“No, I insist you keep it.” His smile was a little too crooked to be truly cocky,  “I’m a good guy like that.”

Drea tapped her pencil against her chin, eraser side up, and cocked her head to the side, “Isn’t it incredible how every self-proclaimed ‘good guy’ is exclusively terrible.”

Stiles’s face twisted into a petulant scowl as he collapsed against the back of his chair, and Drea was a little surprised that the desk managed to contain all of his gangly appendages without collapsing as well. “I like her, okay!” His exasperated confession carried to the next row of students, and Stiles melted into his seat when a jacked sophomore with no neck whistled lewdly behind them. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles lowered his voice, “Actually, I’m kind of in love with her if you want to be technical about it.”

“Oh.” Drea blinked and then laughed.

“Don’t laugh, dickface.” 

“Sorry,” she grinned, not sorry in the slightest, “it’s just…isn’t everyone?”

Stiles shook his head and sighed wistfully, “Not like I am.”

Drea turned to get a better look at him, and she didn’t mask the doubt in her eyes. He was wearing a brown flannel that was practically mewling for a good ironing and a red t-shirt with the silhouette of a spider embossed over his chest. Spider-Man’s emblem, obviously. If she had to hazard a guess, she’d bet it was the Andrew Garfield version. Regardless, it was blatantly clear that Stiles’s home planet was lightyears away from Lydia’s.  

Drea folded her arms over chest and leaned back against her seat, “Have you even talked to her?” 

“Technically…no,” Stiles dipped his head from side to side like a bobble head and then pressed his palms together, gesturing with them every so often to emphasize the most ridiculous words in his sentence, “but we have a deep, unspoken connection, mostly via sporadic eye-contact.”

Drea just looked at him, unamused and unimpressed.

Stiles held up his hands like a director and kicked his feet onto his desk, “It’s about the long-game.”

“Gross,” Drea pulled a face. She wasn’t sure if she was referring to the gray wad of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe or the pride in his long-con. It was probably a bit of both.

“Are you gonna help a Nobody out or not?” Stiles nudged the leg of her desk with his sneaker—the gumless one, thankfully—and sent one of her pens careening towards the edge.

Drea caught it before it could hit the ground and glared at him. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not an ‘in.’” She returned the pen to its rightful place between her pencil and purple highlighter: a perfect rainbow of neuroticism. Drea straightened her row of writing utensils again and swallowed shallowly, “I don’t even know her anymore.”

For the first time since Stiles had popped up in front of her locker like a chronic zit, understanding clicked in his eyes. Actually, he almost looked apologetic. Stiles sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned forward onto his forearms, “So…what happened? Did you not make queen bee first-string?”

“No,” Drea bristled. After a long exhale, she crumpled in on herself a little and mumbled, “Yes…kind of. I don’t know. I have my version; I’m sure she has hers.”

Stiles clasped his hands together and nodded sagely, “There are as many truths as there are people.”

Drea’s brows scrunched, and her eyes went lidded as she flipped through her mental philosophy rolodex, “Camus?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Evangelion.” 

Drea was startled into a snorty chortle, “Obviously you’re a weeb.”

Stiles hid his amusement behind a slow roll of his eyes, “You’re at least 1/16 weeb if you know Evangelion is an anime.”

Before she could deny such blasphemy, Drea was distracted by the boy who usually sat next to her—Greg something, she was pretty sure—coming to a stop directly between her and Stiles. He lingered next to the side of his desk, breathing heavily through his mouth like some kind of sick prowler. 

Stiles glanced at him with a flat expression and then looked up again, brows shooting towards his hairline, when he didn’t leave, “Can I help you?” He jerked his head forward and shook it slightly, “Need a mint?”

Greg Something stared at him, red-rimmed eyes thoroughly glazed over, and Drea wondered if being faded at 7:45 in the morning was worth the tortuous five-hour wait until lunch. 

“No?” Stiles waved his hand in the air; Greg didn’t even blink. “Okay seeya.”

It took him roughly 30 seconds to comprehend what Stiles was saying, but eventually Greg shuffled towards one of the remaining empty seats in the middle of the classroom. 

“Thank you,” Stiles muttered before returning his attention to the side of Drea’s face.

She smirked slightly at her notebook, doodling a little bird with sharp talons along the margins of her notes on Kafka’s thoughts on absurdism—spoiler alert: the guy who wrote a book about a dude randomly transforming into a bug was a big fan of it. She added a long feathered tail to her bird and said, “It is his seat.”

Stiles scoffed and looked over his shoulder. They watched Greg shove a handful of Cheeto Puffs into his mouth in slow-motion for a moment, and Stiles replied, “I think he’ll live.”

“Oh,” Drea shook her head a little, freshly bitten lips curling around the extended vowel, “I’m not worried about him.”

Stiles aggressively clicked his pen with his thumb and pressed his mouth together until his lips disappeared into a flat line. “If you would just answer my questions the first time, I wouldn’t have to keep asking them, so, for the love of god—” fortuitously for him, he was cut off by a loud scratchy buzz before Drea could succumb to her base instincts and throw an eraser into his flapping mouth. 

Principal Montoya’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker, “Attention students: I know that many of you are concerned about the…incident in the parking lot, but rest assured that the police have it well in hand. Classes will proceed as scheduled as they continue their investigation. Have a productive day, Cyclones.”

A resounding groan echoed throughout the classroom and into the hallway, followed by the hum of students breaking into various complaints. Mr. Lyman thwacked his pointer against the whiteboard, and the force of his swing sent the cartoonish hand on the end of the stick into rapid vibration—effectively shutting everyone up. The quiet was only disturbed by the rustle of zippers being unzipped and papers being smoothed when he instructed them to turn their essays in. 

Drea hastily wrote her name across the top of her paper and pointedly kept her eyes on the board when Stiles leaned across his desk. “Life’s short, y’know. One day you’re a traveling salesman, and the next you’re a grotesque, monstrous insect, wishing that you’d seized life when you had the opposable thumbs for it, so—”

“A man just died; have some class,” Drea interrupted him, voice dry as it was soft. Stiles might not care about getting in trouble, but she had worked very hard to remain on a no-name basis with all her teachers. 

“We don’t know that he’s dead—or that he’s a he.”

“Oh yeah,” Drea jotted down the daily prompt in her notebook and muttered, “I’m sure the guy just decided to go home and sleep off the mauled limbs.”

“It could’ve been an animal,” Stiles huffed, bowing his head in submission when Mr. Lyman shot him a stern look from behind his desk. He continued with his hand over his mouth, muffling his words, “And they do run off to die alone.” 

Drea stared at him for a long moment. “That’s cats. Are you saying a bear ripped a bus apart for a cat.” 

“Well, if you say anything in that tone, it’s going to sound ridiculous,” Stiles muttered sullenly against his palm, and she was pretty sure that he was pouting behind it too.

She opened her mouth to reply and then squinted slightly when a boy with floppy hair skidded to a halt in front of them. His mouth was slightly agape as he looked back and forth between Stiles and Greg, who was now licking the nearly toxic orange dust off of his fingers. 

 “Sit, Scotty,” Stiles jerked his thumb towards the empty desk behind him. “Good boy.”

The boy, Scott she gathered, did not look amused, but he sat down behind Stiles anyway and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Stiles whipped around and responded in a hushed screech.

Drea was distracted from her eavesdropping when Lydia’s friend sat down next to Scott—directly behind her. Her jaw could cut glass. She dropped her chin onto her folded arms and refused to let herself frown; the end result was a slightly constipated pout. It was just…Allison had just started going to Beacon Hills a few weeks ago, and she was already completely intertwined in Lydia’s life. 

Lydia was…prickly, so she was just surprised, that’s all, how easily Allison fit into her life. More palatable, Drea thought as she risked a peek over her shoulder; she must be more palatable than most. A terrible, ugly thing creeped over her, and she found herself imagining Allison choking on her beautiful, silky black hair until her beautiful dark eyes popped out of her head. Just for a moment. A brief, awful, horrible moment—until she remembered it wasn’t Allison’s fault. 

“Hey.” Drea flinched when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

She reluctantly shifted in her chair so that she could see Allison. She just looked at her for an uncomfortable moment, and Allison smiled awkwardly, “The tests.” Drea blinked and licked her dry lips, at a loss for words. Allison smiled again, a little nervous but still kind, “They're on your desk.”

“Oh,” Drea said dumbly and reached for the pile of papers on her desk that she’d missed during her lengthy period of dissociation. She kept one and then held out the rest to Allison, mumbling, “Sorry,” under her breath.

Allison looked at her for a moment, and Drea didn’t like the discerning look in her doe eyes. “It’s okay. I zone-out all the time.” 

She could see why Lydia liked her; she was nice, overly so. Drea felt that ugly feeling slip into her mouth again, bitterness coating her tongue, and she wished that Allison was catty or at very least a vapid twit who was either too stupid or too self-involved to notice other people—like the rest of Lydia’s circle. 

“I like your necklace.” Allison nodded a little towards the black chain around her neck. 

A heavy pendant rested just over Drea’s sternum; the maze etched into the stone had eroded in places, like it had been left out in acid rain for decades. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was made of; her mother never said when she gave it to her, and she never asked. It didn’t matter much now. 

“Thanks,” Drea finally said, because that was what normal people did when they were complimented, and she was a normal person. Mostly. She swallowed thickly and bit down on the scab in the center of her bottom lip before adding, “I like your jacket.” She did. It was simple, unadorned by gaudy zippers and lapels like so many of the other leather jackets on campus. She would wear it herself if she didn’t break into a sweat in any temperature warmer than tepid. 

Allison’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled, and Drea quashed the sigh rising in her throat. Her smile was magnificent. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off, but my friend convinced me to—” Allison let out a little breathy laugh, “Sorry, you definitely don’t want to hear my jacket’s tragic backstory.”

She didn’t, not if it included hearing about Lydia’s fashion tips second-hand. Still, Drea managed a little smile, “As long as it doesn’t begin with a cow, you’re golden.”

Allison laughed and held up her hands, “It’s faux; I promise.”

“Ladies,” Mr. Lyman called from across the classroom, “I wasn’t aware that existentialism was so amusing.” Drea felt a dizzying heat crawl up her neck to her ears once she realized that the only noise in the room, other than Allison’s tinkly laughter, was the scratch of pencils on paper as students worked on their tests. 

“Sorry,” they mumbled at the same time, and Allison mouthed another ‘Sorry’ just for her before Drea turned around. Damn. She liked her. How incredibly inconvenient. She almost wished that Stiles was still pestering her so that she had a real reason to be upset—until she finally got a good look at the mid-term, more specifically at the thickness of it. Drea flipped through the lengthy test and looked at the ceiling briefly: Six essay questions? 

Positive: At least, she found a legitimate excuse to sulk. 

Negative: She felt a migraine coming on. 

[hedwig221b]

Midsommar but it's Derek stealing Stiles from his toxic relationship and making him stay with his pack in the woods in the middle of nowhere

(Derek met him and knew instantly that Stiles is his mate + bloody sacrifices + weird family + old rituals + that dancing scene with Stiles as a winner and Derek grins at him proudly with his fangs out + Stiles thinks he's tripping when the Hales all turn into wolves suddenly + Stiles is the May Queen (Moon King?) and Derek chases him through the woods as a mating ritual)

[scarltzwitch]

MASTERLIST: Requests are open, I write for Logan Howlett, Steve Harrington, Wade Wilson, Peter Parker, Stefan Salvatore, Klaus Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson, Dean Winchester, Rooster Bradshaw, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Daemon Targaryen, Damon Salvatore, Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale and more.

[ IF YOU WANT DONATE ]

MARVEL:

Logan Howlett/Wolverine !

❥ BETWEEN CLAWS AND CHALLENGES

❥ CROSSING WORLDS, MEETING HEARTS

❥ NOTES AND REFLECTIONS

❥ A NEW BEGINNING

[selmasemlan]

Be Mine

Summary: In the enchanting summer air of New Orleans, Marcel and Luna's deepening friendship blossoms into a romantic relationship when Marcel asks Luna to be his girlfriend

Pairing: Marcel Gerard x Luna Salvatore (OFC)

Author note: I'm back with another part of this fic. I just can't stop

Warning: cute shish, none

Word count: 821

Series Masterlist

Be Mine

The summer air in New Orleans was thick with the scent of magnolias and the distant sound of jazz drifting through the streets. Luna and Marcel found themselves strolling along the banks of the Mississippi River, the setting sun casting a golden hue over the city. It had been a summer of adventures and unexpected moments, each day weaving them closer together.

As they walked hand in hand, Luna couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in her chest. Their friendship had blossomed into something deeper during their time together in New Orleans, and she wondered if Marcel felt the same way.

Marcel, ever perceptive, sensed Luna's quiet contemplation. He stopped by a wrought-iron bench overlooking the river, gently guiding her to sit beside him. Luna nestled close, the warmth of his presence comforting and familiar.

"You know," Marcel began softly, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation, "this summer has been... extraordinary."

Luna looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his eyes. "It really has," she agreed softly, a smile tugging at her lips.

Marcel reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Luna's face. "I've enjoyed every moment we've spent together," he confessed, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek.

Luna's breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening with anticipation. She searched his eyes, finding warmth and affection mirrored in their depths.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," Marcel continued, his voice steady but tinged with nervousness. "Luna, would you... would you like to be my girlfriend?"

The question hung in the air, filled with hope and vulnerability. Luna felt a rush of emotions—joy, excitement, and a deepening affection for the man before her. She leaned in, pressing her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the warm evening air.

"Yes, Marcel," Luna whispered, her voice barely above a murmur but filled with certainty. "I would love that."

Marcel's face broke into a wide, radiant smile, his relief evident. Without hesitation, he pulled Luna into his arms, holding her close as they savored the moment. Luna melted into his embrace, feeling the weight of unspoken words and uncharted promises between them.

They sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, the soft murmur of the river and the distant jazz music providing a gentle backdrop to their newfound happiness. Marcel twirled Luna playfully around, causing her to giggle uncontrollably, their laughter mingling with the music of the night.

Their laughter filled the air, and Marcel pulled Luna closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "You have no idea how happy you just made me," he murmured against her skin, his voice full of emotion.

Luna smiled, her heart swelling with love. "I think I might have an idea," she teased gently, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Marcel chuckled, leaning in to capture her lips in a tender kiss. The world seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in the sweetness of the moment, the warmth of his lips a perfect match to the summer evening.

As they pulled back, Luna rested her head on Marcel's shoulder, sighing contentedly. "This feels like a dream," she said softly, her eyes closing as she relished the feeling of being so close to him.

Marcel kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. "If it is, I never want to wake up," he replied, his voice a low, comforting rumble.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, the gentle sounds of the city around them. Eventually, Marcel stood, taking Luna's hand in his and leading her to a quiet spot by the water. The city lights reflected off the surface of the river, creating a magical, shimmering scene.

Marcel pulled Luna into another dance, their movements slow and intimate. "Dance with me," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear.

Luna nodded, her heart full as they swayed together under the stars. Each step felt like a promise, a silent vow of the love they were just beginning to explore.

When the night grew darker, they finally made their way back to the bench, sitting close together as they watched the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. Marcel draped his arm around Luna's shoulders, pulling her into his side.

"I can't wait to see where this takes us," he said softly, his fingers tracing patterns on her arm.

Luna looked up at him, her eyes shining with affection. "Me neither," she replied, her voice filled with hope and excitement.

In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of New Orleans and the warmth of each other's embrace, Luna and Marcel knew they were embarking on a journey that would be filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities. The summer had brought them together, and now, their hearts were intertwined, ready to face whatever the future held.

[maddie0101]

Saudade; Chapter one

Summary: Addy grows uneasy upon seeing a stranger lingering around. Her gut is telling her something isn’t right, but she goes home anyways. What’s the worst that can happen? (I suck at summarizing, help.)

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, slight angst, slight fluff? Pinning.

Words: 2,440k

➭ Series Masterlist

Letting the ball dribble between her feet, the small girl focuses on the goal ahead. Her heavy breaths pick up as her heart rate starts to beat faster and faster against her chest, feeling the exhilarating adrenaline. Pushing her herself to dibble the ball and run as fast as she can, the small brunette glances up, eyeing the goalie infront of her getting into position.

Quickly looking around her to see if any defenders are still on her tail, the small girl's eyes widen as she notices a man standing off to the side by the bleachers, watching her with a creepily.

What the hell? The girl shakes her head, turning her attention back onto the game.

Addison takes in a deep breath, letting her lungs fill with air as she plants her foot back onto the ground. Lifting her leg back to muster as much strength as she can, the small girl shoots—

The ball soars through the air as the goalie pushes her feet off of the ground, reaching for the ball. The small brunette stumbles back as the goalie misses, letting the ball fly into the net.

Instantly, Addison's eyes widen, pure joy flooding through her small body as a loud cheer escapes her lips. I won the game! Oh my—YES!

Celebrating with her teammates as they each come up to her and congratulate her, Addison beams. Her eyes twinkle with pride as she looks over her shoulder, scanning the crowd for one person in particular.

Addy’s lips tug into a smile as her bright blue orbs land on her best friend cheering and giving her a thumbs up from his place in the stands. The small girl's heart soars as she studies the boy, letting her eyes roam over his figure as he stands up in his letterman jacket.

Tearing her bright orbs away from the boy, Addison glances back to the side of the bleachers, making her bright smile fade. Where the hell did creepy dude go? The small girl wonders, her eyebrows furrowing in concern as she walk over to the bench and bends down to pick up her bag.

Addy wasn't scared of the man, she knew he wouldn't do anything with so many people around, but the way he was looking at her...made her feel uneasy. Not necessarily the creepy stalker type, but something in his dark orbs had her feeling like something bad was about to happen. She could feel it in her gut, making her stomach churn.

"Well, well, if it isn't the team captain and the game winner." The familiar voice calls, making the girl roll her eyes playfully, knowing the boy already had his lips pulled into a smirk.

"Mitchell" Addison greeted, her smile beaming as she teased the boy with his full name.

Shaking his head as his lips stayed frozen in a smile, Mitch reached out and wrapped his arms around her small frame, pulling her into a tight embrace. "You did really good, Addy. " The boy whispers into her hair, sending a small shiver down her spine as they break away.

No—nope. You can't think like that.

"Why, thank you Mitchy." Addison laughs, beginning to walk beside the boy as they head to the parking lot.

"Soo, are you going to celebrate tonight by going to Claire’s party?" Mitch questioned, wiggling his eyebrows as he bumped the small girl's shoulder with his own.

"Katrina asked me to go and I need a wing woman, you know—in case I do something stupid.." The boy smiled as he turned his gaze in-front of them, missing the small brunette's smile fading.

Right...Katrina. Addison sighed, trying to keep her face hidden from her best friend beside her.

"I can't." Addy finally answers, her voice wavering as she tries to put on a fake smile, hiding her real feelings. "I have to help my mom with something and I'm exhausted. You two have fun, though! I'm sure you'll be okay without me." The small brunette sends the boy a smile, ignoring the pang in her heart.

