#twpolyamorynet

[banshee-cheekbones]

36 + scileson

although this is rated T, warnings for light bondage and blindfolding. all kinks mentioned are pre-negotiated and safe, sane & consensual. 

on ao3 here!

Allison’s calloused fingertips gently slide up Scott’s arms as she guides them above his head, until the backs of his hands are brushing against the headboard. After a moment, her weight shifts above his hips and cool, almost slippery fabric, brushes over his wrists. Allison takes his left wrist, while Stiles’ thicker fingers take his right, and as they start winding the scarves (or at least that’s what they feel like) around his wrists and the headboard, it becomes clear just how flimsy the fabric is, how easy it would be to tear through it.

But that’s not the point of this.

Once the bonds have been secured, Allison shifts up and off Scott’s body as Stiles’ fingers brush along Scott’s cheek, just underneath the edge of the tie they’re using as a makeshift blindfold.

“Still alright?” he asks. There’s a hint of sour anxiety hanging around him, but mostly he smells like arousal. The whole room does.

“Still green,” Scott nods, instinctively reaching out to run his fingers along Stiles’ before the gentle tug of the scarf reminds him of his current position.

“You’ll let us know if you want to stop,” Allison says, the question implicit in her tone. “What’s your safe word?”

Scott’s been mulling that over for days, since they first decided to try something like this out. He’s managed to narrow the list down to a few that are equally good, so he simply takes the first word from that list.

“Deaton.”

Stiles snorts.

“Works for me,” Allison says, leaning down to kiss his cheek. That’s followed by the sound of a zipper being dragged down; presumably the one on the back of her dress. It’s echoed moments later when Stiles drops his hands to the front of Scott’s jeans. “You ready?”

Scott nods and bites back a sigh as Stiles’ palm presses firmly against him.

“Ready.”

[fandom-madnessess]

An Open Book

Braeden/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall Rating: G, Word Count: 860 Bookstore AU, Human AU, Pining Scott, Polyamory, POV Scott ♥ Read on AO3

For Teen Wolf Bingo prompt: Bookstore AU

Scott nervously drums his fingers on the counter by the register, then stands on his tiptoes so he can see over the book display in the front window, and checks the parking lot. Stiles snorts from where he’s restocking the cookbooks. Scott flips him off while searching for his two favourite motorcycles. The motorcycles are gorgeous, shiny and running much better than his own third-hand dirt bike, but it’s their owners he’s really interested in.

Isaac and Braeden usually come in around five every Saturday and Sunday. They browse, make small talk, buy a book, then leave. On the surface, Scott’s interactions with them don’t seem that different from the ones he has with most other customers, except that they always greet him by name when they come in, beautiful, radiant smiles on their faces. Braeden throws him winks whenever she catches him staring at her, and Isaac has a habit of turning every other sentence into an innuendo or a pick-up line. Last week, when Scott was taking inventory in the back, Stiles had called him to the front, because Isaac refused to be helped by anyone but Scott. That could just be because Isaac and Stiles had a weird feud going on that Scott doesn’t really understand, but he likes to think it was because Isaac likes him. When they’d left, Braeden had let her fingers linger on the Scott’s hand when he gave her change, and said, ‘Well see you next weekend.’

It was the first time that either of them acknowledged that their trips to the bookshop were planned, and that means something, doesn’t it?

But now, at half past five, Scott’s not so sure anymore. Braeden and Isaac have been pretty punctual so far, but now the black and yellow bikes are nowhere to be seen.

‘Maybe they just have some sort of family thing,’ Stiles tries to cheer him up. ‘I’m sure they’ll be here tomorrow.’

Yeah, Scott thinks. That’ll be it.

He spends the last half hour before closing listlessly tidying up his little space at the register. When the last customer leaves, he shoos Stiles out the door.

‘I’ll close up. You go have fun with Derek,’ he says.

‘Are you sure?’ Stiles frowns at Scott’s morose expression. ‘Well, just keep your inhaler close when you’re dusting.’

‘That was one time,’ Scott grumbles, closing the door in Stiles face and sticking his tongue out at the cheery wave his friend gives him.

After making one more round through the store to make sure everyone’s out, Scott turns up the music and goes in search off the duster and the vacuum. He has a system when cleaning. He starts at the front of the store, with all the notebooks and calendars, and makes his way to the back, checking for books that need to be restocked or have been misplaced by browsing customers as he goes. He’s counting how many copies of The Colour of Magic they still have on the shelf, when there’s a cough behind him. He jumps almost a foot in the air and presses a hand to his heart.

‘Jeez, Stiles, I didn’t you could be so… quiet,’ Scott trails off when he finds Isaac and Braeden standing behind him instead of his friend, twin smirks on their faces and bumping fists at having scared the shit out of him.

‘We’re not Stiles,’ Isaac says.

‘No. I can see that,’ Scott says, flushing a little. He really hopes he hadn’t been dancing. Or singing. Oh god, had he been singing? ‘How did you get in?’

‘The sign still says open and your door’s unlocked,’ Braeden says, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of the door.

‘Oh shit,’ Scott mumbles. He quickly walks to the front, checking for any other possible customers hiding between the stacks, then locks the door. He turns back to Isaac and Braeden. ‘So, what are you doing here?’

‘Someone,’ Braeden looks pointedly at Isaac, ‘broke our washing machine this morning, and the laundromat was a little busy.’

Isaac shrugs apologetically. ‘We figured we’d drop by to see if maybe you were still open. And we, uhm…’

‘What?’ Scott says. He holds his breath as he looks from Braeden to Isaac.

‘We wanted to know if you’d get dinner with us,’ Braeden says. ‘As a date.’

Scott grins widely. All the questions and hopes swirling around in his head since the first time the couple stepped into the store answered.

‘I’d love to. Give me fifteen minutes.’

He races to finish cleaning up, deciding to come a little early the next day to restock, vacuum and do the dishes in the breakroom. By the time he’s fumbling for his keys to let them all out of the store, he’s panting a little and his cheeks are flushed.