"You sure? Because Katrina wouldn't mind!" Mitch attempted, his eyes snapping over to the girl for a brief moment before continuing to babble.

A small sound coming from behind the two makes the small girl snap her eyes around them. Whipping her head all around to try and find the source, Addison ignores the boy's drowned out babbling as she scans her eyes around the now empty parking lot.

"You okay?" Mitch questions, snapping her out of the uneasy feeling surging through her gut. Turning her attention back onto Mitch's as she adjusts the strap on her shoulder, Addison shifts nervously and sends the boy a soft smile. "Yeah, just exhausted. Sorry."

Quickly getting to her dad's old pickup truck with Mitch hovering closely behind her, Addison squeezes her eyes shut for a brief moment, trying to keep herself calm and focused. Not letting the man from earlier slip her mind.

Whipping her head around nervously to search the area as Mitch takes the bag from her hands, Addison shifts onto her other foot.

Putting the bag into the back of the old pickup, Mitch turns back towards the girl, watching as she shifts nervously. What the hell is going on? Why does she keep looking around?

"Okay, seriously Adds. What's the deal?" Mitch furrows his eyebrows, stepping closer to the girl as his hands fall to rest on his hips.

"Nothing." Addison swallows, nervously shifting in her spot before turning toward the truck. Reaching out her shaky hand, the small brunette swings the door open and climbs in. "I'm good, I promise. Just tired" Addy smiles at the boy, watching as he steps even closer and leans his forearm on the edge of the door, peering down at the girl.

"Okay, just making sure Adds." Mitch presses his lips together, causing the small brunette to shift her gaze from his brown eyes, to his lips. No. Stop it, Addy. The girl internally scolds herself, snapping her eyes back up to meet his dark brown orbs.

"Look, I know you're exhausted—especially from the game, but I would love to have my wing woman tonight. I could stop and get you an iced coffee at the gas station?" Mitch smiles down at the girl, trying to get his best friend to take the bait.

Sure, he knew she was tired, but he needed her there—and something else had him pushing harder than he would normally. Something in the back of his mind, screaming at him to not let her go home.

"I'm sorry, Mitch. You know I would, but I have to help my mom and also do homework." Addy lies, coming up with an extra excuse to not go, still nervously looking around her in worry.

I do not want to third wheel tonight. The girl thinks to herself, shifting in her seat uncomfortably under Mitch's burning gaze.

Still feeling that same uneasy feeling in her gut, Addison lets her hand fall in between the seats, wrapping her small hands around the cold metal her dad had left in the truck for 'emergencies only'. "I'll call you later tonight to see how you're doing. I want to know the details." The small brunette breaks the silence, putting up a front as she sadly shoots the boy a smile, trying to look happy— for his sake.

"Okay" Mitch sighs sadly, watching the girl continuing to shift uncomfortably in her seat and look around the empty parking lot around them. She's worried about something. Her little forehead crinkles up when she's worried.

"Just be careful, okay?" A smile appears on Mitch's lips as he shuts the car door slowly. Watching through glass as Addy rolls the window down, the boy tries to push the uneasy feeling away.

"Will do, Mitchy. I'll call you later. Have fun."

Patting the vehicle as he smiles down at his best friend, Mitch watches silently as she starts the truck up. Something is wrong…

Watching the boy turn and head to his vehicle— parked a few rows back, Addison peers through the rear view mirror and waits till the boy opens his car door.

Lifting the cold metal laying in her shaky hands, Addison keeps the weapon close as she puts the truck into drive. Steering with her thigh, the small brunette reaches beside her grabs the clip, popping the magazine into place.

Stealthily climbing over her fence, Addison tip toes around her back yard, keeping her small hands trained on the weapon laying in her small and shaky hands.

Opening the back door slowly, the girl winces as yelling and screaming echo throughout her house. No, no, no, no. This can't be happening.

A sudden gunshot goes off, followed by a scream, making the girl flinch as her eyes grow wide in fear. Mom? Addison blinks, inching towards the doorway.

Tiptoeing to peer over the side of the kitchen wall, the small brunette's heart shatters into a million pieces. There laying on the cold floor, her mother chokes on her own blood, squirming around in agony as the crimson liquid pools around her body. Oh my god.

Feeling the pure heart break and rage surging through her shaky form, Addison turns her gaze to glare at the back of the man's head, watching silently as he peeks out of the window on the door. He's waiting for me to come home...

Letting the cold metal raise in her small shaky hands, the small brunette takes a deep breath before letting her finger squeeze the trigger. A gunshot rings through the small brunette's ears, making her flinch back as she fires the gun.

Snapping her fear-filled orbs back open, Addy's eyes widen at the man laying on the ground with a bullet wound in his head. Oh my god. I just killed somebody...

Not thinking straight as she moves to go try to help her mother, Addison freezes as a click pops from behind her, making her freeze in place as her heartbroken gaze looks up from her mother that, now took her last breath.

"Didn't think there were two of us now, did you?" The man laughs, gritting his teeth as he stalks closer to the shaking girl.

Flinching as the man stands inches away from her face, the girl peers directly down the dark barrel of the weapon, feeling her heart beating rapidly throughout her chest as the mixture of emotions and adrenaline cause her body to tremble. Squeezing her tear-filled eyes shut, Addison chokes back a sob.

Then out of no where, a gunshot goes off, making the girl flinch as a whimper escapes her throat. Oh my.. The small brunette chokes back another sob, thinking this was the end.

Feeling no pain, Addy furrows her eyebrows in confusion and cracks an eye open. Warm liquid rushes down the horrified girl's face as she spins around quickly to see her father standing in the doorway, with the barrel of his gun smoking.

"Dad?" The small girl cries, choking back a sob as she looks back from her father to the ground. Flinching back as she notices creepy man now laying on the ground with his brains splattered all over the carpet, Addison stumbles over her feet as she tries to move towards her father.

"Baby, are you okay?" Her father asks, rushing up to the girl's side, pulling her into a tight embrace. Shaking her head as tears roll down her cheeks, the adrenaline and mixture of emotions making her body tremble, Addy clings onto her father's shirt and sobs.

"Who are they? What did they want?" The small girl sniffled, tearing her gaze away from her father's shirt to glance back at her mother "T-They killed mom. Oh my god."

"Addy, look at me." Her father orders, putting his phone away as sirens fill the night air off into the distance. "Everything is about to change—Nobody can know that you're alive."

"What? Why?" The girl questions in shock, her head shaking violently as her dad cups her tear ridden cheeks.

"I'll explain later, but we can't let anyone else see you alive. Come on." The man ushers, pulling his daughter up to stand as he then reaches to the side and grabs a hoodie off of the coat rack.

Taking her last look at her childhood home, Addison quickly gets into the car, slipping the hoodie over her head as ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars surround the now crime scene.

Letting the tears freely roll down her cheeks as she watches her dad quickly exchange some words with a few police officers and then head back into the house with the officers right behind him, Addy chokes back a sob when she sees her best friend push through the crowd.

"What's going on?" Mitch questions, ignoring Katrina as she tries to catch up with him. Trying to push through the barricades, a police officer yells out "Hey, kid! Stay back!"

Mitch's worried gaze flickers around the house, looking for any sign of his best friend before landing on medics— rolling a body out. "What happened?!" The boy's voice wavers, horror flickering over his features as he tries to push through the barriers again.

"Kid you're going to have to step back." The police officer shouts over the numerous people, now trying to get through to see what is going on.

"What happened? Who is that?" Mitch kept trying as tears rolled down his cheeks, watching as another body bag was rolled out with what looked to be a smaller person inside. No. Not Addy, please don't be Addy.

"Everyone inside the house was killed, I'm sorry."

Addison watches from afar as her best friend tries to fight and get past the policeman, her heart shattering into pieces as her dad suddenly opens the door.

"Dad?" Addy's voice cracks, watching as the man sets the bag down and plops down into the seat beside her. "W-what's going on?"

"You're dead, Addy." Her father answers softly, starting up the vehicle. "You died along with your mother, okay?—That's what the news is going to tell everyone. Irene is going to make it look believable, funeral-"

"Why?" Addy questions, her head shaking violently.

"Because Addy, I'm not just a cop." The man reveals, turning towards his daughter. "I'm a CIA agent, and you are in danger. I had to throw them off of your trail. Nobody can know that you're alive. You can't be in contact with anyone you know. And as far as they will know, you were murdered alongside your mother."

"CIA?" Addison questions In disbelief, her tear ridden blue orbs widening.

"Special ops." The older Hurley confirms, continuing to keep his eyes on the road ahead. "I train assassins."

Author’s Note:

⌖ Hi guys! So I am fairly new to the whole writing world…so I do apologize if it isn’t up to par. But, I have gotten a lot better since I had first started writing on Wattpad. I hope you come to love Addison and my story! I will try to update and post chapters as soon as I get them written, but I am working a lot more for the holidays rn. (My free time is somewhat rare)

⌖ Also, I’m sorry for the first chapter being a bit depressing. It sets my story up though, I promise it will get better/happier.

⌖ If you would like to be tagged for chapters please lmk! ☻

⌖ Anyways, enough of my rambling…I hope this isn’t as bad as I think it is, but again..I hope y’all enjoy!

➭ Next Chapter

[littlenicky24]

Youngest, Middle, and Oldest Riddle's

"I think I fell in love with a Monster"

[alexsnerdycorner]

Work Summary: Drawn back to Beacon Hills, Rhiannon Mckenzie Fallon arrives in January of 2011 and runs into old family friend and pre-teen crush Derek Hale. A little while after taking on the task to help him find his sister Laura, they discover a new wolf got made. They have to help each other teach the new wolf, Scott McCall, to control his powers, find and stop the new alpha in town, and avoid the hunters who just showed up all while fighting their budding feelings for each other. 

Chapter: 2/?

Chapter Summary:  Rhiannon finds out that half of a body was found in the woods near Derek’s house so they go out to investigate and find out something much more disturbing than just the other half of the body.

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Rating: Mature - Explicit

Warnings and major tags: Eventual Smut, Bisexual Character, Autistic MC

Relationships: Derek/OFC

Characters: Derek Hale, Rhiannon (OFC), Scott McCall, Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles.

[redroses07]

Just Friends // Stiles Stilinski

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

WC:1.7k

Summary: Stiles is struggling after being controlled by the Nogitsune, and he turns to you for help. But little does he know, it will turn your friendship into so much more. Takes place after season 3. (Allison isn't dead!!!)

Warnings: Swearing, angsty as fuck, sad Stiles, kissing, implied smut if you squint?, PTSD.

A/N: HI GUYS!!! I really like this fic and ofc I hope y'all will too! This is my first time writing about Stiles and I think I did pretty well! As always, enjoy!! And comments and reblogs are appreciated. P.S. lmk if y'all want me to do a part 2 where they tell their friends (Scott's reaction hee hee) - Claire ♡

After Stiles was released from the control of the Nogitsune, things seemed to go back to normal. Well, at least that’s what one would think from the outside.

The series of events had taken a severe toll on Stiles’s mental health, and even though he did a good job of hiding it, you were the one person who seemed to know what he needed.

It all started about a week after everything happened, it was the middle of the night and you were jolted awake by the sound of your phone buzzing by your head.

You were about to hit decline but then you saw it was Stiles and feelings of worry began to stir within you.

You quickly answered, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you forced yourself awake.

"Stiles, is everything okay?"

"Yeah...well not really. I hate to ask, but do you think you could drive over to my house. I just really don't want to be alone right now." Stiles's voice was groggy, and laced with exhaustion. The fact alone that he was asking you this made you immediately agree.

You hopped out of bed, not bothering to change out of your pajamas, slipped on your slippers, and you were on your way.

Your house wasn't far from Stiles's, about a five minute drive with no traffic.

You lived directly in the middle of him and Scott, being only a short distance from each. The close proximity was the main reason the three of you had stayed so close throughout your school years.

"Friends", that's all you and Stiles had ever been. Although, neither of you could deny the chemistry between the two of you, risking your friendship never seemed worth it.

It was on this night that all that would begin to change.

When you arrived at Stiles's house, he had left the door unlocked for you so you wouldn't have to fumble around with the spare key in the dark.

You found Stiles laying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He looked lost in thought, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. It hurt seeing him look so drastically different from the Stiles you knew, and you wanted to do whatever you could to help.

You laid down next to him, your body facing his.

"Hey..." Stiles began, still staring at the ceiling.

"Stiles, what's going on? You know you can trust me with anything right?"

"Yeah...It's just a lot to put into words." Stiles's voice cracked, which told you that he was fighting tears.

You sat up and stiles copied the movement. You were now both facing each other, sitting legs crossed on his bed. You pushed aside the unspoken vow between the two of you and placed his hands in yours. Stiles's breath hitched, and you could tell he was avoiding eye contact with you.

"Take all the time you need, I'll listen to every word." you said softly.

"I know everyone thinks I'm doing okay, but I can't even function. I can't sleep without having nightmares. I can't eat or do anything without remembering all the awful stuff he made me do. I didn't know who else to tell except you. Scott has his own set of issues, and you're the only person I trust like this."

Stiles began to ramble, and your heart broke as he did. How had you not noticed earlier? Yes, it had only been a week, but you knew Stiles better than anyone. You felt like an awful best friend.

"I'm so tired, I just want to feel normal again." He could no longer hold back the tears, the dam broke and Stiles became a sobbing mess.

You pulled him into your arms with no hesitation, which only made Stiles want to cry.

"No, no I'm going to get your clothes all wet." Stiles protested trying to pull away, but you wouldn't let him.

"A few tears never hurt anyone." You said.

At that Stiles let himself fall into you, his body going limp with exhaustion. You tried not to cry along with him, wiping your burning eyes to prevent the tears.

"It'll be okay." You whispered as Stiles's sobs turned into sniffles. He finally looked up, his cheeks wet from the tears that had escaped his puffy eyes.

You did the only thing you could think of and gave him two kisses, one peck on each cheek. Stiles lips turned up in a small smile, his cheeks still turning red despite his current state.

"I think the first thing we need to do is get you to bed." You smiled, pushing Stiles's messy hair back.

He looks at you and nods without moving from your arms. You lean back on his bed, pulling him with you. You positioned yourself to where Stiles was resting on top of your body, his head pressed to your chest. You kept your arms wrapped around him, squeezing his body in an attempt to comfort him.

As you were settling down you heard Stiles whisper your name softly.

"Yeah?"

"Promise you'll wake me up if I'm having a nightmare?"

"I promise." You replied as you reached down and laced your fingers with his.

Stiles gave you a half-hearted smile in response, his puffy eyes glazed over from fatigue.

"Thank you." Stiles murmured, fighting sleep.

"Shhh." Was your only response as you traced your fingers along his back.

"I love you." It was an incoherent whisper, so much that you couldn't be sure of his words. But something told you you had heard correctly.

By the time you went to reciprocate the statement, the room was filled with Stiles's muffled snores.

You sighed and proceeded to fall asleep yourself.

Stiles slept through the night for the first time in weeks.

After that the trajectory of your relationship began to shift.

From holding Stiles's hand to remind him that everything was okay when you were with your friends, to staying up all night listening to him talk.

You rarely got to sleep at home anymore, but you didn't mind. You weren't far if you needed something, and it helped Stiles get a good night's sleep. Yet he would still apologize every time. "I'm sorry to bother you again.", "I promise this is the last time.", when in reality you were definitely okay with an excuse to spend more time with him.

You had become his anchor to reality, and Stiles could feel things beginning to look up with every day that passed.

Your friends picked up on it too.

"So, are you and Stiles together, or..." Lydia and Allison asked when they managed to corner you at your locker one day. It was a question you didn't know how to answer. Eventually landing on, 'it's complicated.'

"What's going on with you and Stiles, I'm starting to feel like a third wheel when we're together." It was a joke, but there was certainly some truth behind it.

You laughed it off and changed the subject, but didn't forget the comment that night when you and Stiles laid in each other's arms drifting off to sleep.

Surprisingly, it wasn't you who finally brought it up, but Stiles.

It was a Friday night, and the two of you were at your house instead of his.

"Shit, I forgot clothes to change into." Stiles said as he fumbled through his backpack.

"It's all good, I have a spare pair of clothes in my drawer for you." You replied, pointing to the dresser.

Stiles smiled and laughed, holding eye contact with you for perhaps a moment too long.

"You take care of so much for me, sometimes I feel like you're my wife." It was a casual statement, but it put you at a loss for words.

You laughed awkwardly, failing to come up with a reply.

Stiles could very clearly read your emotions, he pushed the drawer shut and walked back over to sit next to you.

You tried to calm yourself, but your heart wouldn't stop beating at what felt like an unhealthy pace.

"You're my best friend..." Stiles began, taking your clammy hands in his.

"You've done so much for me in the past few weeks, just like a best friend should; but I can't help thinking that this feels like something more."

You felt as if the world stopped. You knew this conversation would come, but definitely not now. Your brain seemed to stop producing thoughts.

"Please tell me I'm not imagining all of this. I know this is a lot at once, but Y/N I love you." Stiles's voice shook from the overwhelming nerves.

"I love you too." You spoke for the first time in minutes, it felt amazing after you had heard it fall from his lips that first night you spent together.

Stiles's eyes gazed into yours, and suddenly the feeling of just your hands touching wasn't enough.

You reached over and grabbed Stiles face, finally closing the gap between the two of you.

You pulled Stiles down as you did, his body landing on top of you sinking into the kiss.

You tugged on his hair lightly, pulling him as close to you as humanly possible. Stiles fell deeper into the kiss, locking your hands together and pressing your body further into the soft mattress.

After a few minutes of pure bliss you broke apart. The air that filled your lungs was both a blessing and a curse. You needed to breathe, but the absence of his touch only made you want him more.

Stiles hovered over you, the sound of his heavy breathing was the only thing you could hear over your own beating heart.

"So I take it you're not just my best friend anymore?" Stiles giggled, pressing his forehead gently against yours.

"Nope."

You gave a sly smile before pulling Stiles down by his shirt and connecting your lips once more.

[strangerstilinski]

꙳ fic authors self-rec game ꙳

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 💞

ty for tagging me in this @littlexdeaths & @aphrogeneias, i love u both endlessly

✵ somehow, we're here (ex!steve — hurt/comfort, smut)

i'm not sure there will ever come a time when i love one of my own fics more than i love this one. i'm not rly sure what to say, this just always ignites this warm feeling of melancholy inside of me (it has a happy ending ofc). it's post-upside down, post-breakup. but old habits die hard, and after a barfight steve shows up bloodied on your doorstep—yet again.

✵ first kiss (stiles stilinski x reader)

this one's for the stiles girlies (gn). i'm not sure what it is about this fic in particular, but it's one of my favorite things i've ever written. friends->lovers, embarrassed stiles, first kisses (obv), and lots of me waxing poetic about how pretty his eyes are.

✵ sweet as death (steve x demon/vampire!reader, smut)

so this one began brewing in my brain after watching jennifer's body (the song Legend of Jennifer also played a massive part in my insp). it's kind of demon!reader, but also very vampire-coded. initially it was meant to be a very dark fic, but this is me we're talking about, so ofc it ended up being chock full of longing and borderline-obsessive tendencies instead. there's lots of blood, a quick cameo by dustin & eddie, and some filthy albiet loving smut.

✵ pretty thing like you (older!mechanic!eddie — smut)

this was just a tiny blurb, written while i was half-asleep, horny, and very intoxicated. it sat in my drafts for ages before i stumbled upon it again, did a bit of editing, and decided to share it. i'd actually love to revisit this one day and flesh it out a bit further, because i adore this particular version of eddie very much.

✵ relax (eddie x reader)

this was born from a delicious p link that i saw on here and was immediately overtaken with a horny demon. eventually, i reworked it to work for eddie, and in doing so, i added so much depth and i ended up loving it so much more.

i'm honestly not sure who has done this already, so i will simply apologize in advance & just tag a few: @calumfmu @cinemabean @hellfiremunsonn @wroteclassicaly

[sexualtensiongrowing21]

Fur, Fangs, and Forbidden Feelings // Stiles Stilinski x OFC McCall.

Archer McCall is the fraternal twin sister of Scott McCall and secretly in love with their best friend Stiles Stilinski.

If you love Stiles Stilinski being obvious and helplessly in love. This is for you!

I am so excited for this fic as I have searched for a Stiles fanfiction that has all my favorite tropes and cannot find one that isn’t abandoned.

This has brothers bestfriends, childhood bestfriend, slow burn and miscommunication. It will eventually have smut and is absolutely 18+ as it has adult themes and humor.

If you’re a fan of my writings so far, or just looking for another fanfiction to add to your ever growing list of fanfictions to read, I would say this a good one to add. Season one is completed and season two is half way done!

You can read it on my ao3

or my Wattpad

[bamboozledbird]

𝕚𝕗 𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall Pairing(s): Stiles x fem!reader, Stiles x you (no use of y/n), Theo x fem!reader, Stiles x ofc Word Count: 7k (bbygurl got away from me oops) Tags: Hurt/a little, itty bit of comfort, angst is my lifeblood i fear, let's play a game of who can find all the noah kahan lyrics Warnings: Underage drinking/drug use (at least in america rip, they're all 19+), suggestive language, some light cheating, i think that's it?, sad girl summer :'(

Request: “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!” for stiles please and thnk you!!!

Part II: after many requests, here’s the happy ending: part two A/N: i am well aware theo is way too nice, and me personally?? could never forgive him for hurting scott mccall, the light of my fucking life. but it's for the plot. the things we must do for the plot of it all. i might make a part two? but this was already long, and i liked the conclusion enough to stop. lemme know if that sounds interesting to y'all. ps: listen to strawberry wine and the view between villages for vibes.

That first night, you drove home—207 miles in less than 3 hours, sobbing the entire way. Didn’t matter that you were right in the middle of finals. Didn’t matter that you had Math 19 at 8:00 in the morning. Nothing mattered except for the ringing in your ears, the blistering echoes of, ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ over and over and over again until you stumbled into the house you grew up in—the house he practically grew up in. He was all over every room, all over your entire goddamn hometown, all over you, and you had this desperate, crawling urge to scrub your skin raw. Strip everything away with turpentine until the shadows of his hands and mouth were gone, until you couldn’t smell cedar and 15 years of summer nights and Sunday mornings. 

That night you cried so hard it scared your sister. She spent most of the night with her back slumped against your bedroom door, fingertips poking through the little crack underneath, just like she did the first night your parents brought you home. She had to know that you were breathing, had to make sure that your little chest was rising and falling in your sweet bassinet—if you were inhaling in-between your fractured sobs. You eventually cried yourself to sleep—like a baby, like a broken heart—and thrashed around sweat-damp sheets and dreams of him kissing someone else on his couch. 

Months later, you finally realize it’s a bit self-involved to think that the universe cares enough about your short, temporal existence to conspire against you…but it certainly feels like it when you tie it all together with red string. After Stiles stopped wanting you, everything just…decayed, rotted, died—so quickly, too quickly for you to bury any of the remains. You’re still grieving Allison, constantly, and currently failing at least half your classes, and, oh yeah, battling literal demons at least three times a week—but mostly, you’re just tired. You’re just so goddamn tired of it all.   

To put it plainly, you’re drowning. 

That must be why the neat lines of text in your Math 20 textbook are swirling into indecipherable whirlpools. It’s just so…frustrating. You get math. Math is your thing. Derivatives shouldn’t ever send you into a bout of angry tears—but you are, you’re angry. Angry at the numbers for blurring into something unrecognizable, angry at yourself for not recognizing them, for becoming a person you don’t know or like. Your lashes clump together, and few mascara-tinted tears drop onto the glossy pages. At least, the cloudy text isn’t a hallucination now. 

 “Are you okay?”

The library is quiet, so quiet that you should’ve heard him coming, but you jump at the sound of Theo’s voice. You don’t know him that well; Theo isn’t really the kind of guy you’d talk to, at least not before everything you knew slipped through your fingers. It’s not like you ever disliked him; it’s just…he’s always been everything you’re not—focused, organized, completely in control. He’s confident but not cocky, smart but not arrogant, ridiculously good-looking but just charismatic enough that you can’t really hate him for all the maiming and scheming he pulled last year. He’s been punished enough, you think, and sure—maybe a part of you feels that way simply because Stiles doesn’t.

You haven’t spoken to Theo much, not really. Scott does most of the talking when he shows up to the occasional pack meeting, and Lydia won’t let him within ten feet of you anyway. Frankly, you don’t realize that he knows your name until he says it. His voice is soft in a way that you know isn’t just because of library conduct. It’s his eyes, you think—they’re warm with a concern you aren’t sure what you’ve done to deserve.

You nod and then blink at the fuzzy pages of your math book, eyes almost vacant, “I just…I don't understand.”

Theo sits down next to you and leans forward, scanning the text briefly, “Which part?”

You flush, “...all of it.”

He doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes like you thought he might. Instead, he pulls his chair closer to yours and reaches for a pencil. “Most people will tell you that derivatives are the ‘instantaneous rates of change.’ That’s what the book says, and it’s kind of true, but you’re right—that doesn’t actually make any sense. Things can’t actually change in a single instant, right? Obviously, change happens between two instances, so what they actually mean is a derivative's the rate of instantaneous change measured as precisely as possible.” Theo’s voice is soft in your ear as he drags his finger across your textbook, connecting the vague definitions to numbers that actually compute through your teary haze.

You sit back and just watch for a minute, a little in awe, as he makes all the squiggles into numbers again—and you haven’t been found more than a few feet away from him ever since. You guess it’s because you’re hoping, against all odds, that he can do the same for your life. At least in some small way, maybe.

It’s definitely easier to show up to Lydia's party with his hand in yours. 

You’re all back in Beacon Hills for the summer, and it’s nice. It really is. During the school year, you’re spread all across the state for the most part—you, Theo, and Lydia at Stanford; Scott, Kira, and Malia at UC-Davis; Liam and Mason, the babies, about to start their senior year of high school (it makes you want to cry if you think about it too long); Derek in…wherever he ends up for a season (it was fun to visit while he was in New York, and you secretly hope he makes a return in the fall); and, of course, there’s Stiles. He’s all the way on the other side of the country for his Quantico internship, and you still can’t escape him. His hands are all over your scent, all over every important moment of your life since pre-school. Sometimes, you think that you’ll always be one breath away from choking on the memory of him. But it’s easier, you remind yourself; it’s easier to be a minute away from home with Theo standing next to you. 

The music is loud in Lydia’s front room, thumping through your chest and sharpening the anxiety crawling through your veins—gnawing at your corneas until all you can see are flashing lights through a haze of vape and weed: pink, blue, green, red, and then pink again.

Theo tightens his grip on your hand and gently pulls you into the kitchen. It’s still loud, but the air is clearer here, and the crowd is thin. There’s a couple you vaguely recognize from high school making out on the granite countertop, too enwrapped in each other’s tongues to notice the mixer-sticky surface, and a couple boys who were on the lacrosse team gather drinks for another round of beer pong behind them. 

“You’re psychic,” you hum, resting your chin against the little dip in Theo’s sternum so that you can grin up at him, “tell the truth.”

He laughs easily and wraps his arms around your waist, the solid weight releasing some of the vague unease stubbornly clinging to your synapses. “I solemnly swear that my supernatural abilities end at claws and fangs. I just know you; that’s all.” 

You hum as he sways with you a little and shake your head, “It’s only been a few weeks. You’ve gotta have some help from the other side.”

Theo shrugs and lifts you onto the counter behind him—a non-sticky patch, thankfully—and brushes your hair out of your eyes, “Maybe I’ve been paying attention for a little longer than a few weeks.”

You tilt your head and purse your lips into a pout you hope is even half as cute as the wicked gleam in Theo’s eyes, “How long?”

He shrugs again and ducks down to murmur in your ear, “Maybe since the first grade.”

His breath is warm against your cheek, but you know that’s not the only reason your face feels hot. You push against his chest, pulling a little face, “Shut up.”

Theo laughs and grabs your wrists, kissing your knuckles, “I’m serious! You were so cute with your little pigtails and missing teeth.”

You whine a little, embarrassed as you are as pleased, and hide your face in his neck. It smells good, a little citrusy from his cologne and a little sweaty from the sheer amount of grinding bodies in the house—like a man, like he can and will take care of you. “Stop it. I hated those bangs.”

He pinches your sides a little, “And the way you’d always shoot your hand up first—with the right answer, of course—I was smitten.”

You pull away from his neck and arch your brow, “Was?”

“Am,” he concedes with a soft smile, cupping your cheek and thumbing along your lash line, “am completely smitten.” 

He dips in to kiss you, lips barely an eyelash-width away from yours, when a prim cough pulls him away from his spot in-between your legs. You peer around his shoulder and roll your eyes, albeit fondly, at the stern look on Lydia’s face. She’s always been protective of you, even more so after Allison and the whole Stiles debacle, but you’re a bit tired of the Theo Raeken witch hunt. 

You slip down from the counter and rock onto your tiptoes to kiss Theo’s cheek—mainly to see the pinch in Lydia’s perfectly tapered brows. “Can you put this in the coat room,” you hum against his skin, shrugging off your baggy leather jacket. He knows the real reason you’re sending him away—of course he does, sometimes it feels like he knows everything—but he goes with a smirk anyway because, despite Lydia and Stiles’s suspicions, he’s trying his absolute hardest to redeem himself. 

“You could be a little nicer, y’know,” you reach for a hard lemonade from the ice bucket dripping a puddle of water onto the tile floor. You uncap it on the lip of the massive island and fold your arms over your chest, “He’s been nothing but the perfect boyfriend so far.”

Lydia matches your stance, brows curving, “Boyfriend?”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears. You haven’t actually discussed labels or exclusivity—you think it’s too early; don’t want to scare him off, but Lydia doesn’t need to know that. “Boyfriend.”

Her curls trickle over her shoulder like the strawberry wine in her cup as she tips her chin and purses her lips into a flat line, “Stiles is here.” 

You try not to react—aren’t entirely sure why you do—and hide your complicated frown behind a sip of lemonade. It’s extra bitter going down. “Okay?”

Lydia shifts her weight from one Jimmy Choo to the other and sighs heavily, “He’s not going to like it.”

A flare of irritation sparks in your gut that you chase with a tip of your bottle. “Okay?” you mutter, wiping the excess liquid away with the back of your hand. A smear of nude lipstick is left behind, and you feel the sudden need to leave some on Theo’s neck for everyone to see. 

“I’m just warning you; it’s going to be a whole thing,” Lydia waves her hand in the air as she takes a dainty sip from her cup. Her pink manicure shines under the lights, and you wonder briefly how she can make every color look good with her red hair.

You hum and lean forward, grin a little sloppy as you sidle up to her side, “That you’ll be on my side for. Obviously.”

Lydia watches you carefully, eyes heavy, and tucks some of the hair falling in your face behind your ear. “Obviously,” she takes your hand, squeezing it tightly, and you feel a little less giggly and a lot more tender. 

You let her pull you into the crowded front room for a dance. It’s a good song, you think. Happy, lots of bass to jump to, and you’re shiny-faced and giddy by the time it’s over. 

Meandering towards the back patio for some fresh air, you pull your tank top away from your torso, gauzy material sticky with sweat and someone’s body glitter. You aren’t entirely sure where Theo ended up, but you take it as a good sign that he’s mingling with your friends—which, bless his crooked little heart, is all he’s ever wanted. 

The night breeze is so nice against your clammy skin that you feel a little lightheaded. You collapse on a padded deckchair and kick your feet up onto a keg, empty, most likely, based on its current state of abandonment. After a moment of hazy tranquility, a red solo cup filled to the brim with an unknown, potent liquid blocks your view of the winking gold embellishments on your boots. 

“You look like you need a drink,” Scott smiles at you from his slight bend over your head.

You take the cup from Scott eagerly and down about half of it to soothe the rawness in your throat—asthma is a bitch in hotboxes, makes you almost consider asking Scott for the bite. “I need about ten,” you hum, licking the little dribble of cherry-something from the corner of your mouth. It’s too sweet, but the ice is easing the beginnings of a headache forming in your temples. 

Scott sits down next to you, and you grumble a little as he nudges your side with his elbow until he has enough room to stretch his legs out too. “You look happy,” he grins at you, eyes crinkly and sweet. “Been a minute since I’ve seen that.”

“I feel happy,” you lean against his side and rest your cup against your cheek. The condensation gathered on the plastic is a godsend against your flushed face. “For the first time in…way too long.”

“Good,” Scott's voice is sincere, in the most genuinely empathic way that only Scott McCall can be, and he gently nudges your foot with his, “I’ve been worried.” He pauses and looks down at the contents of his cup, watches the ice slowly melt into whatever he poured for taste alone—you don’t like the pensive squint in his eyes. “You know I want to trust Theo, right? I really want to believe that he’s changed.”

You sigh a little, but because he only ever wants the best for everyone and, well, because it’s Scott, you say, “But?”

He gives his hands a small frown and taps his finger against the side of his drink, “Not a but, exactly. I do think he’s different now.” The mostly goes unsaid, and you watch him closely, waiting for him to finish. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to…rush into anything after, well,” Scott scratches the back of his neck a little and winces, “you know.”

“After Stiles dumped me because, ‘he needed space,’ and then started dating someone new two weeks later,” you finish for him flatly. He hadn’t even been subtle about it. His new girl was all over his Insta within the month—and she’s still fucking stunning in his flannels weeks later. Your stomach turns, but you swallow another mouthful of your dri—rum and Cherry Coke, you finally place the flavor, smiling a little at the memory of getting tipsy on the same drink at Senior prom with Scott, Kira, and…Stiles. It’s a good memory, you decide. You won’t let him take it from you.

“Yeah.” Scott sighs into his drink and then takes a long chug, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, you know? None of us do.”

“I know,” you smile at him fondly and kiss his cheek, “and it’s very sweet, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” 

Scott smiles, bright and puppy-like, and then his head cocks with his little sixth-sense tick—also puppy-like, you think with a smirk. Scott’s grin fades and he murmurs, “Three o’clock,” against the rim of his cup.

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

Scott laughs, but it’s strained, and then nods towards something across the pool, “To your right.”

You turn your head, expecting to see one of your friends doing something stupid, and freeze momentarily when you meet Stiles’s gaze. His eyes are a little unfocused, murky with whatever’s in his plastic cup, but they sharpen when he sees you. He backs down first, and you polish off your drink, craving the sweet burn in your throat. “I need another drink.”

“You need to talk to him,” Scott says, and he takes your empty cup away from you, like he’s worried you can magically refill it with the simple power of desire. “If you can’t do it for him, do it for me. His brooding is really getting out of control.”

You don’t bother bringing up that Stiles is the one who ended it or that he brought his new girlfriend home with him. “Maybe,” you shoot Scott a sly grin and try to snag his drink from his hands, but your clumsy fingers are no match for his werewolf reflexes, “I do love and cherish you very, very much.”

Scott laughs and ruffles your hair, approaching noogie territory. “Should’ve gone out with me.”

You can’t help but look for him through the fog rising above the heated pool. Stiles’s face is pale in the reflection of the lit water; the shadows ripple across his cheeks when he tugs his girlfriend into a sloppy kiss—Chelsea, you recall, proud that there’s only a little bitterness coating the thought. “Don’t I know it,” you finally say. It’s the churning reflection and the smell of chlorine, you reason; that’s why you feel a bit like throwing up your last couple drinks.

Scott frowns when you don’t swat at his side or make fun of him, like you’d usually do in the face of such ridiculous teasing, and follows your gaze. “But that was never going to happen, huh,” he says quietly. “Not with the…” he trails off, face scrunching as he searches for the right words, “throbbingly in love since birth thing.”

You laugh through the stabbing sensation in your chest. “Throbbingly?”

He waves his free hand as he takes another sip of his drink, “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t think I do,” you say, a small smile twitching on your face as Scott spills most of his red drink onto his white t-shirt.

He sighs and pulls the soaked material away from his chest, head darting around as he looks for something to mop up the mess. “You guys were just like…always ahead of everybody from the beginning, you know? Brains, love, all of it. I swear you both were actually born like 30—okay, it probably has more to do with the…” 

“Early on-set trauma?” you fill-in for him, sparing him the unpleasantness of bringing up dead mothers and mental illness.

Scott nods and licks his bottom lip before continuing, “I remember this kid had a huge crush on you, like way back in elementary school, and even at nine years old I knew he didn’t have a shot. It was just obvious, you know? It was always going to be the two of you. It was just always gonna end up that way.”

You almost laugh at the sight: Scott dabbing at his shirt with a pink beach towel and oh-so casually confirming that your worst fears aren’t only valid but in fact a reality. Maybe, you really can’t love someone else, not the way you loved him. Maybe, you’re just kidding yourself when you talk about it in the past-tense. Maybe, it really is just the two of you, even if it’s all in your head now. 

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for this,” you try to sound flippant, but your words are as shaky as the hand you're raking through your hair. It’s already a mess, but you can’t stop. Your hands need to do something. 

“Then you’re really not gonna like what’s coming next,” Scott says as he jerks his thumb towards something behind him.

You turn your head, and your eyes widen when you see Stiles trudging towards the two of you with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. The chair’s metal frame squeaks with Scott’s shifting weight. He clamors to his feet, mumbling something about cleaning his shirt, and you give him your most intimidating glower, “Scott, if you walk away from me right now, I swear to fuckin’ god, I’ll never—Hi.” Your tone is clipped, short and to the point, when Stiles stops in front of you.

“Hey,” Stiles’s voice is dull, void of emotion, and so is his face. He stares at you, and you wish you knew what was really flickering behind that burnt umber and citrine honey. There was a time when you would’ve known—when you always knew. It’s so strange, you think, so strange how quickly someone can become a stranger.

You clear your throat and tuck your legs underneath yourself, tugging on the hem of your short skirt to maintain some semblance of modesty. His eyes still dart to your upper thigh, lingering on the strip of skin that’s bared when you sit upright. It’s only for a split second—but it’s enough. He’s seen it before, after all. Felt it with his long fingers and open palms. Dragged his lips across it, and left wet, open-mouth kisses along every inch—but he still looks like he wants to sink his teeth into the supple flesh one last time. 