‘So where are we going?’ he asks.

‘Oh, we know a great Italian place. Low lighting, good food,’ Braeden says.

‘Long tablecloths,’ Isaac adds with a wink.

‘Sounds great,’ Scott smirks, delighted by the way Isaac’s eyes widen and Braeden smirks back. He finally has the door open and gestures for them to step outside. ‘Lead the way.’

[scalira]

so much love to give

Written for: Kira rarepair week day 6: favorite polyamorous ship Pairing: Kira/Scott/Malia Words: 5k Summary: When Kira finally gets her first tattoo, she doesn’t expect to fall for the tattoo artist. What she isn’t expecting at all is Scott being totally okay with dating him and Malia. But it still somehow feels incomplete. Warnings: needles, alcohol Also using for the ‘Scott McCall’ square on my TW bingo card

May

Kira hates needles. She still asks her mom to come with her when she has to get her blood drawn and she still makes the doctor count down when she’s getting a shot. She simply can’t stand the things, they make her anxious.

So it’s totally and absolutely out of character for her to be sitting in a tattoo shop, clinging onto Scott’s hand like he’s her anchor to stop her from fleeing.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asks for at least the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes.

Kira looks up from their intertwined fingers into his big, brown eyes and smiles nervously.

“Yeah,” she breathes.

“Totally.”

He doesn’t really seem to believe her, but he doesn’t ask again.

Scott is quite the opposite of afraid of needles. She remembers when she met him in junior year of highschool, doe-eyed and always smiling. His arms were still untouched back then, his body an empty canvas.

But the first thing he did after graduating was swing by the local tattoo shop to get his very first tattoo: two bands around his bicep.

Kira loved to trace the dark bands, loved looking at them when they peeked under the sleeve of his shirt. They suited him.

She still suspects him getting more tattoos because he got a lot of positive attention out of the first one, but she really doesn’t mind tracing all of them when they’re lying in bed on a lazy Sunday morning.

He’s gained a lot of tattoos since highschool: a wolf on his ribs, the birthdate of his mother on his wrist, a whole sleeve of the most randomly combined tattoos ever on the arm that’s not the one with the two bands, a fox curled around his calve. He sometimes asks her which one is her favorite, when her fingers follow the lines of the tattoos, and she always picks the two bands.

“Kira Yukimura?” Someone calls, and Kira’s head jerks up again.

The tattoo artist is holding up a clipboard and looking around the room to locate her. Kira takes a deep breath when Scott pulls her to her feet.

“Here,” she says.

The eyes of the artist land on her and they smile kindly. Kira looks at them, noticing the white tank top with sleeves so deep she can see their bra and the flower tattoo on their ribs. It reads ‘They/Them’ on the front, and Kira tells herself not to forget to address them with the right pronouns.

“I’m Malia,” they say after shaking Kira’s sweaty hand and nodding to Scott. Scott’s kinda a local here, so Kira assumes they already know each other.

She follows Malia to the back of the shop, where she has to sit down on a chair that reminds her of the ones at the dentist and clings onto Scott’s hand even harder.

“So, first tattoo?” Malia guesses, glancing at Kira’s pale face and then her hand holding onto Scott’s.

“Yes,” Kira responds weakly, feeling her stomach turn when they takes their needle.

“She’s afraid of needles,” Scott explains gently.

“Aha. And why are you getting a tattoo, exactly? I mean, the fact that you are is good for me since I get money out of it, but why would you do it if you’re so scared of needles?”

“He convinced me,” Kira says, nodding to her boyfriend.

“He’s, like, obsessed with tattoos and he made me like them too and it just felt weird loving them and not having one myself.”

Malia smiles, looking from Kira to Scott and back.

“Okay, so, do you have any idea what you want as a first tattoo?”

“Yes, actually.” Kira pulls a picture from her back pocket and hands it to Malia, who looks at it intently and frowns.

“That’s a pretty big tattoo to begin with,” they say slowly.

“You sure you’re up for it?”

Kira shrugs sheepishly.

“I have a high pain tolerance.”

Malia looks back at Scott, who nods with a grin.

“Okay, then,” they say.

“Let me make a sketch first before doing it for real.”

***

By the time Malia finally finishes, Kira’s pretty sure she crushed Scott’s hand.

“There,” they say proudly, rolling back their chair and stretching their arms.

“All finished.”

Kira looks down at her thigh, but can’t really see if it’s good from upside down.

“Can I see it?” She asks.

“Of course!” Malia offers her their hand to help her off and leads her to the full body mirror in the corner of the room.

“Oh wow,” Kira mutters when she sees the tattoo. It’s big and obvious and beautiful and absolutely what she wanted. The colors are all spot on.

“I love it.” Then she turns to Scott, whose eyes are fixated on her thigh.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s amazing. You did a great job, Mal.”

Malia beams at him and Kira’s attention is shortly drawn to their beautiful smile.

Now that the anxiety because of the needles faded away, Kira realizes Malia is beautiful. Their brown hair is short and wild, like they rolled out of bed like that this morning. They have a sleeve just like Scott, vines and flowers connecting the tattoos where Scott’s sleeve is more random. Their long, tanned legs are clothed in shorts, revealing another tattoo on their leg.

“Come on, let’s get you covered up,” Malia says eventually, guiding Kira back to the chair to finish the job.

June

It’s summer in California and Kira decided to take out her old rollerblades to get to work. Her tattoo healed nicely and she purposely picked some high waisted shorts to show it off. She’s gotten a lot of compliments out of it already, especially from Scott, who enjoys tracing the outlines of it with his tongue when he’s busy between her thighs.

She’s not really paying attention to the road, thinking about the picture she took of him last night, her legs pulled up just enough to reveal the tattoo and his dark hair between them, so when she crosses the street, she doesn’t even think about looking for traffic.

Suddenly there’s a loud honk and the sound of squeeking brakes. The bumper of al old Volkswagen Van bumps her against her hip just hard enough for her to lose her balance and the rollerblades slip from underneath her body, causing her to crash onto the ground, right on her butt.