You swallow, hard, and stand, “So…how’ve you been?”

“Fine,” he replies flatly. “Obviously not as good as you.”

Your lips purse as your eyes narrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“First Theo Raeken, now Scott McCall: True Alpha, God among werewolves, Messiah of Beacon Hills. I’m genuinely impressed—bottom of my heart, babe. I mean, s’quite the body count if we’re talkin’ claws and body hair alone,” he spits. Despite the slight slur in his words, his consonants are barbed and serrated at the edges. They prick your skin and sting long after he finishes, and you know they’re going to follow you all the way home.

“Don’t be a dick,” you snap, wrapping your arms tightly around your biceps. The chill isn’t so pleasant anymore.  

“What? I’m just giving you the props you’ve so clearly earned. You’ve got the magic touch.” Stiles cants his head in a way that distinctly reminds you of someone else—a monster who stole the face of the boy you loved a lifetime ago. “I’d ask how good the sex is, but I already know. It’s that thing you do with your tongue, right? When you’re givin’ head? That’s how you get ‘em, huh. Suckers—” his drink spills on his shoes when he lets out a sharp chortle, “suckers. Didn’t even mean to do that.” 

You stare at him, eyes burning, and try to determine exactly how drunk he is. “Stop it.” You do your best to look more annoyed than devastated—the last thing you need is to start crying like you still care. He can't win; you won’t let him, not like this. “Just stop. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic.”

Something complicated rolls over his face, and Stiles clenches his fists, “Whatever. Guess it’ll be too late to say told’ya so when he rips your heart out and broils it—or whatever the fuck psychopaths do for fun these days.” 

Your face crumples a little—not because you think Theo would ever actually hurt you but because Stiles sounds so ambivalent about the possibility. Sometimes you hate him, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot—but you’ve never stopped caring, not once. You never stop worrying about if he’ll make it out alive, if he'll survive with all his breakable bones and fragile skin intact. You find yourself staring at the ceiling until the sun rises, dwelling on all the horrific, life-or-death situations he’ll end up in when he graduates from the Academy years from now. Stiles was your best friend years before he was your boyfriend. Did all that really not matter now? Just because of something as stupid as a breakup? It’s just so…high school. You really thought it’d been…more. 

Everything. You used to think it was everything.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Stiles,” you shove past him, stumbling a bit over your boots’ chunky heel and a little too much rum. 

He doesn’t follow you, and you should be glad. You should be happy that he isn’t there to witness the black smears under your eyes or the snot you’re trying to hide with a few discreet sniffles. You should be grateful that he doesn’t see Theo pull you into his side and take you home, grateful that he can’t ruin the soft kisses Theo rains down on the crown of your head and the way he doesn’t push to come inside after you say your parents are gone.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it. 

You barely manage to wipe off what’s left of your makeup with a damp towel and throw on some clean clothes before you tumble into bed. You’re still sweaty, grimy with tears and a night of dancing, but the rum is hitting hard, and you just want to go to sleep and forget he ever existed.

You’re halfway between sleep and consciousness in the early hours of the morning when you hear a loud thud against your bedroom window. The thudding continues, and with a great sigh you slip out of your sheets, hissing when your bare feet land on the cold floor. You slowly shuffle towards the bay window, trying to forget it's where you had your first kiss, and kneel on the cushioned bench. You have to rub at your eyes a few times when you see Stiles trying to break into your house. You only unlock the latch after you convince yourself that you’re going to push him off of the roof into the rose bushes two stories below, and then, of course, you sit back on your heels so that he has room to crawl through the narrow opening. 

“When the fuck did you start locking your window?” Stiles stumbles into your room and catches himself against the floor with his palm, feet still dangling over the windowsill. You take great pleasure in shoving his legs off of the window seat and watching him fall face-first onto the carpeted rug. He grunts when he lands and rubs his jaw as he sits up, “Guess I deserved that.” 

His lips part when he gets a good look at you, backlit by the moon and all his worst mistakes. You’re in an old t-shirt from middle school, bleach stains all along the left shoulder, and a pair of baggy sweatpants with ratty holes around the hem from years of dragging against the ground. Your face is still tacky with tears, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

You shift uncomfortably, pull your knees to your chest, and shiver as the night air drifts through the open window, “Still drunk?” 

“Not so much,” he holds up a mostly steady hand.

“Still a fucking asshole?”

“Probably.” Stiles bites his lip and shrugs, “Definitely.”

You stare at him, sniffling quietly, hoping that he can’t hear how pathetic it sounds, “Stiles, what are you doing here?” 

He drums his fingers against his thighs and shrugs again. You want to smack him. And hold him. And maybe drink some more liver poison until the school year starts again. “Dunno, just started walkin’, n’ I ended up here.” Stiles closes his eyes, and his lashes are so strikingly dark against his pale skin. “I always end up here,” he whispers like a vow, like a prayer, like forever. 

You dig your toes into the bench and swallow a hiccup. “Don’t,” your protest is weak, and you blame it on your sore throat. “You can’t say shit like that. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face. He’s in need of a shave, you notice, or…maybe not. You kind of like the stubble the more you get used to it—your tipsy, sleep-deprived mind stupidly wonders what it’d feel like between your thighs. Stiles sighs, returning your attention to far more unpleasant thoughts, “But I just want to.” He leans onto his palms and tips his head back between his shoulders, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I just wanna say it all, all the things I thought while you were gone. Knew I would the second I saw you.”

“You’re—” your tongue is thick as you struggle for words over the conflicting emotions wrangling each other in your throat, “you’re so fuckin’—you can’t just come here and act like—” You rub aggressively at your eyes and push yourself to your feet, “You need to go, Stiles. I want you to go.”

Stiles stands with you and cards his fingers through his hair. It’s long, curling around his ears, and you turn your gaze away from him, staring at the wall and digging your fingers into your forearms to stop yourself from reaching for him. “Can we just…talk?” he whispers, whether it’s for his sake or yours, you’re not entirely sure. He looks small, scared, but you can’t tell if he’s afraid for you or of you. “Just for a little bit. I need…I just need another minute. That’s all, and then I’ll go. Promise.”

I need. I need. I need. It’s always what he needs on his time. You cross the floor with wild eyes and snap, “What do you want to talk about? Huh? How you left me for someone else, or how I’m such a fucking whore for moving on?”

He grits his teeth and grabs your wrists, long fingers overlapping around the delicate bones when you try to yank away from his firm grip. “You think this is what I want?” He doesn’t yell. Somehow, that’s worse. “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!”

You thrash in Stiles’s arms, and his pained expression is blurry through your wet glare, “You had me! I was yours! I was so fucking in love with you, and then you—you just ended it and moved on, like it was nothing.” Your chest heaves, a stark contrast to the gentle quiver in your bottom lip. Your voice drops to something almost inaudible; it's the only way you can get through this while you're crying, the only way you can force the words through your tender throat, “Like I was nothing.”

Your cries turn into sobs when Stiles pulls you into his arms, and they wrack through your entire body when he kisses your hair and whispers sweet nonsense in your ear. You struggle for a moment longer, and then there's nothing left. You've given him everything. You sag into him, legs sinking with your full weight until he wraps his arms around your waist and presses you tighter to his chest. “I got scared,” Stiles whispers against the crown of your head when your cries peter into hiccups, and your next whimper shudders through your shoulders. He rests his palms against the small of your back and inhales the sweet scent of your shampoo, ducking his head down to kiss your forehead, “You were so far away, and so, so perfect, and I missed you all the fucking time.”

Stiles pauses, but it’s not for you. It’s a stall; you can feel his knee bounce and his fingers twitch. You wait, face buried in his collarbone, too busy trying to breathe to even think about speaking. After a moment, could’ve been seconds, could’ve been hours, he squeezes you—almost until it hurts, and it feels like he’s terrified that you’re just another one of the shadows on your bedroom walls. “I couldn’t ask you to transfer from Stanford to some fuckin’ state school in Virginia, so I fucked everything up ‘cause I guess...at least then it was my choice—and I know that just makes it worse. I know that. Because that means I chose to ruin it, I decided to hurt you…and I’m so fucking sorry. Just so unbelievably, life-ruiningly sorry.”

And there it is. The apology you’ve been waiting for, dreaming of, fantasizing about in every shower, in every cafe line, in every early morning class—and it’s just so…hollow. It sits between the two of you, heavy and horridly inadequate. “You found someone else,” you whimper into his shoulder, clasping at his t-shirt and wetting the white collar with your tears and runny nose—and you wish, more than anything, that this could be enough. “How could you find someone else that quickly?”

Stiles freezes, stops rubbing your back and rocking you from side-to-side, and it’s just jarring enough to remind yourself how dangerous it is to be in his arms. You step back and wrap your arms around yourself instead, and Stiles watches you with something hopeless all over his face. “I was just trying to prove that I didn’t make the biggest fucking mistake of my life,” he says, but he says it to his shoes. You wonder who he’s hiding from: himself or you. “Didn’t work, obviously.”

You just stare at him, arms limp by your sides, and shake your head a little. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” your voice is clotted with mucus and defeat, and it breaks halfway through along with your knees. You lean against the wall and close your lids so that you don’t have to see his eyes: so vast, so deep, so damn pretty—you’re suffocating in them. “What do you want from me?”

He’s relentless. Stiles steps forward, and there’s nowhere for you to go. “I want you.” And that’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s the rub. It’s always hunger, no sating. No happy ending. 

“Nothing’s changed.” You tilt your head and wring your fingers in the hem of your t-shirt, tugging every so often, “I’m still going back to Stanford, and you’re still going back east in the fall.” UPenn. Criminology, obviously. You never got the chance to congratulate him. 

“I know,” he’s right in front of you now, waiting for you to push him away. You don’t.

The back of your head hits the wall as you tip your chin up to look at him, “And I have Theo, and you have…her.”

“I know,” he braces his hands next to both sides of your head, watching your lips move without any shame, breath hot against your skin. 

“Stiles…” you plead with him through your lashes, asking for mercy, on hands and knees begging him to turn around and leave.

“Tell me you don’t want me.” Stiles rests his forehead against yours, “Tell me it’s over, and there’s nothing I can do to fix this.” 

“You already know,” you close your eyes and shake your head, nose rubbing against his, “you know I’d be lying.”

“You love me.” It’s not a question. He knows. He’ll always know.

You shake your head again, and Stiles can taste the salt on your lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

“I love you,” Stiles whispers, carding his fingers through your hair.

“Too late,” your lips brush against his, feather-light, and catch on the chapped center of his mouth.

He kisses you, cups your jaw like you’re ineffably precious, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in months. Stiles tilts his head a little, and his tongue is gentle in its prodding, almost sweet—but he grabs onto your hips like he wants to eat you alive. You just might let him, you think, when you feel his stubble scrape against your neck as he trails a balmy line of kisses towards your collarbone. 

You wind your fingers in his hair and tug to keep yourself on your feet. “We ca—ah,” he licks along your pulse, on purpose, and you shiver, “we can’t do this.”

Stiles hums against your cheek. “And yet, here I am, sliding my hands under your shirt, trying to cop a feel.” His fingers dip under your shirt. They’re cold on your bare stomach, and you flinch a little. Dizzyingly, you remember where you are, who you’re with, and who's going to text you in the morning to make sure you’re okay.

“We really can’t do this,” you whisper, slipping your hands from his hair to his arms. You pull them away gently and tip your head back from his persistent mouth, “I’m not going to hurt Theo the way you hurt me, and I’m not going to let you do this to someone else.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, words gravelly and thick. He turns away from you, paces the length of your room a few times and throws his hands around like he can change your mind if he gestures hard enough, “You know it’s not the same.” Stiles stops abruptly and shakes his head, seemingly at nothing—and then he’s back in front of you before you can catch your breath. He places his hands on your shoulders and then slides his palms to your biceps, just holding onto you. Not clutching, not squeezing, just a light touch that you can’t seem to break away from. 

“You’ve been my best friend for 15 years,” Stiles licks his bottom lip, and you watch him with wide eyes and a blitzing heart, “and I’ve loved you for well over half of ‘em—just plain wanted you even longer.” He slips his hand down your arm to your hand and tangles his fingers with yours, lifting them to rest over his skittering heartbeat, “You’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it should be.”

You want to say it back, you do, but you just can’t. Not with all the unresolved details wriggling in your ear. “You brought her home, Stiles. You can’t just…just introduce her to your dad and cheat on her all in the same day.”

“Technically, cheat on and then dump,” he tries to smile, but it’s not convincing. Not with the guilt dimming his eyes.

“That’s not funny,” you snap, but the guilt is good. He wouldn’t be the man you know, the boy you grew up with, if he didn’t feel at least a little guilty about the whole thing.

“Dad’s out of town,” Stiles admits quietly, and for some reason, that means more to you than his apology, than his kisses, than his hand in yours. You didn’t realize how much the thought had been bothering you until now—destroying you one post at a time. “I only brought her because I knew you were going to be here with…him.” He shrugs a little, “Frankly, I think she knows. She aced behavioral science.”

You roll your eyes and huff, “You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” he concedes and kisses the back of your hand, continuing along the row of your knuckles, “but I’m in love with you, and it’s become abundantly clear that I always will be.”

Your bottom lip trembles with the desire to give in to what you want, but your hand twists away from him with what you know is right—even though it feels so horrendously wrong. “I can’t do this to him, Stiles. He’s been through so much, and he’s been so good to me, and he’s trying so hard to—”

“But you don’t love him!” Stiles hisses. It’s the loudest he’s been all night, but you don’t flinch from the volume. It’s the truth of it all, the vile honestly you can’t hide from that makes you recoil.

You look at the ceiling through your lashes, an old trick to fight the tears welling in your tear ducts. Some girl in middle school told you about it in the bathroom, and you try to remember her name and what cloying body spray she was spritzing instead of thinking about how easy it would be to let Stiles crawl into your bed and make you forget about everyone and everything that isn’t him. “I should,” you finally murmur throatily, biting on your lip, “maybe I could…someday.”

Stiles whips his head towards your face and takes a little, stumbling step backwards, “You don’t believe that.” You’re sure he wishes that he sounded more confident than he really is, but he wavers with the hand rubbing the back of his neck, “Say you don’t believe that.”

“You need to go, Stiles.” You clutch at your arm with your other hand and step back towards your bed, further away from him and the wet film over his eyes. “I’m serious this time. I need you to leave.”

He opens his mouth and then scrubs his arm over his face, wiping away the incriminating wet gleam on his cheeks with the sleeve of his flannel. “Okay,” his throat bobs with the strength of his swallow, “yeah, okay.”

You wait until he reaches your bedroom door to crawl onto your bed. You curl in on yourself like a child, press your face into your legs, your knees to your chest, your back against the headboard—but he pauses before you can really fall apart.

Stiles rests his hand against the doorframe and chews on his cheek, on his words, on the thought of you, and then he says, “I’m still breaking up with her. You don’t…you don’t owe me anything—that’s fucking putting it lightly, I know—but I’m still breaking up with her.” He lifts a shoulder and smiles, a little sad but so true, “There’s no one else for me. There’s never going to be anyone else…just thought you should know.”

He’s gone by the time you look up from your kneecaps. Good. You were this close to giving in. This close to throwing yourself off the edge for someone who’s dropped once before, and you’re still cleaning up the mess he left behind. You should be proud of yourself, happy that you weren’t weak enough to say yes, yes, a million, billion, trillion times yes.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it.

[sunnyie-eve]

23 | Useless

Series: Indispensable | Teen Wolf

Paring: (Stiles Stilinski x OFC Martin)

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None

| MASTERLIST |

~~~

"Go back to school." Derek says as Boyd. Isaac and Julia show up at his place.

"Well actually we can't. Boyd, Julia , and I are incredibly and unbelievably sick." Isaac tells him as Derek then says with brain damage.

"Well, I have a migraine, Julia is throwing up, and Boyd here has explosive diarrhea." Isaac points at them so Boyd explain his plan to Derek.

"So why is Julia here if this plan can kill her if something goes wrong?" Derek asks as Boyd lets the water run.

"We did think that." Boyd says looking over at her sitting on the table looking at what Stiles texted her about Deaton.

"I'll be fine if I stay out of the water. And the third person taken was Deaton so Scott and Stiles are trying to find him before it's too late." She lets them know.

"You should go help them." Derek tells her.

"How am I supposed to help? I just predict and know when death happens." She tells him as Stiles texts Julia saying they needed her help finding Deaton since she can seek out supernatural things.

Julia: Just get Lydia to try to do it. It will give her some practice into what we are. I'm busy helping the others.

Stiles: Fine, you're such a pain!

Once the room had enough water Boyd threw the line into it, "Is this gonna kill them?" Isaac asks looking at the water.

"I hope so."

"You feel anything?" Derek looks over at Julia.

"You mean death wise?" She asks him, "Not so sure yet." She closes her eyes to pass the time. "Hey, isn't the light on that supposed to be on?" Julia point out after some time.

"Yeah." Derek says not happy.

"What does it mean if it's not." Isaac asks him. "Derek, what do we do now?" Isaac takes Julia's hand into his.

"We fight." He makes his eyes red and the boys get behind him while Julia stays off to the side as the alphas show up.

She wondered what she would have to do to get him alone so Aiden and Ethan enter holding Jennifer. Kali says that the fight will be between her and Derek with no interference or the twins will tear Jennifer apart. Derek sends Isaac and Boyd away.

"I'm going to rip your throat out with my teeth." Derek says leaping at her.

Julia texts Cora letting her know the plan didn't work since they cut the power and now Derek was fighting Kali alone.

"Now." Isaac picks Julia up running through the water before the electricity came back on.

Once they get to Ms. Blake he goes to protect her while Julia watches as Boyd is thrown into the fray by the surging current. Kali and Derek both go down from the shock.

"BOYD!" Julia screams his name getting the bad feeling as Kali is the first to recover and orders the twins to grab Derek and hold him with his hands cupped while Kali lifts Boyd up and drops him onto Derek's claws.

Since Julia screamed his name so loudly, Stiles and the others could hear her from where they were, "That means only one thing." He sighs as Cora and him take off running so Lydia follows.

Cora runs past Julia, who was just standing there because she knew she couldn't do anything and wish she felt it earlier. Stiles rubs her back before going over to Derek. When Lydia gets to the doorway she looks at her sister just standing there before turning to leave.

-

It's been a few days since Boyd was killed and Derek went MIA and Julia and Stiles learned more about Derek's past from Peter when they were younger. Julia still felt that she could have stopped Body from dying so she's been awful quite around most people.

At the moment she was at school alone at night because she had a the instinct that she was finally used to. There she found Tara lying on top of the school name.

Not much longer the other four show up because Lydia called them saying she's experiencing the same thing as the pool. None of them saw Julia or the dead body until Scott walks a few feet away from the group, "Guys, Julia found the dead body."

"What?" Stiles rushes over to see her standing there just looking at Tara. "Julia!" He calls out for her so she turns to face them.

"It's Tara, Stiles." She walks over to join them.

"What?" He looks behind her.

"I just called it in so your dad will be here soon with the others."

Later in the day at school during class, Julia didn't pay attention since she was drawing in her notebook. She was so zoned into what she was doing she didn't pay attention to Stiles and Scott talking.

After class the three of them go look for Ethan while Lydia distracts Aidan. "Why are you even talking to me? I helped kill one of your friends. How do you know I won't kill anyone." Ethan says looking at Stiles.

"Is he looking at me? Are you threatening me? You know what I'm going to do. I'm gonna break off an extra-large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfsbane and roll it in mistletoe and shove it up your freaking-," Julia stops Stiles from going on.

"We get it." She pats his chest.

Ethan tells them the story him and Aidan. That they had been Omegas within a pack. They were badly abused by their Alpha and their pack mates who Ethan claims were all brutal killers. Stiles wanted to know why the twins didn't just become Voltron Wolf and fight back, but Ethan explains that they didn't know how to do that back then. He explains that they owe fealty to Deucalion because he helped them develop their innate ability to merge their forms. That they were then able to kill their oppressors one by one, saving their Alpha for last. Ethan explains to Scott that all of the Alpha Pack's original emissaries, with the exception of Deucalion's, are dead.

Ethan suddenly seized by a sharp pain in his chest saying he is feeling the damage that Aiden is having. They all run to the locker room and Scott and Ethan stop Aiden from killing Cora.

Cora tells them she had to do something since they weren't expect finding the bodies before leaving. Stiles and Julia look at each other before following Cora to make sure she gets home okay. On the way taking Cora home, Allison calls Stiles saying he had to tell his dad literally everything.

At Stiles' house he paces his room back and forth with his dad in the room with him, Cora, and Julia trying to figure out how to explain everything to him. He comes up with using the chess board to show how he's never seen the whole board before.

"Scott and Derek are werewolves? And Kate argent was a werewolf?" Noah asks.

"Hunter." Julia corrects him.

"That's- Purple's Hunter." Stiles adds.

"Along with Allison and her father." Cora adds.

"Yeah, and-and my father Deaton. The veterinarian is a Kanima?" Noah says so Stiles is explains what Deaton is.

"So who's the Kanima?" Noah asks confused.

"Jackson."

"No, Jackson's a werewolf." Noah points out.

"Jackson was the Kanima first and then Peter and Derek killed him and he came back to life as a werewolf. Now, he's in London." Julia explains to him.

"Who's the Da-rack?"

"It's Da-rock." Stiles corrects him.

"We do t know yet." Cora tells Noah.

"We don't know yet." Stiles and Julia say pointing at Cora at the same time.

"Bug he was killed by werewolves?"

"Slashed up and left for dead." Stiles answers.

"We think." Julia adds causing Noah to sigh.

"Why was Jackson the Kanima?"

"Cause sometimes the shape that you take reflects the person that you are." Stiles explains.

"And what shape would an increasingly confused and angrier-by-the-second father take?" Noah looks at his son.

"That would be more of the expression on your face right now." Julia points knowingly this wasn't working.

"Yeah." Noah gets up.

"Dad-dad, would you- I can prove it, okay? Look, she's one of them. A werewolf." Stiles tries to get his dad to listen to him but it doesn't work since Cora passes out.

"Call an ambulance." Noah tells Stiles so he does so while Julia stays with Noah and Cora.

Cora ends up getting a hospital room while Stiles and Julia wait and get a call from Scott saying that these sacrifices are teachers. Even still at the hospital Stiles tries to get his dad to listen to him but Noah still doesn't believe it. Stiles and Julia leave the hospital to get to the school to try to stop the third teacher from getting killed.

"Hey, where is my sister?" Julia notices as soon as they get to Scott.

"What?" Scott looks around.

"Where did she go?" Julia panics rushing outside yelling for Lydia, "Scott can you sense her?" Julia looks around.

"She's not answering her texts." Stiles looks at his phone.

Julia panics looking around before letting out a shriek causing Scott to cover his ears and Stiles. "Julia..." Stiles looks at her as she starts to rush off so he follows her then Scott does the same knowing where she was going.

Scott has of course runs past her and as she and Stiles gets to the door Jennifer blocks the door so they can't get in. And by the time they do Jennifer disappeared with Noah.

"Lydia!" Julia rushes over to help her get free.

"So we really are Banshee..." Lydia just stares at her.

"Yes, we are."

Julia takes Lydia to Allison so she can go help the guys tell Derek about Jennifer. When she gets there she plays dumb but Scott uses mistletoe to prove it. Jennifer tells Derek she was the only person who could save Cora.

They all head to the hospital but Stiles and Julia still had a bad feeling about things going on because of how Jennifer had a look in her eyes.

"What's that?" Scott sees Stiles with a bat.

"Well, you got claws. I got a bat."

"What about me?" Julia asks.

"Just stay behind us." Stiles tells her.

As they all get out of the elevator Peter is thrown through doors saying they had a big problem and it was the twins. Both werewolves go at Ethan and Aidan and Julia spots Cora on the ground, "She's our job." She rushes over to Stiles gets Peter to help them.

"Stiles! What are you doing?" Julia sees him to go stand by the door. He uses the bat on the twins but it breaks, "Now get your ass over here." She tells him as they run off.

They all hold up in a room and the guys talk to Ms. Blake as she shows up. As they talk, Scott moms comes through the sound system saying Deucalion wanted Jennifer in ten minutes.

While Derek takes Cora to the ambulance with Stiles, Julia, and Jenifer, Scott and Peter hold off the twins. Hearing Kail, Stiles shuts the ambulance doors while Derek and Jennifer run off.

"We're sitting ducks here without anything to protect us." Julia says with her eyes closed.

"They aren't after us at least."

"Stiles, She's not breathing." Julia notices Cora making him panic before performing mouth-to-mouth until she begins breathing on her own again.

Once she was stable, he says the next time he put his lips to her mouth she better be awake making Julia laugh at him, "Shut up." He glares at her.

"It's funny. And the situation we're in, I need a laugh." She sighs then sees him fidgeting with his hands so she takes one into hers, "We're gonna find you dad..." She says so he looks at her, "Alive. I know we will." She gives him a little smile, "I can't say I know for sure but I have a very strong feeling we will." She squeezes his hand then wipes his tears away with her free hand.

Stiles just stares at her with a million of thoughts running through his head before pulling her into a hug without saying a word. But he didn't need to say anything because Julia knew what he wanted to say just by how tightly he was hugging her.

They stop suddenly hugging when they heard growing outside the ambulance. Carefully looking they see the twins as one still so they lean back to stay out of view. Not much later they hear footsteps getting closer but it was just Scott with Peter. Stiles explains the two problems they have before Scott leaves them again.

"God I wish I was safe with Lydia right now."

"Honestly, yeah. I wish you were with her somewhere safe but no you choose to join Scott and I." Stiles agrees with her.

"I wanted to help so my bad." Julia rolls her eyes causing the two to quickly start to bicker while Peter watches them closely.

Scott texted Stiles saying that Isaac was going to pick them up to get Cora out of here. When they hear the car Julia opens the door jumping out first while Peter puts Cora in the car. "You get the front." Peter says running to get in the back on the other side.

"Stiles, come on." Julia says as he was looking at something.

"Stiles!" Isaac yells at him as he runs off so Julia takes runs to see what he put together and gets it herself running after him as Isaac yells for her too.

She catches up with Stiles so they rush after Scott to see him with Deucalion and he leaves they to go with him. Julia takes Stiles' hand into hers and he holds it tightly as they stand there alone till they go back to wake Derek up.

[selmasemlan]

Epic encounters - A Marcel Gerard FanFic

Series master list

This is a story about a girl, who finds herself in a world filled with all sorts of powerful creatures. And while she's at it, she meets a prince trying to become a king. And their love would be known by all.

Pairing: Marcel Gerard x Luna Salvatore (OFC)

Univers: Crossover of The Vampire Diaries + Teen Wolf (+ very lightly Supernatural)

Author note: I'll try to put everything in chronological order of the story. This will include random moments in the lives of Luna and Marcel. It's a story about two individuals in love who grow together and separately as people. With some changes, the plot will follow the shows Teen Wolf and The Originals. There will be a lot of original (my own) plot.

If you guys have any requests for this series, let me know. I'm open to everything.

Warning: Elena bashing (never liked her, so won't even pretend here), angst, light Scott bashing (have a hate-love to him), softness of soft, series situations and conversations, PTSD, mental health, betrayal, mention of abuse and harassment.

Info about the universe

Info we have right now

Couples in Marcel x Luna Universe

The Story

Before season 3 of Teen Wolf and season 3 of The Vampire Diaries

Crash into something epic - The First Meeting

Summary: Stefan, facing his mortality, implores Damon to promise to spend the summer with Luna for her happiness. Reluctantly agreeing, Damon and Luna's journey to New Orleans unfolds, leading to an unexpected encounter with Marcel Gerard, marking the beginning of a potentially life-changing adventure.

Serendipity in the Crescent City

Summary: Marcel knows there is something between him and Luna, he just needs a chance.

Echoes of Love

Summary: Marcel asks Luna about her past before the Salvatores

Be mine

Summary: In the enchanting summer air of New Orleans, Marcel and Luna's deepening friendship blossoms into a romantic relationship when Marcel asks Luna to be his girlfriend

During Season 3 of Teen Wolf and Season 3 of The Vampire Diaries

The Bond That Isn't Broken

Summary: How is it that Klaus knows and respects Luna. You're about to find out.

Too Soon, But So Right

Summary: A night that almost leads to more, but those that wait, never wait too long

One call away

Summary: A video call between Luna and Marcel brings comfort and love, bridging the distance between them on a challenging day.

Introducing the partner to the brothers

Summary: Luna introduces Stiles and Isaac to Marcel

Shadows of Betrayal

Summary: Possessed by the Nogitsune, Luna unleashes a wave of dark energy against her friends, her vision blurred and actions twisted by a sinister force. In a moment of lucidity, she pleads for a way to stop the destruction, but Scott's harsh decision to knock her out leaves Isaac determined to save her, his heart heavy with sorrow and resolve.

Luna's Triumph Over Shadows

Summary: In a harrowing mental battle against the Nogitsune, Luna Salvatore confronts her deepest fears and emerges victorious, fortified by her inner strength and the unwavering support of her loved ones. Her resolve to face the future is strengthened, knowing she is no longer alone in her fight against the darkness.

During season 1 of The Originals, season 4 of Teen Wolf and a little of season 4 of The Vampire Diaries

In the Arms of New Orleans Part 2

Summary: Stefan and Rebekah rush Luna to Marcel's arms in New Orleans after a near-fatal attack, finding solace and protection in his embrace.

The Queen of New Orleans

Summary: As Elijah tries to make peace across the supernatural community of New Orleans, an important factor joins the game

Exes

Summary: In a cozy evening setting, Luna playfully prompts Marcel to share about his past relationships, leading to a heartfelt conversation where they both open up about their exes and reflect on the importance of trust and respect in their budding romance. Amidst candlelight and shared vulnerabilities, they deepen their bond and solidify their commitment to each other, finding solace and strength in their mutual honesty and connection.

During season 2 of The Originals

A trip to France

Summary: A trip to Paris with the troublesome trio, leaders to, you guessed it, trouble.

Moonlight Conversations

Summary: A conversation about the future shows us how much Marcel and Luna love each other.

During season 3 of The Originals

Reunited at Marcel's Loft

Summary: Luna and Marcel, reunited in the warmth of his loft after time apart, share a deeply emotional and intimate night, reaffirming their unbreakable bond through tender embraces, passionate kisses, and whispered declarations of love.

Dance of Shadows

Summary: The Strix has arrived, and Marcel and Luna face them together.

A Parents approval 

Summary: In the depths of the Mikaelson mansion, Luna's earnest defense of Marcel's loyalty leads to a rare moment of understanding and approval between Klaus and Marcel, ultimately strengthening their bond and affirming Luna's place in the family.

Promises Made

Summary: A tense evening unfolds as Luna's deep anxiety leads her to urge Marcel to take extreme precautions before a dangerous meeting, fearing for his safety and their future together.

Near death's door (Part 2 of Promises Made)

Summary: Luna's worst fears almost come true as she and Klaus face a terrifying moment of grief, but luck is still on their side

Random moments across the timeline

Playing Cupid - Damon x Bonnie

Summary: When your siblings decide to play cupid, but it doesn't go as planned

Playing Cupid 2

Summary: Over winter break, Luna, Stiles, and Isaac visit Mystic Falls and, while staying with Damon and Stefan Salvatore, they concoct humorous and heartfelt plans to bring Stefan and Rebekah together, navigating mishaps and comedic failures along the way, only to ultimately succeed in strengthening their bond.

Moonlight in New Orleans

Summary: Marcel and Luna share a tender, moonlit dance in his New Orleans loft, finding solace and reaffirming their love amidst the city's vibrant energy and their own recent turmoil.

4 moments Luna flinched

Summary: 4 moments where Luna shows how her trauma effects her in her everyday life

More coming soon.......

[maddie0101]

Saudade; Chapter Three

Summary: The new recruit arrives and the Hurleys forget to have an important conversation.

Warnings:cussing, violence, hostile reunions?

Word Count:3,104k

➭ Previous Chapter ➭ Series Masterlist

Fluttering her tired eyes open, Addy groans as she reaches her hands out and pushes her aching body to sit up. Groaning at the aches and pains searing through her body, she slowly moves her feet off to the side of the bed. It seemed like every muscle protested as she attempted to sit up in bed. Not wanting to deal with her father waking her up earlier than the rest of the recruits, Addy swiftly picks up her neatly folded clothes and goes to the bathroom to change.

After changing into her regular morning workout clothes, consisting of a grey tank top, black leggings, and her favorite pair of sneakers, Addy quickly walks back over to her bed and unplugs the long cord attached to her iPod. Briskly, walking back over to the lockers, she quietly opens the metal door and grabs her earphones.

Quickly slipping out of the room, Addison slides in each earphone before selecting her favorite playlist and slipping her iPod into the waistband of her leggings. Glancing up from the dim lighting, illuminated by nothing but the morning sun, Addy takes a deep breath before kicking her feet into a jog.

Waking up earlier than the rest of the recruits became her norm. She wanted to escape her father waking her in some obscure way. Whether it was shooting a gun, scaring the living hell out of them, or banging on the door as loudly as he possibly could, Addy couldn't stand it. It put her in a bad mood. So she decided to take the matter into her own hands and do her own thing, whether or not her father liked it.

"You can take the blindfold off." said Irene, her voice piercing through the silence in the car, drowning out the faint sound of the tires rolling against the pavement.

Mitch let out a heavy sigh as he pulled the black cloth away from his eyes, the fabric rubbing against his skin. Wincing in discomfort as the bright light from the sun filtered through the surrounding trees, Mitch squinted as he attempted to adjust to the sudden change in lighting.

As soon as Mitch's eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light, he couldn't help but be struck in awe by the view of the countless trees that were standing tall and proud on both sides of the vehicle. His mouth fell open, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight, feeling a sense of rare tranquility and serenity wash over him, seemingly blocking out reality.

Over the course of the past year, his mind had become consumed with a singular, all-consuming desire: revenge. So much so that he found himself incapable of appreciating the dark and eerie beauty of the world around him. Every waking moment was spent plotting and scheming as he obsessed over what happened to Katrina.

All he could think about was avenging her, making the people who took his fiance's life away pay.

As Mitch briefly tore his gaze away from the view outside the window, he caught Irene's warm smile as she turned back around to face the road.

"So, what do I need to know about this guy?" Mitch interrupted the silence.

"Stan Hurley? He's a warrior. Ex-Navy seal. My Daddy served with him in the Persian Gulf." Irene answered softly, scanning her eyes around the thick greenery flying past them.

Mitch pressed his lips together as he flickered his gaze around before asking, "Did you go through this program?"

"I went through a program. Not this one," Irene answered, "It's not like becoming a spy or Special Ops, none of those things."

"Good." Mitch hummed, ripping his gaze away from the woman in the front seat.

Slamming the laptop down as he checks his watch lying on his left wrist, Stan sighs as he looks out of the window, noticing the black sedan pulling up to his small cabin. "Damn it, Addy." The older Hurley cusses, irritated that he and his daughter forgot to have a discussion over the new recruit.

Taking his cup of coffee with him, Stan swings the door open and shuts it behind him. Bringing up the cup of caffeine, he takes a sip and watches Irene step out of the vehicle and shut the door behind her.

"I thought you were supposed to be on the patch." The woman raised her eyebrow as she nodded to the smoke coming from the man's lips.

Stan only rolled his eyes and sighed at the woman, slowly making his way down the steps.