“Ow,” she mumbles, trying to get up but slipping again. The person behind the wheel emerges in front of her and crouches.

“Are you okay?” They ask.

“Ye- yeah, I’m fine,” Kira replies. When she looks up, her mouth drops into a perfect ‘o’.

“Oh, hi! It’s you!” She says, maybe a bit too cheerful to match the situation she’s in.

Malia’s frown turns into a smile to match Kira’s and they reach out to help her up. Kira’s blades roll from underneath her a few more times before she’s steadily back on her feet.

“Are you sure I didn’t hurt you? I didn’t see you coming and I hit the brake as fast as I could but-”

“Malia, I’m fine, I swear. I’ll probably be late for work now, though.”

“I’ll give you a ride!”

“Oh, no you don’t-”

“If you’re gonna say I don’t have to, just keep it to yourself. I literally ran you over, it’s the least I can do. Come on, I’ll help you in.”

Malia takes Kira by the arm and rolls her to the passenger side of her car, opening the door for her and helping her in with her rollerblades.

When Kira is seated, they walk around the front to get back behind the wheel.

“So, where am I taking you?”

“The sushi bar. I’m a waitress there.”

“Oh, I love sushi! Maybe I’ll stay to grab a bite.”

“You should. We have very good tuna rolls.”

They fall silent after that, and Kira looks around in the van.

“Nice car,” she says.

Malia grimaces and jerks her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the mattress in the back.

“It’s also currently my home,” they confess.

“Oh,” Kira says dumbly.

“Yeah,” Malia sighs. They don’t look proud about it.

“L.A. Ink isn’t as realistic as you’d think it would be.”

Kira giggles.

“Really? A reality show on TLC isn’t realistic? Outrageous!”

Malia squints at her before focusing back on the road.

“Stop making fun of me!” 

“Or what? You gonna hit me with your car again?”

Malia gasps dramatically and clutches their chest.

“Auwtch, Kira! You’re too small to be so savage.”

Kira rolls her eyes at them and smiles, but then Malia’s expression turns serious.

“Seriously, though. Please don’t tell Scott I ran you over or he’s gonna kick my ass.”

“Scott wouldn’t kick your ass if you drove me straight into the hospital,” Kira reassures them.

“He doesn’t do violence.”

“Okay, then he’d probably never talk to me again and that’s even worse.”

“Do... do you and Scott know each other well?” Kira wonders. Malia glances at her, probably trying to detect a sign of jealousy, but Kira is just curious.

“Everytime Scott wants a new tattoo, he comes to me for it. It’s no big deal and it’s not like we hang outside of the shop, but he’s a nice guy. I enjoy talking to him.”

“Yeah,” Kira smiles.

“He’s the sweetest guy I know.”

Malia carefully parks in front of the sushi bar and waits for Kira to change into her normal shoes. Kira thanks them for the ride, promises them she won’t tell Scott about the incident and waves when they take off.

She doesn’t stop smiling the entire evening.

***

The next night, they’re sitting at a booth and waiting for Kira to come take their order.

“Finally,” they grin once Kira is there.

“It surely took you long enough.”

“Sorry, I’m still recovering from that terrible car accident I was in yesterday,” she fires back.

“Oh, shut up,” Malia growls, but they’re grinning even wider now.

“Anyway, can I take your order?”

“Yeah, I’d like to have the tuna rolls.”

“Just tuna rolls?”

“I would also very much like your company, but your shift isn’t over yet.”

Kira can feel a deep blush spead over her cheeks and she tries to hide her face behind the notebook she’s holding, but Malia looks very smug and proud of themselves.

“I’ll get you your tuna rolls. Oh, and my shift is over in an hour.”

***

They’re still sitting at the booth when Kira comes out of the kitchen an hour later, smelling of fish and probably sweat. She’s suddenly nervous and not at all as confident as she felt an hour before, now that the restaurant is empty except Malia.

They’re playing with the straw in their drink, blowing bubbles into their drink. Kira thinks she can maybe sneak past them and go home to her boyfriend before she makes a mistake, but then she bumps against a table and Malia’s head jerks up. Their dark eyes find Kira’s and they urge her to come over.

“Hi there,” Kira says once she slid into the booth with them.

“Shift over?” Malia asks.

“Yeah. Finally.”

“Finally,” Malia repeats.

“So, Kira,” they say, spreading their hands on the table.

“I never asked you this, but what’s the story behind the fox tattoo? I forgot to ask the other time.”

“It’s silly,” Kira disregards. She’d rather talk about Malia’s life instead.

“I’m sure it’s not. Please? I always ask the stories behind tattoos. I can’t believe I didn’t ask you in the shop. Guess I got distracted because you’re so cute.”

“I -uh, well...” Kira is a bit thrown out of the loop by Malia’s flirty comment, but she shakes her head and continues: “The fox is kind of like... the family animal? That sounds weird. Families don’t have animals. Anyway, the fox represents wisdom and cleverness and it’s also just a really pretty animal. I like it.”

“Did you know I have a fox tattoo too?”

“Really? Where?”

Malia’s eyebrows shoot up, a smirk spreading across their face.

“If you want to see it you’ll have to buy me a drink first.”

“Wh- oh.” Kira’s cheeks turn hot again and Malia full on laughs now. Kira notes they have a very nice laugh, one that makes her giggle too.

Now that Malia broke the ice, it’s a lot easier to talk to them. Kira tells them about her family, about her mom and dad moving back to New York once she graduated highschool, about sharing an apartment with Scott, about the fact that she’s more of a cat person and he’s more of a dog person and they can’t seem to agee on which of the two will be their first pet. Malia is a very good listener, staring at her intently as they sip their drink.

When Kira feels like she told them her entire life story, it’s Malia’s turn. They don’t hesitate before starting, telling her everything they find interesting enough to share. Kira learns about their little sister, about the fact that their family lives in Chicago and they came here to become a tattoo artist. Their father didn’t really agree with their life style and that made holiday dinners a bit awkward.