"You saw those tests?" Irene asked, watching his every move as he cautiously descended the staircase, carefully placing his foot on the second to last step.

"Yeah, I saw them." Stan replied unimpressed.

"He's off the charts." Irene smiled

"I've seen off the charts before." Hurley replied, leaning his body against the rail of the wooden staircase.

"—and he's got none of the bad habits he'd have to unlearn if he had military training."

"Unlearn?" Stan cocked his head to the side, seemingly still unimpressed.

"Come on, Stan. You drop one of your navy seals in an urban setting; you can spot the boot camp on them from a mile away. We're not fighting the-"

"Cold War." Stan interrupts, blowing the smoke out of his mouth. "Yeah, I know. You keep telling me that, Miss Deputy Director."

"Oh." Irene scoffs, "Wow. 'Miss Deputy Director?'"

"Your Daddy would agree with me."

Irene pressed her lips together and nodded, slightly irritated. "I'll be checking in with you every 48 hours." The woman turned on her heels and headed back to the sedan. "I'm on a plane to London in the morning." Irene informed him. Turning back around to face Hurley, Irene nodded to his hand, holding the cigarette. "And go back on the patch for god-sake."

Rolling his eyes as he shook his head, Stan watches as Irene climbs back into the vehicle. Turning his gaze to something moving in his peripheral, Stan's eyes widened slightly as he noticed his daughter walking up with an eyebrow raised.

"Shit." the older Hurley cussed.

"Stan." Addy greets as she reaches for her earphones and takes the right one out. "New recruit?" The girl questions, raising an eyebrow as Irene turns from the backseat to face the front, sending the brunette a warm smile and a wave.

"Yeah." Stan coughs, his attention drawn to Addison walking toward him cluelessly. As she strides towards him, her damp hair clings to her forehead, and she wipes away beads of sweat glistening on her face. "Can you make me a new cup of coffee real quick?" Hurley asks, attempting to hurry and get her away from the new recruit hidden on the other side of the vehicle, slamming his door shut.

Scrunching her face in confusion as the sweat drips from her forehead, Addy nods and sends her father an odd look. "On it." The girl smiles as she quickly walks past the old man, who seems slightly—nervous? He's never nervous. Why is he acting like this?

Climbing the steps, her thighs burning from her morning workout, Addy glances back to the vehicle briefly. As she climbs up the wooden porch, her eyebrows furrow in wonder. Lost in her thoughts, she fails to notice the uneven wooden boards that protrude from the surface. Suddenly, her foot catches on one of the raised planks, causing her to stumble forward, but she quickly regains her balance and continues on her way.

So much for an assassin, Adds. The girl rolls her eyes and swings the door open.

Gravel crunches beneath the tires of the sedan, now pulling out of the driveway, leaving the new recruit to watch the vehicle head off before turning his gaze to the cabin, noticing a young woman closing the door behind her at the entrance. Shifting his gaze back to the vehicle, Mitch watches as the sedan drives off.

"She ain't coming back." Hurley breaks through the silence, twirling the cigarette between his fingers as he watches the recruit shift his attention back onto him.

"Hey. Eyes front and center."

"Make me another cup of coffee." Addy mocks her father's words as she lifts the pot of coffee up, pouring it into the mug.

Pressing her lips together as her blue eyes watch as the liquid fills the mug, she glances out the window in front of her and notices Stan intimidating the new recruit.

With a furrowed brow and a slight tilt of her head, Addy strains her eyes and leans forward, attempting to look past her father's broad frame. Frustrated by her inability to catch even a brief glimpse of the person in question, all she can make out is a mop of messy brown hair and a bland, grey-striped jacket.

Please be hot.

Entirely lost in thought, Addy completely forgets about the piping hot coffee she was holding in her hands.

Suddenly, a scorching hot liquid spills over her fingers, causing a sharp yelp to escape from her lips. Instinctively recoiling her hand upon the burning sensation, the mug slips out of her grasp and shatters into countless pieces on the ground.

"Shit." The girl cusses, flinching and quickly bending down to clean up the mess.

"We got an empty cot, empty footlocker. They're both yours as long as you can last." Hurley glares at the new recruit before a sudden loud thump followed by a sharp yelp interrupts their conversation, causing the both of the two men to turn their heads toward the sound.

Hurley's gaze softens as he glances back towards the cabin, barely catching a glimpse of his daughter bending down to pick up whatever had fallen. "Good grief, Quinn." Stan rolled his eyes at his daughter's clumsiness, ignoring the way Mitch's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to see who the mysterious woman was.

There's a girl here? Mitch tilted his head to the side, attempting to catch a glimpse.

"Follow me." A deep voice cut through the silence, causing Mitch to turn his head swiftly. To his surprise, he noticed a tall, broad-shouldered man standing nearby, nodding towards him, urging him to follow.

Mitch's nodded as he shifted his eyes back and forth, alternating between the two men standing before him and the cabin. Following behind the guy, Mitch pressed his lips together in a small smile towards the old man. "See you out there. Heard a lot about you, by the way. Excited to see what you've got."

Stan let out a heavy sigh as he observed the new recruit walking closely behind Alex, studying his every move. After a second, he turned around and slowly walked up the stairs toward the cabin.

As Addy finishes cleaning up the mess and stands up, already feeling exhausted and drained, she glances out of the window. Her heart dropped into her stomach as her gaze locked onto a pair of eyes that she thought she would never see again.

Mitch?

Addy's heart skips a beat as she and the new recruit share a stunned gaze, their eyes widening with surprise and disbelief.

No...It can't be. Addy thought to herself as something inside her gut twisted.

He didn't look like the boy she had left behind. This Mitch was an older, muscular, and more intimidating version of him. With a rugged face and piercing gaze that seemed to cut through her like a knife. At first, his eyes revealed shock and disbelief, but then it was quickly replaced by something more intense and unsettling. His gaze turned colder and angrier as if a sudden realization had snapped a taut wire within him.

Attempting to shake off the fear that creeps up inside of her, Addy can't help but wonder why he would be here of all places. What could have happened?

It couldn't possibly be her Mitch, whom she thought would be happily married to Katrina and probably had kids by now. It couldn't be him. Was it her imagination playing tricks on her, or was it a hallucination brought about by the lack of sleep she had been experiencing?

"No.." Addy shakes her head slowly, ripping her gaze away from the recruit's burning glare. "There's no way that would-"

Suddenly, Hurley's voice jolts her out of her thoughts, making her realize that she hasn't even noticed the door to the cabin being opened. "We need to talk." Stan says, watching as Addison slowly sets the broken pieces of the mug down onto the counter.

"Not right now." Addy shakes her head and quickly turns to rush out of the room but is stopped by her father catching her arm.

Her heart beats erratically out of her chest as she snaps her gaze up to Hurley. "This isn't how I wanted you to find out." Stan whispered, his gaze softening as he saw the tears starting to well up in his daughter's eyes.

Shaking her head as she held back the burning sensation threatening to spill from her shocked gaze, Addy ripped her arm out of her father's grasp and rushed out of the cabin.

Blinking in disbelief as he followed behind one of the other recruits, Mitch's body trembled with frustration and anger, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts all at once.

Was this some kind of sick joke? Why would a woman who looked exactly like his childhood best friend be here?

She died seven years ago.

He saw the paramedics rolling her body out of her house. Mitch went to her funeral. He mourned her. The only reason he pulled himself together was because of Katrina.

Anger seemed to replace any other emotions he had. He could feel the heat arising from his body as his breathing became more and more erratic. He tried to calm himself down, but the rage seemed to consume him entirely.

There wasn't any possibility that she could be alive. Or could she?

Shaking out of his thoughts as Alex swings the door open, Mitch glances back towards the cabin and walks inside.

Feeling the question burning, begging to be asked, Mitch turned to the other man. "Who was that woman in the cabin?"

Alex's eyebrows scrunched as she turned to meet Mitch's blank expression. "Who? Quinn?" The man shook his head as he scanned over Mitch's tense stance. "I don't know much about her. Other than the fact that she's been here for 6-7 years. She keeps to herself and doesn't really talk to the rest of us that much."

Alex shrugged as he pointed to a locker, changing the subject. "That's yours. Put your stuff away and meet by the cabin in 15 minutes." The man nodded toward the locker before heading back out of the homestead, leaving Mitch to shove his bag into the small metal cubby. Spinning around to a small sound coming from the door, Mitch's eyebrows knit together before he shut the metal door.

"Okay, I'll just walk in the room and act like I don't see him." Addison whispered to herself, trying to figure out a way to approach the situation. "I don't look the same, right? He can't possibly know it's me."

Quietly and quickly walking towards the homestead, Addy pauses for a second, watching Alex leave the room. You can do this, Addy. He won't be that angry...right?

Softly placing her shaking hand up to the door, Addy pushes it open. Ignoring the nervous jitters wracking her body, she closes the door behind her and enters the room.

Scanning her nervous gaze around the numerous cots, her eyebrows furrow as she notes the empty room. He was just here. Where the hell could he have-

Suddenly, a pair of hands grip her shoulders tightly, roughly attempting to spin her around, but as soon as Addy spins around, she lifts her knee and collides it into the man's groin. A groan of pain escapes his lips as Addison attempts to further her attack. Rearing her fist back to land a punch, the guy suddenly catches her fist and spins her around till her back hits the wall behind her.

A gasp leaves the girl's lips as the man pins her against the wall with her clenched fist right beside her face. Ripping her gaze from her hand to her attacker, Addison's breath hitches. Dark, angry brown orbs met her own fierce gaze.

"Mit-"

"Who the hell are you?" Mitch's face turned beet red as he yelled, his veins bulging out of his neck. "Huh?" He continued, his anger boiling upon seeing the woman up close.

Feeling her own anger starting to rise within, Addison reared her head back and slammed it into his, making the man stumble back and lose his grip. "Well, if you would like me to explain—"

Suddenly, Addy flinched as Mitch regained his stance. Lifting his gaze back up to the woman, his features softened as he noticed the small vein poking out on her forehead. The same vein that used to poke out of his best friend's forehead when she was stressed about something. It is her.

"Mitch." Addy sucked in a breath, "It's me, okay. It's Addy. Just calm down, okay?"

"Calm down?" Mitch narrowed his eyes, keeping his piercing gaze fixed on the girl in disbelief.

"You died! I watched them wheel your body out of your house! I went to your funeral. How is this even possi-" Mitch paused as the gears in his head turned. "Did you fake your own death?!"

Addy swallowed. She felt her throat constricting as the guilt from seven years ago caught up with her. "I didn't have a choice."

Mitch blinked in disbelief, shaking his head. "You didn't have a choice?" he cocked his head to the side, taking a step closer. "You really think I'm going to believe anything you say, now? After what you did. You left me. You made me believe that you were dead! You were supposed to be the ONE person that would never leave me."

"I'm sorry." Addy shook her head, feeling the tears burn their way to her eyes. "Just let me explain—"

"No." Mitch shook his head, "You don't get to do that." he scolded, stepping closer to the woman till he was inches away from her. "Stay away from me. I mean it. I'm here for one thing and one thing only."

Stepping away from the girl, Mitch sent her one last glare before swiftly turning around and heading out of the room, leaving Addy to stand in place, shocked.

Tags:

@chaoticroaddreamerpasta

Lmk if you would like to be tagged. ☻

➭ Next Chapter

[greenandribbonred]

evermore | s. stilinski

chapter iii: who is in control?

summary: a party, a tub full of ice & a full moon

word count: 5,5k

warnings: none (I believe, but if there’s anything that you think could be triggering to someone and should be marked with a warning in this chapter or any other, please let me know!)

a/n: today I give you: an important moment with stiles at the end (perhaps the kickstarter of their undeniable connection and beautiful friendship? I think so). okay, okay, a bit late but here is chapter three. this took me sweat, tears and thankfully no blood but a lot of back pain. I hope you love it.

series masterlist

“Remind me again, why are we crashing some girl’s birthday party?” Sadie asked, staring at the floor as she walked behind Scott and Stiles so she wouldn’t trip over the cobblestones in the high heeled boots Lydia had gotten her.

“We’re not crashing,” Stiles clarified. “I went to nursery school with this girl, okay? Heather will be fine with you guys being there, don’t worry.”

Sadie didn’t really feel like having her first high school party experience that day, but Stiles had insisted they went, and she couldn’t tell him no once he started pouting. Scott wasn’t really up for a party either, the look on his face giving it away, but he hadn’t opposed to it, not wanting to argue with Stiles.

“It’s not that.” She couldn’t care less about some girl kicking her out of her party. She would feel very lucky if she got kicked out, actually.

Sadie had been feeling extra uneasy the last couple of days with the full moon approaching. She was terrified, to say the least, of her first transformation and she wasn’t so sure she was going to be able to handle it. Not turning at any random moment had turned out to be fairly easy for her, as she wasn’t an angry or nervous person, but the full moon was completely different.

On top of that, there was a new alpha pack in town that even the animals in the woods were afraid of. Derek needed their help, but she didn’t even know how to defend herself, so how was she going to defend anyone else?

“What? Is it the full moon?” Stiles stopped walking and turned to face her. “Sadie, we’ll cross that bridge when we have to, alright? You don’t need to worry about things that haven’t happened yet.”

She nodded and kept walking even though his statement didn’t make much sense to her. She was an expert at anticipatory anxiety, and she was sure he was too. Why was he giving her advice that he didn’t even take for himself?

“Sadie, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll be with you the whole time, okay?” Scott said with his usual caring tone, placing a hand on her shoulder in a reassuring manner.

Sadie gave him a short smile and a slight nod of the head. Scott had been like the older brother she never had since she met him, but still, his words didn’t mean much.

“Anyway, she promised to introduce us to all of her friends,” Stiles went on, trying to lift Scott’s spirits up, who walked reluctantly and slightly crestfallen beside him. “So tonight, no Allison, no Lydia,”

Sadie raised her eyebrows. Lydia what now?

“Tonight we’re moving on.”

Lydia? What did he mean about Lydia?

Scott’s phone rang, a picture of a smiling Allison appearing on his screen. Sadie guessed it was pretty hard to move on from the girl you were in love with if she was calling you on the phone while you were actively trying to forget about her.

“You’re right,” Scott agreed, declining her call and putting his phone back into his pocket.

“That’s right I’m right. And you,” Stiles called out to Sadie, walking behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders as he marched with her towards the house like he was on a mission, some pop tune blasting and getting louder as they got closer.

“Me,” she replied, nodding her head.

“No brooding or worrying about the full moon tonight. You have fun.”

“I genuinely don’t know how to do that. Don’t know if I’ll be able to,” she giggled. There was no way she was going to have fun at a party with a bunch of drunk teenagers she didn’t know, but she would try.

“You are impossible, woman,” he said, shaking his head.

Sadie couldn’t help but let out a full on chortle at the expression on his face. Annoyed Stiles was a rare sight - he was usually the one annoying everyone else, she had learned - and she loved it. Pissing him off was so much fun.

He gave her an exasperated look when he saw her stopping on the doorway and grabbed her arm, dragging her into the house before she had the chance to back off and run away, Scott following behind.

“Stiles! Hi!” A girl around their age called out as soon as they walked in, all dizzying curves and blonde waves.

Stiles gave her a huge smile and opened his arms to pull the blonde who Sadie guessed was Heather into a hug. “Hey! There’s the birthday girl-”

Before Sadie knew it, Heather had smashed her lips against Stiles’ without so much of a heads-up, not even letting him finish his sentence.

Scott’s jaw was slack open and the expression on Sadie’s face was indescribable.

“So glad that you made it,” Heather said when she pulled away, gazing at Stiles with an almost hungry look.

“Me too,” he replied instantly. Sadie could hear his heart beating excitedly in his chest.

“Come downstairs with me and help me pick out a bottle of wine,” the blonde suggested, interlocking their hands.

“Yes.” He nodded, barely looking back at his two friends before he was dragged away like a puppy.

Scott and Sadie stood there in shock for a couple of seconds. Sadie had no experience with boys - or girls, for that matter - but she knew they weren’t going to pick out any wine.

“Was that, um, really straightforward or am I just... not on with the times?” she asked Scott with narrowed eyes.

She wasn’t judging - not in the littlest bit, actually. She wished she was able to be spontaneous like that and have everything go right for her. Instead, she was just plain impulsive and a slow learner, which had only ever driven her to failure.

“That was,” Scott stopped, searching for the right word. “Very bold, yes.”

“Good for him,” she shook her head and smoothed out her leather jacket. “Let’s go have a drink.”

“A drink?” Scott looked at her with a surprised but amused expression on his face. “What happened to not knowing how to have fun?”

“Since we’re already here, might as well,” she shrugged.

She wasn’t really sure why, but Heather kissing Stiles had in some way killed the little spirits she had.

Must have been because Stiles had dragged them both to a party they didn’t want to go to and now had stood them up for a girl, right? Right?

As much as she wanted to leave, Stiles was their ride and she wasn’t going to walk all the way back to Scott’s. If she had to stay, she refused to stand in a corner and be miserable for the rest of the night. She could afford at least an hour of not drowning in self pity and worrying herself to death about her whole supernatural situation.

“Yeah, okay,” Scott said with a smile, draping his arm around her shoulder and guiding her toward the kitchen.

Before they even got through the doorway Scott’s phone buzzed again, making them stop in their tracks as he retreated it from his pocket, revealing a message under Allison’s name.

She was outside.

• • •

“I don’t see anything,” Derek stated, his arms crossed.

“Look again,” Scott suggested.

“How is a bruise gonna tell me where Boyd and Erica are?” he asked disinterestedly, looking between Allison and Lydia who were still holding out their arms.

“It’s the same on both sides. Exactly the same.”

To be fair, Sadie couldn’t see anything either. It just looked like someone had grabbed their arms with too much force and left an imprint of their fingers on them. Although, considering she knew about the supernatural now, it was totally possible that it actually meant something more - what, she wasn’t sure of.

“Pareidolia. Seeing patterns that aren’t there,” Lydia nodded.

Sadie and Stiles, who were sitting on top of one of the tables in the empty classroom, looked at each other in confusion.

“What’s she talking about?” Sadie whispered. Stiles just shook his head with pursed lips and raised eyebrows.

“It’s a substep of apophenia,” Lydia clarified in a matter-of-fact tone.

“They’re trying to help.” Scott looked at Derek again.

“These two?” Derek looked between the two girls with an incredulous expression. He was clearly annoyed at Scott’s remark. “This one,” he pointed to the strawberry blonde. “Who used me to resurrect my psychotic uncle. Thank you,” he said sarcastically. “And this one,” he looked at Allison now. “Who shot about 30 arrows into me and my pack.”

Meh. He did have a point, but still, Lydia and Allison were just trying to help, and Sadie knew they wouldn’t be there wasting everyone’s time if they truly didn’t think their bruises could mean something.

“Okay, all right now, come on,” Stiles chimed in. “No one died, all right? Look, there may have been a little maiming, okay, a little mangling, but no death. That’s what I call an important distinction.”

Sadie knew Stiles was just trying to ease the tension, but she wasn’t sure if that argument was valid in her book. Not everything was excusable, but she wasn’t one for holding grudges either. Lydia and Allison were just trying to help and they didn’t deserve Derek’s sourness, no matter what had happened between them in the past. At the end of the day, as Derek had said, he needed all the help he could get.

“My mother died,” Allison said in a low tone, looking at Derek defiantly.

“Your family’s little honor code killed your mother. Not me,” he clarified, staring at her with the same expression.

If Sadie had been shocked at finding out about werewolves, there were no words to describe her surprise when she was told about hunters, especially finding out Allison’s family used to be part of it. The thought of someone wanting to kill her for something she had no control over was more than chilling.

“That girl was looking for Scott,” Allison ignored him. “I’m here to help him, not you.”

“You wanna help? Find something real.”

“Give her a chance, okay? They’re on our side now,” Scott pleaded again.

“Well, then maybe you should tell her what her mother was actually trying to do that night,” and with that, Derek walked out, slamming the door on his way out of the classroom.

• • •

Turns out, Heather, the girl whose birthday party they had gone to the day before, was missing. And not only that, but Stiles was the last one to see her before she disappeared.

He’d thought she had stood him up at the party while he was upstairs, but apparently - as his father, the sheriff, had confirmed - something had happened to her. Stiles thought the alpha pack might have had something to do with her disappearance, and he was desperate to find her. She’d been one of his closest childhood friends, after all.

His theory didn't make much sense to Sadie, however, not really sure as to why an alpha pack would want to turn some girl into a beta. The whole point of an alpha back was to be composed of only alphas.

Stiles was very worried about Heather and their only plan to find her and Derek’s pack not working. Sadie could smell the anxiety oozing out of his body as they filled up the tub with ice at Deaton’s clinic.

Deaton had been their best shot at helping Isaac remember where Boyd and Erica were being held. Derek and his uncle Peter had failed at their attempts to do so, and it seemed that the only one who somehow knew more about werewolves than the werewolves themselves, was Deaton. If they found out where the betas were, they could subsequently find out where the alpha pack - and hopefully also Heather - was hiding, and save them all.

Frankly, Deaton’s idea to do so was insane. Not just insane, but terribly dangerous too.

They were going to slow down Isaac’s heartbeat until he got into a hypnotized state and a half transformed haze in which they could tap into his subconscious mind and fish for the seemingly lost memories. It all seemed way too complicated to Sadie for it being as simple as soaking Isaac in a tub full of ice.

“How slow does his heart rate need to be?” Scott asked Deaton.

“Very slow.”

“Okay, well, how slow is very slow?” Derek questioned.

“Nearly dead,” Deaton shrugged, as if what he’d just said wasn’t of big importance.

“This is insane.” Sadie shook her head. Thankfully, she didn’t think werewolves could die of hypothermia.

Isaac looked up at her with an expression that gave away he agreed with her. He stuck his hand into the tub and instantly pulled it back from the bitingly cold water. “It’s safe, though, right?” he asked.

“Do you want me to answer honestly?”

“Why does he look like he’s enjoying this?” Sadie muttered to Stiles, leaning into his side as he leaned back against the wall. She didn’t receive an answer, though, only the snapping sound of a rubber glove.

Stiles looked very pleased with himself as he stared at his glove-clad hand.

“Stiles?”

“What?” he asked when he noticed everyone in the room was staring at him. He linked eyes with Sadie, who only gave him a raised eyebrow and a funny expression.

He took the glove off and dropped it angrily, his fun over.

“Look, if it feels too risky, you don’t have to do this,” Derek carried on, turning to Isaac.

Isaac didn’t bother to answer. Taking off his shirt and stepping into the tub, one foot after the other, he gasped at the shock of the freezing cold water, his breath becoming erratic as he took sharp intakes of air.

His whole body shivered, and his teeth started chattering — but he braced himself, and Scott and Derek grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him under the water. After a few seconds that felt like whole minutes, he emerged back, letting out a thunderous roar, half transformed, fangs out and flashing yellow eyes.

“Get him back under,” Deaton commanded, arms crossed.

Sadie and Stiles rushed over to help Scott and Derek pull Isaac back under the water as he thrashed angrily, trying to break out of their hold.

“Hold him,” Deaton insisted.

“We’re trying!”

Not even four people (three with supernatural strength) could keep him down. Sadie could hear his heartbeat, and she was sure it was about to burst out of his chest by how quickly it was beating. It was the complete opposite of what they needed for the plan to work.

They managed to bring Isaac’s head back under the water, and seconds later, he relaxed, his angry thrashing stopping. They let go of him and he raised back to the surface, taking an inhale.

“Now, remember, only I talk to him,” Deaton whispered. “Too many voices will confuse him and draw him out. Isaac, can you hear me?”

They all waited expectantly.

“Yes, I can hear you,” he answered.

“This is Dr. Deaton. I’d like to ask you a few questions, is that all right?”

“Yes.”

His eyes were closed, his lips blue. Thunder roared outside, the lightning following it illuminating the somber room and creating long shadows.

“I want to ask you about the night you found Erica and Boyd. I want you to remember it for me in as vivid detail as possible, like you’re actually there again.”

“I don’t wanna do that. I don’t wanna do that,” he repeated in discomfort, a hint of anguish in his voice.

He was starting to thrash around again. The lights in the clinic flickered from the raging storm outside, although it seemed like it was Isaac’s distress that was causing them to go off.

“Isaac, it’s alright. Just relax. They’re just memories, you can’t be hurt by a memory,” Deaton assured him.

Well, you sort of can. - Sadie thought.

But Deaton’s reassuring words were to no use. Isaac kept repeating he didn’t want to do it, and that was perhaps the reason why he wasn’t remembering before - because he simply didn’t want to, he was scared to do so.

“It’s all right, relax,” Deaton repeated. Isaac surprisingly calmed down at his words, physically relaxing in Scott’s and Derek’s hold. “Now let’s go back to that night. To the place you found Erica and Boyd. Can you tell me what you see? Is there some kind of building? A house?”

“It’s not,” he stuttered. “It’s not a house. It’s stone. I think marble.” He shivered, teeth chattering.

“That’s perfect. Can you give me any other descriptors?”

“It’s dusty, so empty.”

“Like an abandoned building?” Thunder rumbled again. “Isaac?”

“Someone’s here,” he whispered, gripping Scott’s arm.

Lights started flickering again. The scene looked straight out of a horror movie. Sadie shivered with him, her blood chilling at his distress and agony filled screams. It was almost painful to watch.

“No, no, no, they see me. They see me,” he writhed and screamed, water splashing out of the tub and on their clothes.

“It’s just memories, you can’t be hurt by your memories. Just relax,” Deaton insisted. “Now, tell us what you see. Tell us everything.”

Isaac went completely still at his words, going completely still in the water once more. His eyes opened, the blinding yellow being replaced by striking blue. “I hear him. He’s talking about the full moon, about being out of control when the moon raises.”

“Is he talking to Erica?”

“I think so, I can’t-” he kept stumbling over his words. “I can’t see her. I can’t see either of them.”

“Can you hear anything else?”

“They’re worried, worried what they’ll do during the moon. They’re worried that they’re gonna hurt each other.”

“If they’re locked in together during the full moon, they’re gonna tear each other apart,” Derek mumbled, glancing between everyone in the room with a concerned expression.

Great. They needed to find them now more than ever with the full moon being the next day, but Sadie couldn’t even help. She couldn’t control it, just like them. She was of no help.

“Isaac, we need to find them right now. Can you see them? Do you know what kind of room it is? Is there any kind of a marker? A number on a door? A sign?”

Suddenly, Isaac sat up, gasping for air frantically. “They’re here,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on the wall. “They’re here,” he kept repeating over and over. “They see me, they found me. They’re here!” he screamed.

“This isn’t working,” said Derek, taking over Deaton. “Isaac, where are you? Tell me where you are.”

“I can’t see them, it’s too dark.”

“His heart rate...he could go into shock,” Deaton reminded Derek when he kept pushing Isaac for an answer.

“Isaac, where are you? What did you see?” Derek didn’t seem to listen, he kept insisting over Deaton’s reprimands and Isaac’s terrified screaming.

“Derek, you’re gonna kill him!” Sadie shouted.

“It’s a vault! It’s a bank vault!” Isaac yelled over everyone’s frantic arguing. “I saw it!” he sat up, breaking out of the hypnosis completely. “I saw the name.”

Scott and Derek helped him out of the tub. Sadie walked over to them with a towel in hand, quickly wrapping it around the shaking frame of the boy. Isaac took the towel, thanking her quietly with a nod and a faint smile which she returned. “It’s, uh, Beacon Hills First National Bank. It’s an abandoned bank, and they’re keeping them locked inside the vault.”

No one said anything, too shocked about what had just happened, sitting in silence instead. Isaac suddenly noticed everyone in the room was staring at him with the same gloom expression plastered on their faces. “What?"

“You don’t remember what you said right before you came out of it, do you?” Stiles seemed to be the only one brave enough to break down the news and say out loud what they had all heard but didn’t want to believe.

“No,” Isaac shook his head confused.

“You said when they captured you that they dragged you into a room, and that there was a body in it.”

“What body?” He asked, looking over to Sadie who was sitting to his right.

Sadie looked down. She let out a deep sigh, bracing herself, and looking back up to meet his anticipating stare. “You said it was Erica.”

• • •

Stiles had spent the whole night researching the bank and how to get in without the alphas noticing, only to have found pretty much nothing but terrible back pain and a headache from the lack of sleep. Thankfully, he had discovered his dad had worked on the case of a robbery that had happened there years prior, and he had agreed to let him look through his files, not bothering to ask what he needed the information for, assuming it was just another Stiles-y thing.

His plan was to get in just like the robbers had done, and it was a decent and elaborate plan if they looked past the fact that they were a bunch of teenagers and not professional robbers with special robbing gear. Derek didn’t seem very keen on the plan either, by the sour expression on his face.

“One of the robbers was lowered into this shaft,” Stiles drew a red circle over a small section of the bank’s blueprints. “Now, that place is so small it took him about 12 hours to drill into the wall, which is stone, by the way.

“Then, throughout the rest of the night, they siphoned the cash up to the guys back on the roof through that one little shaft in the wall. Boom.”

“Uh, yeah, maybe we find another way?” Sadie suggested with a pained smile.

“What- another way? There’s no other way, Sadie.”

“Okay,” she threw her arms up defensively, eyes wide. She had learned very quickly that there was no point in arguing with Stiles when he was so fixed on something.

“Can we fit in there?” Scott asked.

“Yes, we can, but very, very barely. And they also patched the wall, obviously, so we’re gonna need a drill of some kind. I’m thinking maybe a diamond bit-”

“Forget the drill,” Derek cut in. He was very much done with Stiles’ rambling. “If I go in first, how much space do I have?”

“What do you think you’re gonna do, Derek? You gonna punch through the wall?”

“Yes, Stiles, I’m gonna punch through the wall.” Derek crossed his arms, smirking at Stiles.

“Oh, here we go,” Sadie murmured. The married couple.

“Okay, big guy, let’s see it. Let’s see that fist,” Stiles mocked him. “Big old fist. Make it, come on. Get it out there, don’t be scared.” Derek raised his fist, his arms still crossed and the same cocky expression from before plastered on his face. “Big bad wolf. Yeah, look at that. Okay, see this?” Stiles said holding Derek’s wrist and placing his own hand in front of his fist. “That’s maybe three inches of room to gather enough force to punch through solid-”

Derek launched his fist forward, crashing it against Stiles’ hand. He hissed in pain, his mouth hanging open as he clutched his hand and crouched down, an expression full of agony on his face.

“Oh my god-”

Derek had punched him really hard. Like, werewolf strength hard. And werewolf strength was no joke, especially an alpha’s, and especially on a human.

Stiles stumbled to the back of the room, whimpering in pain. “He could do it,” he affirmed.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Sadie walked over to him, who was still in the same potion, bent over with his hand between his knees, as Derek and his uncle Peter discussed a new plan. “Hey, Stiles-”

Sadie took hold of his arm, and suddenly, she could feel all the pain he was feeling. Black lines appeared on her own hand where she was touching his skin, as if his pain was being passed onto her and becoming hers. She clenched her teeth, feeling the numbness and the burn on her veins — and as soon as it came, it was over.

Scott had told her about this ability, but she’d had yet to experience it for herself. Sadie hadn’t even been thinking about it when she touched Stiles. It was like an instinct had come over her body, an instinct of wanting to protect him.

“That was cool.” She stared down at her hand in thought, the black lines fading away.

“Thank you,��� Stiles said sincerely, still slightly out of breath, rubbing his wrist where the pungent pain had been seconds ago. “God, that really hurt. Are you okay?”

“You’re asking me if I’m okay?” Sadie laughed. “Derek almost punched a hole through your hand and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

“Yeah, well, I guess that hurt for you too.”

“It was okay. I didn’t imagine it to be like that.” How cool was it to be able to take someone’s pain away? To relieve them from that burden? “Uh, let’s get back,” she suggested when a few seconds passed of Stiles just standing there staring at her.

They exchanged an awkward look, but he finally nodded and followed behind her, unusually quiet.

Derek, Peter and Scott were still discussing what their next move was going to be and how they should go about it.

“I don’t know about Erica, but if Boyd’s still alive we have to do something,” Scott said. “We have to try.”

Sadie looked down. She felt useless. It was just Scott and Derek against all of those alphas, and Peter wasn’t even bothering to lend them a hand, so she really wanted to help, but she couldn’t. There was no way she could with the full moon so close.

“Okay,” Derek nodded to Scott’s words. “Then, we have to go. Now. Before the moon comes out.”

Scott hesitated. The full moon was coming out in less than an hour. He’d promised Sadie he would be there for her every step of the way, he couldn’t leave her now. “But, Sadie-” he turned to her.

“I need your help, Scott,” said Derek. “She’ll be fine, Stiles can handle her, he’s done it before.”

This wasn’t what they had planned for her first transformation, and truthfully, she wasn’t too keen on having Stiles watch over her with the danger that that put him in, but it would have to do. There was no way she was holding Scott back and potentially letting the betas kill each other in that vault.

“Go, Scott,” Sadie agreed, giving him a reassuring nod. “You have to help them.”

Getting everyone out and alive was more important to her.

“We’ll be okay,” Stiles nodded, reassuring Scott.

• • •

“You okay?” Stiles asked, yanking on the chains around Sadie’s wrists once again to make sure they weren’t budging. “Feel anything yet?”

Sadie was sitting in Scott's basement, chained to the wall and waiting impatiently for the moon to play its tricks on her. She ignored where Stiles had gotten the chains and handcuffs from, and frankly, she didn’t want to know.

“No, I’m fine. Trying to stay calm. You checking the time every thirty seconds is not really helping, though.”

“Sorry,” he apologized, glancing away from his phone before locking it and putting it back into his pocket. “It should happen any minute now.”

He was just as impatient as her, if not more, and he reeked of anxiety, although that seemed to be an everlasting thing for him nowadays.

“It’ll be fine. I think you’re more worried than I am,” she chuckled, trying to ease the tension.

They sat in silence for a few seconds before she saw it: the undeniable shape of the full moon peeking through the small window of the basement, glowing stark against the inky jet black sky.

All of a sudden, her breath started getting more agitated, her heart beat quicker. She felt a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead.

This was it.

“Stiles,” she called out worriedly. She was very calm, but still, it was like something was coming over her.

Stiles moved closer to her when he realized what was happening. “Take deep breaths, Sadie, you can do it.” he encouraged her.

She took a deep breath through her nose, exhaling shakily seconds after through her mouth. The rumbling in her chest kept getting stronger and stronger. She clenched her jaw, shoulders tensing, and let out a hiss of pain through gritted teeth.

“It helps to have an anchor, something that helps you hold onto your humanity. Think of something happy, someone you love, a good memory - anything. Focus on it and hold onto it.” Stiles explained.

A happy memory. Someone she loved. She tried to fish through her fuzzy brain.

A happy memory. Someone she loved. Her father. Her mother. Sunny days and pancake sundays. Green grass.

Her eyes glowed yellow, the lulling green long gone, fangs extending and claws flicking out involuntarily.

“Stiles, you should leave,” she begged him in a panicked voice. She was scared she was going to lose it at any moment. “It’s not working.”

She was trying so hard to keep calm and control the transformation, but she didn’t think she could hold it for much longer. It was extremely painful. The more she tried to push it back, the more it hurt.

Her father. Her mother. Sunny days and pancake sundays. Green grass. - she thought again.

It was no use, the memory wasn’t strong enough - her mind was too foggy to focus on a memory, to focus on something that wasn’t tangible. It wasn’t working, if anything, it was making her angrier. She had never met her mother and the memory of her father was tainted by his death, her mind involuntarily taking her back to the night she lost him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Stiles. Please, just leave.” She let out a painful grunt, yanking on the chains involuntarily.

“I’m not leaving you, Sadie. You can do it, I know you can. Focus.”

Her mind was clouded and dizzy. She couldn’t see straight. Her vision was tinted with a red hue and she wasn’t so sure of what was going on anymore, an almost animalistic instinct coming over her. Her body was acting against her mind’s wishes, almost like it had a life of its own, completely autonomous from her brain.

She just wanted to tear something to shreds. The feeling was almost of frustration, like wanting to scream out of impotence, only this time it was so intense she would have been fine with ripping Stiles’ throat out with her teeth. It didn’t help that he was kneeling down so close to her.

Her father. Her mother. Sunny days and pancake sundays. Green grass.

Fuck this.

“Sadie, look at me,” she heard Stiles’ voice breaking through the fog. “Focus on me, okay? On the sound of my voice. Just keep focusing, Sadie.” He tried to pull her back down to earth.

“I can’t,” she uttered through gritted teeth, shutting her eyes tightly.

“Yes, you can. Come on, Sade, look at me.”

Their eyes locked together, striking yellow against deep amber.

Stiles.

Stiles.

And suddenly, it clicked. Before she knew it, her breathing was slowing down, slowly but surely, until the golden yellow turned back into calming green, the claws retreating back.

“That’s it. You got it, Sadie. You got it.” He encouraged her in a soft voice. She felt much calmer at the mere sound of his voice.

Her breathing was ragged, her chest shaking uncontrollably and erratically, and she felt like crying from the scary experience, but she had done it. She had managed to control it. On the first try. Thanks to him.

“You did it, Sadie, you did it.” Stiles smiled. Fully trusting she wasn’t going to lash out and slash his throat, he wrapped his arms around her in a comforting hug.

She buried her head on his chest, giving into his embrace and the overwhelming feelings coming over her, fisting her hands on his t-shirt and crying quietly out of relief.

[mummybear]

Just Let Go

This Is Day 9 Of Roleplay May

Words: 4570

Warnings: Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Letting Go Of Control, Restraints, Orgasm Control, Dom OC, Sub Stiles, Good Boy Kink, Think That’s It. 

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, OC (Michelle), Mentions Of Void, Mentions Of The Pack.

Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x OC (Michelle)

Summary: Stiles is pulling away from the pack a little and falling behind on school work, so Michelle agrees to help him with the studying for their econ exam. However, it turns out that all the studying in the world isn’t enough to help him. Michelle quickly discovers that Stiles is hiding more than he first let on to anyone else and she helps him find release.

A/N: This is Especially for my beautiful girl Michelle @holyhellpit @dylanholyhellobrien for all of her incredible support over the last five years we’ve known each other and not forgetting her amazing work! I try to include a fic for her in every time I do one of these things :) So I really hope you like it babe <3 ;)

Michelle pulls up in front of the Stilinski house and grabs her things from the passenger seat of her car. She’d offered to help Stiles study for their upcoming econ exam, since he’d not really been able to focus lately for some reason. He hadn’t told anyone why, just said it was a bunch of different things that were mounting up, things that he didn’t want to get into. 

Although, Michelle had a sneaking suspicion that there was more going on than just a few things weighing on him. Especially since the thing with Void, it was clear apparently only to her that he wasn’t the same happy go lucky boy he’d once been. 

She could’ve been crazy but lately it felt more and more like they had been getting closer as friends, maybe even leaning towards more than friends. Which was perfectly okay with her, but she’d had no desire to push Stiles into something he didn’t want if it were just her imagination. So she ignored it the best she could, no matter how hard it was.

After locking her car she makes her way up the small path, noticing that the Sheriff’s cruiser is already gone. In all the time they’d been friends, she wasn’t sure how often the two of them had been in his house together and they’d spent even less time alone together. 

Reaching the door she takes a deep breath and knocks. It doesn’t take long for the door to swing open revealing a very dishevelled looking Stiles, hair sticking up all over the place and still in the middle of struggling to pull his t-shirt over his head. Which gave her a nice view of the surprisingly defined abs which he hides so well beneath the t-shirt he wears. 

Before he successfully gets it to fall into place.