They end up talking until the manager of the restaurant tells Kira they’re closing and they should go. Malia offers her a ride home, which she gladly takes. They show her their music collection, old cassettes with the name of the bands written on them with sharpie. Nothing looks familiar, but that’s probably because the music is really old and Kira is more of a Top 40 kind of girl anyway.

“That’s my stop,” Kira says when Malia stops in front of her apartment building.

“It was really nice talking to you when you’re not stabbing me with needles or hitting me with your car. We should do it again.”

“Yeah, totally. Same time tomorrow?”

“It’s a date,” Kira smiles, and she kisses Malia on the cheek before she realizes what she’s doing. She quickly jerks away, looks at Malia with big eyes and jumps out of the car before they can say anything else. 

When she enters their apartment, the first thing she tells Scott is: “I think I just went on a date with Malia.”

He looks up, not jealous or confused like she expected him to be, but pleasantly surprised.

“Really? Did you have fun?” He teases.

“I - that really wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

“How’d you think I’d react?”

Kira shrugs, walks over to the couch to sit next to him.

“I don’t know. Angry? Sad? I basically cheated on you! At least, I think so. I never cheated on anyone before so I don’t really know the rules but I’m pretty sure I did -”

“Kira, calm down,” Scott chuckles, reaching for her hands.

“I’m not angry and I’m not sad, okay?”

“Why not?” Kira squints. Lack of jealousy often implies loss of interest, which means Scott isn’t interested in her anymore, which means he’d probably break up with her soon because she’s boring him. Oh god, did she just start the beginning of their break up?

“Because, a) I don’t think going on a date with someone necessarily means cheating. And b) did I ever tell you about my relationship with Allison?”

She’s really confused now. What does his ex have to do with anything? Is he planning on getting back together with her? The thought of losing Scott is almost too much and she feels all color drain from her face.

Scott notices how pale she suddenly is and reaches out to touch her face.

“Kira, stop worrying! All I wanted to say is that I used to date Allison, but I also used to date Stiles. At the same time. And they didn’t date each other.”

Kira looks up to him, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown.

“So you were in an open relationship with them?”

“Yeah. I dated them and they could date others too if they wanted and it worked perfectly. Allison eventually fell for a girl who didn’t like the idea of her dating other people so she broke up with me, and Stiles and I decided we should stay friends when I met you because I really liked you and I didn’t know how you felt about the whole open relationship thing. All I wanted to say is that if you like Malia as more than a friend, I wouldn’t mind if you dated them too.”

She doesn’t know what to say. Out of all things she’d expecting him to say, him being okay with her dating Malia was on the bottom of the list.

But then Scott breaks out in a dorky grin and all the tension that had been building up in Kira’s body vanishes immediately.

“As long as I’m your main bae, you can date whoever you want.”

Kira rolls her eyes at him for using the word bae in an actual spoken sentence, but then she kisses him on the nose and smiles.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and she means it. Having Scott’s blessing to date others feels weird, but it also feels... right. Natural. As if they’re not meant to only date each other.

They both have a lot of love  to give, and it only seems fair to give some of that love to other people.

July

Kira feels better going on dates with Malia after that. They meet up in the sushi bar every day, talking till late at night and kissing each other goodbye when Malia drops Kira off. It’s always an innocent kiss on the cheek, but Kira’s face feels hot till at least fifteen minutes after Malia left. 

Scott observes her with a teasing smile, kissing her hot cheeks when she comes back from dates and asking if she had fun. It feels good being able to talk to him about it, and making out in bed afterwards is even better.

Kira’s interest in Malia is definitely changing into a solid crush and she’s not proud to admit that she starts fantasizing about them.

It doesn’t happen all at once. She doesn’t just decide to picture Malia next to her in bed or their lips on her skin and she certainly doesn’t imagine it’s them instead of Scott when they’re having sex.

It starts with thinking about how it would be if Malia stayed over. How it would look to have Scott and Malia in their tiny kitchen, or how Malia’s long legs would casually be thrown over Kira’s lap when they watch a movie. She imagines Scott and Malia talking about tattoos, their eyes lighting up like they’re children again.

Then she starts imagining them on dates with her and Scott. Her and Malia watching Scott as he takes a wave in the ocean, tanning and reading a book. Malia would probably choose a comic book and Kira would probably tell them to pick up a real book every one in a while, to which Malia would stick out their tongue.

Her favorite thing to imagine is them all holding hands. Malia and Scott are about the same height, sometimes it even looks like Malia is slightly taller. Kira loves picturing herself in the middle, her taller partners on both sides of her as they walk down the street.

The image of them holding hands with Kira in the middle inevitably changes to them sharing a bed, Kira still in the middle. And the bed sharing leads to... well, other fantasies. Sometimes she shares them with Scott, whispering them in his ear as he takes care of her. Dirty talk never really was her expertise, but she’s becoming rather good at it.

Soon, her boyfriend and her crush are irreversibly connected with each other, even though they don’t know it yet. She can’t picture Scott without Malia or the other way around, and she doesn’t want to either.

***

The first time Malia kisses Kira is when they’re on the beach.

It’s mid july and the heat doesn’t subside, not even when it’s dark out. Even in the middle of the night it’s still hot enough to walk around in shorts and a tank top, and that’s exactly what both of them are wearing.

They’re lying on beach towels and staring at the night sky, listening to the soft music coming from Malia’s van, when they turn to Kira and look at her with mischief in their eyes.

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” They ask.

“What? Now?”

“Yes, now! Come on, there’s nobody around and I’m so hot. Let’s just do it!”

“I don’t know, Mal. I’ve never gone skinny dipping before.”

“Then this is the perfect time to do it! Or are you scared?” They stretch the last word to tease her and Kira immediately sits up.

“Of course I’m not!”

“Okay, prove it.”

“I wil!” Kira gets up, unbuttons her shorts and lets them slide over her hips. She doesn’t miss the way Malia’s eyes dart from her thighs to her legs and up again, which only makes her feel more confident. She gets out of her shirt next, throwing it at Malia’s face as she unclasps her bra too.

“Are ya coming?” She wonders, raising an eyebrow at them still sitting on the towel. Malia quickly gets on their feet and undresses too. When they’re both naked, Kira turns to the ocean and breaks into a run, followed immediately by Malia.

The quiet night air fills with their giggles as they race to the water and then screams once they get in, the cold water biting at their skin. Kira trips and falls into the sea, immediately wet from head to toe. Malia dives in next to her, wrapping their arms around her waist to pick her up.

“It’s a lot colder than I expected!” They scream into Kira’s ear, pressing their body against her back. Kira tries to ignore the feeling of their nipples against her skin, how their arms are wrapped around her body just below her breasts. Though the water is cold, Kira is suddenly very warm.

They don’t last very long in the water, already making their way back to the shore after a few minutes. Malia makes a run for their towels, picking theirs up to hold it out to Kira.

Kira walks into their arms, letting Malia wrap the towel around her body. They do the same for themselves and then run to their car, followed by Kira.

The car is warmer than outside from standing in the sun the entire day, but Kira slides close to Malia anyway.

“See, told you I wasn’t scared.”

Malia raises their eyebrows at her.

“You didn’t really last very long in there, did you?”

“Neither did you!”

“True, but I didn’t have to prove I wasn’t scared to skinny skip in the first place.”

Kira nudges them in the ribs. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Malia says smugly.

Kira looks at them, her eyes darting from their eyes to their mouth. Malia bites their lip in anticipation.

“I will,” Kira whispers before leaning forward into their personal space.

Kissing Malia is totally diferent than kissing Scott. Where Scott is gentle and soft, Malia is rough. There’s teeth and tongue and hands all over her body, setting her skin on fire.

Kira loses track of time, but when they finally part for air her skin is dry and she isn’t cold anymore.

“Wow,” she mutters, resting her forehead against Malia’s.

“I know,” Malia says with a breathy laugh. They sit like that until they get cold again, then move to get dressed.

Kira sleeps in the back of Malia’s car that night, cuddled up in their arms and pressed against their warm body.

August

They start hanging out all together, just because it’s easier for Kira that way. Malia hangs around in their apartment a lot, cooking or watching a movie with Kira or joking around with Scott. Kira is just really happy her two partners get along.He’s really passionate about a new tattoo idea and draws it out for Malia, though he’s a terrible artist and Malia can’t make anything out of it.

“Is that a tower?” They wonder, pointing to a spot on the drawing.

“No, that’s a paw! Come on, am I that bad?”

Malia giggles, patting Scott’s leg.

“I’m just teasing, Scottie. it’s a pretty cool design, but do you still have room on your body to put it on?”

“You bet your pretty ass I do,” Scott grins. He stands up and turns around, lifting his shirt to show Malia his bare back. 

“Wow, it’s like looking at an empty canvas,” Malia says. They sound impressed, as if they weren’t expecting another empty spot on Scot’s body. Honestly, Kira doesn’t blame them. If she let him, he’d even tattoo his face.

Scott looks over his shoulder.

“You think you can estimate if it’ll fit?”

Malia glances at the design, then back at Scott and stands up too. They walk over to him and reach out a hand to let their fingers slide over his back.

Scott jerks a little in surprise but then lingers in the touch as Malia drags a finger over his skin. Kira has to bite her lip in order not to giggle. She knows how sensitive Scott’s back is and how much he likes being touched there, and she’s almost certiain he’s getting turned on by this.

Malia has no idea, innocently biting their lip as they look back at the design.

“I think it should fit,” they decide, letting their hand rest on his shoulder.

“Great,” Scott replies, and Kira notices the change in his voice. Malia must notice too, because they ask if he’s okay.

“I’m fine! Hey, how about I go change and then we all go out to grab something to eat?”

He doesn’t wait for Malia to reply before walking to the bathroom, not even bothering to take his shirt.

Malia looks at Kira and frowns.

“What was that about?”

Kira grins.

“Nothing, he’s just weird sometimes,” she says cheerfully. Then she jumps up too to give Malia a long kiss.

“I can go for sushi,” she says.

“Tuna rolls?” Malia asks with a grin.

“Tuna rolls,” Kira nods.

***

Malia is a nice drunk. They giggle a lot and are really happy about everything, constantly smiling and laughing. Scott and Kira support them as they walk home, both swaying a bit on their feet too. Kira is the least drunk of them all but she enjoys watching her partners.

Once home, Scott leads them straight to the bedroom.

“Uh, Scott?” Kira asks.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think it’s a better idea to put Malia on the couch?”

Scott frowns confused.

“Why?”

“Doesn’t it - bother you... to sleep in the same bed?”

Scott still doesn’t seem to get it, his intoxicated mind slow to catch up.

“Are they sick?” He wonders.

“No, but- you’re not dating them.”

“Aren’t I? It feels like I do. They’re always here and I really like them and they’re really pretty,” he babbels.

“Sometimes I really want to kiss them.”

“Really?”

Scott nods fiercefully.

“And then I want to kiss you, and I want to kiss you together, and I want to share a bed and cuddle and kiss some more,” he mutters, swaying on his feet as he’s holding up Malia. They look up and giggle.

“Iwannakissyoutoo,” they slur, moving their head forward. Scott pulls back and shakes his head.

“Not now, we’re drunk. When we’re sober.”

Kira shakes her head and has to surpress a smile as she gently guides them to the bedroom. Scott and Malia fall on the bed together, giggling and nuzzling against each other. Kira can just take off their shoes before they both fall asleep. She rolls her eyes at them and gets in too, nestling herself against Malia’s back.

***

Scott doesn’t bring up the kissing until Malia leaves the next day. He sits down next to Kira on the couch, holding his head and clutching a glass with water and aspirine.

“Do you really think they want to kiss me?” He asks.

“Or was that just the alcohol talking?”

Kira raises an eyebrow.

“You want me to ask them?”

Scott shrugs.

“I don’t know. I really want to kiss them, though.”