Michelle is still biting back a smile at the way the goofball turns up at the door, when he finally meets her gaze, those big brown eyes of his growing a little wider than usual.

“I uh… Sorry, I guess time kinda got away from me a bit today” he rushes to explain, stepping back so that she can walk past him and into the house.

“Don’t worry about it, Stiles. It happens to the best of us,” Michelle assures him with a soft smile as she hangs her coat up and kicks off her shoes. “So, where do you want me?” Her question takes him by surprise and he almost chokes on his drink. Yet another thought crosses her mind when Stiles becomes a little awkward, rubbing at the back of his neck, after repeatedly stumbling over his words

“Well I was thinking upstairs, if that’s okay?” Stiles sighs a little relieved when Michelle simply nods. They both gather up their snacks and drinks and Stiles collects his things from the kitchen table before leading the way upstairs to his room. 

Michelle catches him rolling his eyes at something and frowns, feeling a little more worried about him by the second. 

“Is everything okay Stiles? You seem a little off, kinda nervous or something.”

Stiles remains quiet as the two of them walk into his room, but she thinks she might know why. Seeing that the duvet and sheets are a complete mess on the bed, her brow arches as she looks at Stiles, finding him already blushing as he looks between her and the bed.

“Yeah, sure. Fine, everything’s fine” he smiles awkwardly, starting to remake the bed but it would’ve been so obvious to anyone looking just how hard he was blushing.

Michelle wondered if he’d been having a little more than a mid afternoon nap before she’d turned up, but given his behaviour towards her already she thought it best to not say anything, simply heading over to the other side of his bed to help him finish making it. Stiles seems to relax a little in the moments that followed, an easy and comfortable silence falling between the pair.

Once their little job is done they grab their books and Michelle sets about teaching Stiles everything he needs for the exam. However, it doesn’t take long for them to become distracted, reminiscing on all of the times that coach had flipped out on them during classes. Almost all of them are related to Stiles and their love-hate relationship.

“So how’s the teaching assistants job going? You had to teach any dicks yet?” Stiles asks suddenly, as he pops another chip into his mouth, completely changing the subject.

“Yeah, It’s good. Keeping me super busy, I just think they find it odd that I’m only a few years older than them, yet I’m telling them what to do” she tells him honestly, catching the candy he tosses at her with ease.

“I bet you’re great at it though” Stiles mumbles quietly around a mouthful of food.

“Great at what?” Michelle asks through a laugh, “Being a bossy bitch?” 

“Hey, if the shoe fits,” Stiles laughs when she throws a pillow at his head.

“I’m gonna have to put you in detention if you keep sassing me Stilinski, be a good boy” she warns him playfully, gently slapping his thigh with the ruler that had been laying between them. 

Stiles’ surprised gasp catches her attention, he’s blushing again but he does his best to ignore the now slightly awkward situation. However, there’s no escaping the other type of tension in the air as their eyes meet. 

Stiles licks his lips, whispering something under his breath that Michelle misses. Before he quickly looks back at the workbook between them, not allowing the look to linger too long. For a minute there Michelle expects him to get up and bolt off the bed, to her surprise he just stays there, fiddling with a pen before it drops back onto the book. Michelle looks over at him to find him scratching at the back of his neck in that adorably nervous way he does.

“Can I just say something real quick? It’s kinda gonna bring the mood down, but I need to tell you” Stiles asks as he rolls on his side to face her, Michelle mirrors his actions, resting her elbow on the bed and her head on her hand.

“Of course you can. Is everything okay?” she frowns concerned carefully laying her hand over his.

Stiles shakes his head looking down at their hands he smiles a little before finally looking into her eyes again.

“I just wanted to say thank you, you know. For everything you’ve done for me, since V-Void. It kinda feels like you’re the only one who even tries to understand. It’s just nice, spending time with someone as amazing as you, who sees me really sees me and doesn’t wanna run away.” 

He’s so damn vulnerable suddenly and it breaks her heart to see him like this, releasing now more than ever that people don’t appreciate everything that is Stiles Stilinski. 

“I wish I could do more, Stiles. Why would I run away? He wasn’t you, not even close. It’s gonna take a lot more than some psycho stealing your face to scare me away” she assures him sweetly, Stiles smiles at that looking down at the bed as he nods.

Michelle cups his cheek as a stray tear falls from his eye, he looks up at her again. Those sweet honey brown eyes looking right into hers.

“I just wish I could forget, just let go.” he swallows hard leaning into her touch as his body subconsciously shifts towards hers.

Michelle can hear her blood pumping in her ears, she would literally give anything to help him but she’s just worried right now may not be the best time. Her thumb brushes over the moles and freckles on his cheek, unable to stop herself from glancing down at his lips when he sinks his teeth into the bottom one.

“Stiles, we should probably keep going. I don’t-” her sentence is cut short when she sees the dejected look on Stiles’ face.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, stupid-” he’s cut off this time when Michelle presses her lips against his, there’s a moment where he stares at her with wide eyes. 

Only seconds pass before he relaxes, carefully his hands cup her cheeks, long fingers pushing into her hair as the kiss deepens. When he gives over control immediately Michelle moans against his soft lips, their tongues explore each other's mouths, slow and tender but she can feel the need in every movement he makes trying to pull her on top of him.

Reluctantly she pulls back, gently dragging her teeth over his full bottom lip. Searching his eyes for any uncertainty, but all she sees is the lust and desire in those slowly darkening brown eyes.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she swallows nervously looking down at him, his wrists now trapped under her hands, his lips still a breath away from her own.

“Please Michelle, don’t stop. I’ll be a good boy,” he all but whimpers as his hands clenched into fists.

It takes every ounce of self control then and there for her not to give in.

“Oh fuck, Stiles, come on. You’re not playing fair,” 

His cheeky smile only forces a smile from her.

“Please, I need you so bad. I don’t trust anyone, not the way I trust you and I know you want this, just as much as I do” he rambles off quickly, leaning up the best he can his lips press against hers again. Her fingers flex around his wrists, pulling a moan from Stiles when her nails start digging into his skin.

“Are you sure? You’ll tell me if you change your mind?” she checks, letting up on her grip on him a little.

“I promise” he replies quietly.

“Okay, just relax. Sit up for me.” She instructs calmly, Stiles does as he’s told. Sitting up so they’re both facing each other.

Stiles watches her closely as she climbs off the bed crooking her finger for him to follow her. He practically scrambles off of the bed almost falling on the floor. Michelle can’t help but laugh fondly at his eagerness.

“Calm down baby, we’ve got all night” she winks pulling her t-shirt over her head and throwing it at Stiles. 

It smacks him in the face and falls to the floor, “Best teacher ever” Stiles groans, taking a step closer as she tugs off her jeans. Leaving her in just her simple black lacy bra and panties.

“Your turn Stilinski, strip” she smirks, watching him gulp as his eyes continue to roam her almost naked form. “You wanna be a good boy for me don’t you baby?” Michelle all but purrs, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around his neck as she pouts at him. 

Stiles nods rapidly in answer to her question. Her hands slip under the hem of his shirt, his skin so warm and soft. She smiles sweetly at him before dragging down his chest and over his abs pulling a whimper from those plump lips of his. Stiles quickly pulls his t-shirt over his head and drops it to the floor, 

“Everything?” Stiles questions, his voice breaking under the strain of his nerves slightly as his thumbs hook inside his sweatpants and the elastic of his boxers.

Biting her lip Michelle nods, as the sweatpants are pushed over his ass she’s amazed by just how muscular it is, making her want to sink her teeth into it. His thighs are clearly strong and his cock has her mouth watering. But she’s still unable to suppress her giggle when those sweatpants get stuck on his ankle. She gently pushes him back onto the bed and tugs them the rest of the way from his body and crawls over him, while he shuffles up towards the pillows.

“God you’re gorgeous baby,” she smiles appreciatively against his neck hearing Stiles moan beneath her. Her lips and teeth drag down his neck, slow and teasingly. Stiles’ hands clench in the duvet as her tongue slides along his collarbone, Michelle’s hands slowly move down his biceps, feeling his muscles clenching beneath the skin. 

His hands grab at her hair as her tongue circles around one of his nipples, her eyes flick up to meet his, seeing the hard rise and fall of his chest as she sucks marks into his skin.

When her fingers slowly drag down his ribs Stiles clenches his fingers in her hair. Narrowing her eyes at him, she makes him moan when a gentle slap hits his inner thigh.

“Hands off, naughty boy. Hold on to the headboard.” 

“Please Michelle,” Stiles whines wriggling beneath her.

“This is all about you. I’ll take as long as I want, now do as you're told or I stop, and you can wait even longer” she warns him sternly. Stiles swallows hard and nods, his pupils blown wide, eyes almost black when he finally does as she asks.

“Good boy,” she praises, pressing a kiss to his hip and sucking a mark into his skin as her fingers wrap around his impressive length. 

“F-Fuck” Stiles stutters throwing his head back against the pillows, Michelle moves her hand over him up and down slowly, enjoying the way he’s stretched out beneath her. Arms pulled above his head and stomach tensed, thick muscles straining against his skin. His head is tossed back in the pillows and his hips start bucking up into her fist.

Her free hand slides down his inner thigh, nails dragging along his perfectly soft skin, pulling a needy whine from his plump lips. Right before seals her lips around the swollen head of his thick length, laying her free hand and forearm across his lean hips and pinning them to the bed. 

“S-So good - oh god” his broken moan sends shivers down Michelle’s spine. Licking along the pulsing vein she slowly takes his cock deeper into her mouth. Flicking her eyes up to look at him again she sees that he’s white knuckling the headboard, eyes screwed shut and that pink plump bottom lip trapped between his teeth to the point it’s almost bleeding.

Her hand keeps moving over his cock, up and down, slow and purposeful as she removes her mouth for a moment. “Stiles, look at me baby and breathe,” Michelle encourages gently, Stiles snaps his eyes open and looks down at her taking a shaky breath.

“Wanna touch you, please,” he all but begs, as she takes his cock back into her mouth and gently sucks, sliding her tongue over the leaking tip collecting the salty pre-come as she goes  moaning quietly at the taste. Michelle lets her tongue circle around the perfect ridges, causing Stiles to thrust up towards her mouth. 

“You’re close aren’t you?” she asks voice breathy as she releases his cock with a quiet pop. Fidgeting where she sits as her panties dampen considerably further, seeing the desperate look in his eyes and his flushed cheeks. 

Stiles nods quickly in reply, making her smile as she completely releases his cock from her grip. “You want me to take these off?” she purrs seductively, sitting up on her knees and tugging at the sides of her panties.

Sitting up on his elbows and releasing the headboard, Stiles licks his lips, “Please” he all but croaks, eyes almost black as they lock onto her hands.

“Since you asked so nicely” she smirks, pulling them slowly from her body and dropping them off the side of the bed. Crawling over his body she straddles his hips, “You wanna feel how wet you make me baby?” Michelle asks seductively, as she rolls her hips down letting his thick length slide easily between her folds.

Stiles grabs her hips as they start to move, holding onto her as she rocks back and forth, watching the way his cock nudges against her clit with every movement. 

“So wet. So hot,” Stiles groans distractly, his hands feel incredible on her, long slim fingers digging into her hips painfully. Her own fingers are digging into his chest, clinging to him for life.

“Want me to sit on your face? Let you touch whatever you want?” 

“Fuck, yes please. Wanna taste your pussy so bad baby, please.” Stiles begs shamelessly, as his cock nudges at her entrance.

Leaning down she presses her lips to his, continuing to roll her hips into him. Stiles is a whimpering mess beneath her and she fucking loves it.

“Oh you will Stiles, but I want you to touch yourself while you’re doing it. Make yourself come for me, think you can do that?”

“Wanna come inside you though,” he moans as his cock starts to throb, still trapped between her folds, teasing her clit.

“Oh you will. Trust me, gonna make you feel so good,” she promises hotly against his lips, Stiles shivers dropping his hands from her hips, swallowing around the dry lump in his throat.

“Fuck, okay.” 

“There’s my good boy,” she praises, kneeling just above his face, facing the foot of bed, so that she can see everything. “Now, wrap those long fingers around your perfect cock for me big boy.” Michelle moans as he cranes his neck, pushing the thick muscle through her folds. Lowering her hips, when he finally does as she asked and starts pumping his cock in his fist. She can still see her slick glistening wet on his member as he moves his hand.

Leaning forward she rests her hands on his thighs, rolling her hips back into his face. Stiles cries out into her pussy when her tongue brushes the tip of his cock again. Sucking back a gasp when Stiles sinks two fingers inside her, licking around them as she pushes back into him. 

“Michelle, g-gonna come” his broken cry makes her pussy clamp around his fingers.

“Give it to me Stiles, come in my mouth” she practically growls, wrapping her lips around him as his fingers speed up their own push and pull, tongue rapidly flicking over her sensitive clit.

Stiles’ thighs start shaking when she sucks and his release floods her mouth, shooting down the back of her throat. Coughing a little she swallows him down, licking her smirking lips. Stiles moans when she climbs off of him and lays down beside him, “I wasn’t done, you didn’t finish.” he complains, still panting as his hooded eyes find hers.

Michelle spreads her legs and grips his hair between her fingers, “Oh sweetie, you’re far from done. The kiss she presses to his lips is quick and firm, pulling back with a harsh tug of his hair. “Now, no more hands pretty boy, work that mouth,” 

“Yes Miss. Fuck you’re so hot,” Stiles hisses at the sting of the grip on his head.

Releasing him for a moment, her hips arch as he climbs between her legs hooking them over his surprisingly broad shoulders. Two long fingers spread her pussy open, dipping his head down, his eyes stay on hers, letting the tip of his tongue flick back and forth over her tight bundle of nerves.

Michelle’s already so close, being wound up by him for this long is driving her crazy. Tasting his release on her tongue was only adding to her need. 

“You hard again baby?”

Watching his hips rolling against the duvet beneath him, he licks through her folds, from her soaked entrance to her throbbing clit moaning into her. 

“So fucking hard, God I want your come so bad, please” he whines needy and desperate just how she likes him.

“So close Stiles,” 

Her eyes flutter shut as he pushes those long skillful fingers back inside her, even deeper than before, moving even faster, curling them just right as he sucks her clit between his plump lips and flicks his tongue back and forth quickly.

“Fuck, yes! Right there Stiles!” she all but screams, hands quickly returning to his hair. Eyes rolling into the back of her head when her orgasm finally hits her like a truck. 

She can hear Stiles moaning her name into her pussy as he laps up her juices like a man starved. She’s whimpering a little as she comes down, so sensitive, removing his fingers from her Stiles licks them thoroughly clean. Michelle can’t help but watch that skilful tongue licking along those long fingers that had always hypnotised her and this was something else.

Stiles kisses and nips his way up her body, slow and gentle until his cock is brushing through her folds again with every slow rock of his hips. When their eyes meet Michelle almost gets lost in those gorgeous brown eyes.

Hooking her leg over his hip she smiles up at him, before quickly rolling them onto his back so that she’s on top of him. 

“Don’t look surprised Stilinski, I have thought about doing this to you for a while.” She winks, laughing when Stiles groans underneath her.

“So have I, but you just keep surprising me.”

“Is that what you were doing before I got here earlier? Thinking about me riding your cock were you?” 

Stiles licks his dry lips and nods, she bites back the smile that’s pulling at her lips the best she can. “I come so hard every time I think about you,” he confesses.

“You’ll have to show me some time. Now are you ready baby?” she asks gently, wrapping her fingers around his thickness, letting the swollen head of his cock press against her slick opening. 

“More than ready, please. Just wanna feel you,” 

Their moans blend together as her hand releases his cock and she slowly lowers herself onto his length. Feeling herself stretch around him perfectly the deeper it goes. Stilling herself she takes hold of his hands and guides them to her breasts, a loud groan is pulled from his mouth as she drops down fully, letting him fill her in one easy movement. 

Stiles’ fingers tighten on her breasts as she rolls her hips experimentally, “Fuck you’re so big baby, fill me up so good,” 

He roughly pinches her nipples causing a needy noise to leave her lips, “Hands back up you, that’s enough touching.” she warns him, as she switches and starts rising and falling on his cock. Stiles’ hands fall from her breasts but quickly grip her hips when she speeds up, “Final warning, you bad boy.” she pants harshly, feeling his fingers tighten on his hips makes her smile, but it’s anything but sweet.

“You’re so tight, feels so fucking good,”

When she almost completely stops her movements Stiles swears under his breath, catching his lip between his teeth. Leaning over him she grabs a tie from the bedside table, “Hands. Now Stiles. You do not want to keep testing me,” she demands. 

Stiles whimpers, giving her his hands, pulling them together roughly she ties his wrists together before connecting the tie to the bed.

“God you’re so sexy when you’re angry” Stiles moans out when her movements become more insistent. Keeping her eyes locked on his as she leans back, resting her hands on his strong thighs. Changing the angle perfectly, so that the head of his cock now drags against her inner walls in just the right way. The harder she bounces the louder Stiles becomes, the muscles in his arms straining as he tugs against his bindings.

Planting his feet on the bed Stiles starts to thrust his hips up, meeting her every thrust, her edge is nearing as the slapping of their sweaty skin falls into sync with every moan and whimper they’re pulling from one another.

“S-So close” Stiles whimpers chewing on his lip. Michelle slips a hand between her legs and starts to rub at her clit in hard fast precise circles.

“Don’t you fucking dare! Naughty boys come l-last, so wait your turn,” she moans around a gasp, the remaining hand on his thigh squeezing hard.

Michelle’s pussy clenches around Stiles’ cock and she screws her eyes shut, feeling the orgasm approaching, his name is a chant that falls from her lips. Her mouth drops open in a silent scream when she finally falls over that edge, her stomach clenching and her walls fluttering.

She can faintly hear Stiles begging for release beneath her and forces her eyes open, resting her hands on his chest, feeling his heart beating rapidly beneath her hand.

“Need it please, God please,” he moans loud and out of control.

Nodding she lays fully on top of him and kisses him hard, all tongues and teeth as she unties his hands. Hands that immediately grab her ass and this time she doesn���t stop it him, “Give it to me baby, fuck me good and hard,” she purrs against his ear, dragging her teeth over his earlobe and pushing back onto his cock.

Stiles is like a man gone wild when he finally takes control, quickly flipping her onto her back. He grabs one of her legs and throws it over his shoulder, so that it’s trapped between them which changes the angle completely, heightening everything. 

Plump pink lips attack her neck, sucking marks into her soft skin everywhere that he can reach as he continues pounding roughly up into her, his hips begin to stutter. 

Grabbing Michelle’s hands he links their fingers and pushes them back against the bed.

“You feel so good, Stiles! Shit, come on baby!” 

Stiles all but growls when he finally comes undone, two more rough thrusts of his hips, has him collapsing against her, sweat coating their skin, his damp hair pressed into her neck as he pants harshly, chest burning and heaving. Michelle holds him against her when he releases her hands, gently rolling them onto their sides. 

His eyes flutter open to meet the perfect mix of blue and green in her eyes, “you’re so amazing,” Stiles smiles sleepily, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek. Pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. “So beautiful,” he breathes out slowly.

Michelle can’t help but smile, blushing at the way he’s looking at her, he looks lighter than he has in months, his big brown eyes are now back to being warm and loving just like they had been before. 

“Hey you already got laid you know. No need to keep buttering me up,” she jokes with a laugh, which Stiles quickly joins in with. 

“You were just something else. So much more than I ever hoped and expectations were high” 

He’s grinning like an idiot as he holds her closer, “Like I said best teacher ever.”

“Are you gonna tell the pack what’s actually going on?” she asks, pushing the damp hair from his forehead.

“Maybe at some point. Right now, I’m happy with it just being me and you.” He smiles sweetly, leaning into her touch when she cups his cheek, letting her thumb brush across the blush.

“Hmmm, I like the sound of that,” she smiles letting him pull her into another unforgettable kiss.

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