“So it wasn’t the alcohol talking with you?”

“No. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while. About Malia, and about you. About you two together, and me.”

“Me too,” Kira confesses.

“It just doesn’t feel complete. When I’m with Malia I miss you and when I’m with you I miss Malia. I want both of you.”

“Well, if we’re both on the same page, I guess we only have to convince Malia.”

Kira grins.

“I guess we do.”

***

They decide to ask Malia at dinner, and Kira has never seen Scott more nervous. She’s almost offended that he’s never been this nervous around her, but he’s just too cute biting his lip and walking circles around the table until Malia arrives.

They must’ve rehearsed the conversation at least twenty times, but when it’s finally time it doesn’t go as planned. They were supposed to wait for dessert before asking Malia, but Scott blurts it out over the main course.

“Malia, Kira and I were wondering - well, uh... remember that night when we were kinda drunk? And I said I really wanted to kiss you and you agreed? I - uh, I meant that. Kira and I would really want you in our relationship instead of just being with Kira. If, ... if you want to, of course.”

Malia puts down their knife and fork and a grin spreads across their face. Their eyes dart from Scott to Kira and back.

“Does that mean I can finally kiss both of you?” They ask.

Scott smiles too, his shoulders relaxing almost immediately.

“Yeah, I guess it does.”

[kirasderek]

Femslash February –> 4/29

teen wolf AUs

Tracy has a happy, fulfilling domestic life with her two girlfriends, Malia and Hayden.

[banshee-cheekbones]

Allison x Lydia x Scott + skin by boy

here’s a future, human, different first meeting au! pre-relationship, Lydia/Scott is established.

approximately 2300 words. on ao3 here.

The first Friday in December is nearly identical to the eight Fridays that came before it.

Allison gets home from work just after six, her skin tacky with sweat from being jammed in a packed subway car for half an hour, hair damp from the snowflakes that have started to fall from the dark sky. As soon as she steps inside, she starts tugging off her winter clothes, leaving them piled in a heap on a chair in her small kitchen.

She strips out of her work clothes, drops them into her laundry hamper, and immediately pulls on another outfit, one a little more glamorous than the dark suits and printed blouses she wears to the law firm she spends her days at. She swaps out her earrings, puts on a fresh coat of mascara, stops in the kitchen only long enough to scarf down a banana, and ventures back into the cold evening, trench coat belted tightly around her waist to keep out the worst of the cold.

She takes the subway three stops and steps out into an entirely different district, all bright neon signs and honking cabs and lines of people stretching around the block. She bypasses the first two lines and stops at the third, which is considerably shorter. She’s been to this place four times so far, and it’s her favorite of all the bars and clubs she’s dropped into. It’s not absurdly high-class or exclusive, but it’s quieter. The lights are brighter and warmer, the drinks aren’t as pricey, and it’s usually not so crowded, probably because it’s not a favorite spot for visiting celebrities.

But while it may be one of her favorite environments to kill a few hours in, it’s failed to help her meet someone.

When she’d accepted the job offer that brought her to the city, she hadn’t thought twice about moving to a place where she knew absolutely no one. She figured that she’d have her coworkers, and she’d always been great at making friends when she’d moved around as a child.

But her coworkers had remained exactly that. They were all pleasant enough, but they were distant, caught up in their own lives. For the first few weeks, she’d been too busy to even think about finding friends outside of work. There was her apartment to unpack and decorate, family and friends from back home to keep updated, long days at the office to put in, landmarks and districts to explore. But once the weather turned cold and she began to properly settle in, she spent most nights sitting in front of her laptop or television, binge watching shows and movies until she fell asleep.

The feeling of isolation grew steadily in the back of her mind until one day, while she was cooking pasta for a late dinner, the sheer weight of it dropped onto her shoulders like a lead blanket.

She briefly thought about trying a dating app of some kind, but that wasn’t exactly the kind of relationship she was looking for, and all of her previous experiences with that kind of thing were laughable at best, horrifying at worst.

So instead, she turned her pasta off, dug into her closet, and instituted her new routine.

So far, it’s proved to be useless. None of her bar conversations have gone beyond painful small talk. Instead of being a way for her to make new acquaintances, every outing has just devolved into her wasting money on drinks, going home after four hours, washing off her makeup, taking an aspirin for her headache, convincing herself she won’t do it again, and then repeating each step the next Friday.

She thinks tonight might be the last time. It’s getting too cold to be going out, and her method obviously isn’t working. Maybe her time would be better spent combing through the newspaper for events to attend, or finding somewhere to volunteer.

At the very least, that would be cheaper on her wallet.

She’s four people away from the front of the line when a high-pitched ringing starts pouring from the door of the bar, overwhelming the faint sounds of music and laughter. The bouncer disappears inside for only a moment before he comes back outside and hollers at the top of his lungs.

“There’s a fire in the kitchen! Please move to the other side of the street.”

A collective groan rises up from the rest of the line, but Allison simply sighs and steps away from the bar, crossing the road before she’s swallowed up by the departing crowd. There are lots of other bars and clubs scattered up and down the street, but she strides past all of them, heeled boots kicking through the fluffy snow that’s accumulated on the sidewalk.

If there’s a clearer sign that she should try some other method of making friends, or maybe just give up entirely, she can’t think of it.

On her way back to the subway, her stomach starts rumbling, and she sighs again, glancing around at her surroundings. There’s food back at her apartment, but she definitely not in a cooking mood. There are a few fast food joints nearby, but there’s also a small diner on the corner ahead of her, glass windows bathing the sidewalk in soft yellow light. Booths line the other side of the glass, and the place looks surprisingly empty considering the time of night and the heavy foot traffic on the street. Allison beelines towards the door; even if the menu isn’t the greatest in the world, she could really use a cup of coffee.

It’s toasty inside, and the television bolted above the service area is playing a basketball game at low volume. A number of the stools marching along the curved counter are empty, and Allison takes one far away from the door, so that a draft doesn’t wind along her legs.

She orders coffee to start and flips through the menu, which is marked by tears and discolorations. She’s just taken her first sip and decided what to order when the stool beside her rattles as someone perches on it. She automatically glances over and ends up making eye contact with a woman around her own age with vibrant strawberry blonde hair streaming down her shoulders.

“This may seem like a strange question,” she says, glossed lips curved in a smile small, “and you are more than welcome to say no. But would you like to eat with us?” She waves a hand in the direction of the booths lining the front wall, and Allison glances back over her shoulder. The booth directly behind her is occupied by a young man with dark hair who seems preoccupied by his phone, but he suddenly glances up and smiles wide, crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.

“Have we met before?” Allison asks with a slight frown, twisting back around to face the woman, who shakes her head.

“No. But you look lonely, and I know what that feels like. Both of us do. But, again, feel free to say no. If you say yes, you can leave at any time.” Allison averts her gaze into her inky cup of coffee, pondering the proposition. It’s certainly unexpected, and she’s more than a little wary about other possible motives that the woman and man could have. But she’s in a well-trafficked, public area. If anything goes wrong or if warning bells start going off in her head, she’ll retreat.

Even if it turns into nothing, good or bad, at the very least, she can tell herself that she tried something different, something totally outside of her routine.

“Sure,” she finally says, tossing her coat over one arm and gathering up her cup of coffee. “Why not?” The woman smiles wider, revealing two rows of straight white teeth, and slides off the stool.

“Perfect! I’m Lydia.”

“Allison.”

It takes four steps to cross from the counter to the booth. Allison joins Lydia on her side and once she’s rearranged her things, the young man reaches his hand across the table.

“Hey. I’m Scott.”

She gives her name again and briefly shakes his hand. Before she can say anything else, the waiter appears beside the booth, and the three of them order. Once the waiter disappears back towards the kitchen, Allison speaks up, cutting off the inevitable awkward silence before it gets a chance to sink in.

“Do you two do this often? Invite total strangers to eat with you, I mean.”

“Once in awhile,” Scott says with an easy shrug and a slightly crooked smile. “I usually let Lydia handle it. She’s better at knowing if someone wants to be left alone or if they’re looking for company. I think she might be a little psychic.”

“I’m not psychic,” Lydia says with a roll of her eyes, although the smile on her face indicates she’s not wholly bothered. “I just know how to read people.”

“Well, I’m still waiting for you to teach me.” He leans forward onto the table, clasped hands resting just to the left of an old ketchup stain, and addresses Allison again. “Are you okay with this? You can leave whenever you want.”

“I’m okay,” Allison replies. “Really. You’re basically the first people I’ve talked to in months that aren’t my co-workers.”

“I know that feeling,” Scott says. “When did you move here?”

By the time their food comes, they’ve settled into a conversation that, while not effortless, moves along fairly smoothly. Allison has found out that Scott and Lydia have been in the city for five years and living together for three. They met when Lydia had to rush her dog to the emergency veterinary clinic that Scott was working at and, apparently, there was no coming back from that. Both of them are very into volunteering; environmental groups for Lydia, animal rescue organizations for Scott, LGBTQ rights for both of them. They offer to give her the names and contact information of some of the associations that they work with, and Allison gratefully accepts.

She isn’t sure which organization she wants to contact first but, at the very least, her weekends won’t be so boring anymore.

Allison tells them a little bit about herself; where she works, the general area that she lives in, some of the bars she’s tried meeting people in. When she tells the name of the place she planned on visiting earlier, both of them burst out laughing. Although Allison immediately tenses, one glance at their faces, at the fond looks they’re giving each other, is enough to silence the thought that they’re mocking her.

“We went there on our third-”

“Our fourth,” Lydia interrupts, popping a blueberry from her pancakes into her mouth.

“Our fourth date,” Scott continues. “As soon as we stepped on the dance floor, the fire alarm went off.”

“Fire in the kitchen?” Allison grins.

“Fire in the kitchen,” Lydia and Scott say simultaneously before breaking out into more laughter.

“So you’re saying I should probably steer clear of there from now on?” Allison asks, raising her eyebrow.

“Definitely,” Lydia replies. “If you really want to keep hitting up bars, we can give you a list of some that don’t get a weekly visit from the fire department.”

“Actually,” Allison says, “I think I’m going to take a break from bars for awhile.”

She’s amazed at how truly she means it.

Once they’ve all polished off the rest of their food, they split the bowl of fruit that came with Allison’s breakfast platter; Scott takes the pineapple, Lydia the orange segments, and Allison keeps the berries. It’s the largest meal she’s had in months, and she feels like she could just slump over in the booth and nod off.

That is, if it wasn’t for Lydia sitting beside her. Allison’s pretty sure falling asleep on someone is only okay after months of friendship, and it’s possible that she won’t see Lydia or Scott again after they part ways.

She hopes that isn’t the case. After finally having dinner with someone else, eating alone seems completely overrated.

After they pay, they leave together. The sidewalks are now covered in a thick layer of snow, with still more falling from the sky. By morning, it will all be a trampled mess of brown slush, but it looks lovely now, sparkling under the streetlights.

“Wow,” Scott says, tilting his head back towards the sky. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Lydia says, tugging a woven headband down over her ears and turning to Allison with a soft smile. “Do you want us to walk you to the subway?”

“It’s okay,” Allison replies. “I think I’ll be able to make it home.” She has a butterfly knife and a can of mace tucked into the inside pocket of her coat, just in case someone decides to try and test their luck with her.

“I have an idea,” Scott says, fumbling his phone from the pocket of his jacket. “Do you want to add your number? I can text you so you have mine, and you can let us know when you get home safe.”

“Or if you want to go out for dinner again,” Lydia adds and, for a moment, Allison thinks that she sees an honest to goodness flush stain Lydia’s pale cheeks. Allison quickly ducks her head, warmth rushing into her own face, as she takes Scott’s phone and flips to the contacts menu.

“I’d really like that, actually,” she says quietly, and when she looks up, the crinkles around Scott’s eyes are back in full force.

“Agreed,” he says after glancing at Lydia, and his smile grows larger, bright as the moon on a clear night.

Allison doesn’t want to be presumptuous, doesn’t want to get her hopes up too far in case everything comes crashing back down, but she thinks that the bar’s kitchen catching fire might truly be the best thing that’s happened to her in the last few months.

[fandom-madnessess]

So Beat the Drum with Me

@nevergooutofstiles​ asked for Braeden/Derek/Stiles with America’s Sweetheart - Elle King

Braeden/Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Rating:G, Word Count: 733 Fluff, Polyamory, Fluff Without Plot, POV Stiles ♥ Read On AO3

Stiles stands frozen, unable to take his eyes off the scene in the kitchen. When he regains the use of his limbs, he backs away carefully, making no sound on his stockinged feet, back to the bedroom.

‘Braeden,’ Stiles hisses in her ear and pokes her in her side.

He should know better. He should know better than to startle awake a US Marshall turned supernatural bounty hunter. Braeden slams her forearm against his chest, pushing Stiles into the mattress, then swings one leg over his waist so she’s straddling him. In the flurry of movement she even manages to get hold of Stiles’ wrists and pins them over his head.

‘Morning, babe,’ Stiles grins up at her. She hates it when he calls her that.

Braeden rolls her eyes, but still presses a quick kiss to his forehead. ‘Why are you waking me up at—’ she squints at the clock ’—eight in the morning on a Saturday? Damn it, Stiles!’

‘It’s not my fault! Derek is freaking me out,’ Stiles protests.

Braeden only now seems to notice that their boyfriend is missing from the bed. She lets go of Stiles, jumping off him and out of bed. Stiles scrambles after her, then grabs her wrist to pull her to the kitchen.

Braeden goes completely still when she sees what is happening in the kitchen.

Derek is dancing. To a song. On the radio. It doesn’t end there, though, he’s singing and whistling along to it.

‘What do you want from me. I'm not America's sweetheart. But you love me anyway.’

‘What’s he doing?’ Braeden whispers, pulling Stiles out of hearing distance from Derek.

‘I think he’s making breakfast muffins.’

‘Hmm.’ Braeden sneaks forward again to watch Derek. Stiles is right behind her, pressing himself against her back to look over her shoulder.

‘My kind of medicine is whiskey straight. I got a mouth to put you in your place, and they. They said I'll never be the poster type. But they don't make posters of my kind of life.’

Stiles watches in fascination as Derek sways his hips from side to side in time with the music. He always knew Derek would have moves.

‘So kick out the jams, kick up the soul.’

Derek places the tray with the muffins in the oven, and kicks the door shut. He presses start, then turns to look directly at Stiles and Braeden, raising his eyebrows.

‘Pour another glass of that rock and roll. Turn up the band, fire in the hole. Gonna lose control tonight.’

Waggling his eyebrows, Derek dances towards them. Stiles can’t help smiling at the ridiculous sight. Braeden huffs out a fond laugh. When he reaches them, Derek grabs one hand from each of them, pulls them into the kitchen, and twirls them. Braeden easily spins underneath Derek’s arm, but Stiles is too tall and has to hunch to avoid hitting Derek’s arm with his head. Stiles can’t hold in his laughter.

And just like that, Stiles gets it. He gets why Derek is like this, right now, because Stiles is feeling the same, almost overwhelming, happiness. It makes him feel light, and safe, and giddy

On the next twirl, Stiles trips over his own feet and crashes into Derek’s chest. Derek fumbles to keep them upright. Braeden’s loud laughter fills the kitchen, when she is the one that ends up holding them both up.

‘So how long until those muffins are done?’ Braeden asks, as Stiles and Derek find their footing again.

‘Twenty five minutes. And then they have to cool down for a bit before we can eat them.’

‘Then we can dance a little longer,’ Braeden grins. She pulls Derek against her chest, grabbing Stiles’ t-shirt to pull him against her back, with her other hand.

Stiles immediately nuzzles into her hair. She smells nice, like sleep and the fresh sheets they had to put on last night. When he lifts his head, Braeden quickly turns her head to plant a kiss against his cheek. Stiles catches Derek’s eye, and the other man looks so soft, hair still sleep mussed and a smile on his face, that Stiles’ heart stumbles.

They’re not swaying to the music, really. It’s just a slow, private sway, disconnected from anything else in the universe. It’s just for them.

‘You love me anyway. You love me anyway. I’m not America’s sweetheart.’

[alexenglish]

dear alex how about we think about stiles giving scott the keys to his jeep thinking he'd be Good And Responsible with his baby and that night he sees the light is still on in his jeep and sprawled on the back seat are derek and scott (being very much Not Good And Responsible)

They’re already past the point of interruption. The windows are fogged up Titanic style, and there are noises coming from both of them - gasping and moaning and ‘fuck Scott’ - fuck Scott is right, because Stiles is going to kill him. Honestly, where does Scott get off just using the Jeep for his own personal enjoyment.  

(He gets off on Stiles’ seats, Stiles reminds himself viciously.)

They shouldn’t even be able to fit back there, but Derek’s extremely flexible thanks to yoga (Stiles has seen him doing yoga in tiny booty shorts, what a sight, honestly) and Scott slots on his lap perfectly and - Stiles isn’t thinking about it, he’s not. He’s pissed and not thinking about them getting each other off in his Jeep.

He must look ridiculous, leaning against the front of the Jeep while it rocks in time with their… whatever they’re doing, but he’s not going to pass up the opportunity to yell at them when they both stumble out. 

Somewhere along the way, the moans go from ‘oh Derek’ to ‘oh Stiles’, loud and breathy for Stiles to hear. His face heats up as they both start groaning his name. He’s paying attention to his phone, his phone. He’s mad, okay, angry as hell. 

It doesn’t take too long for them to go silent and Stiles can practically feel their afterglow from outside the Jeep, it’s fucking terrible. When the doors finally pop open, they both spill out with the most disgustingly smug looks on their faces, disheveled and red mouthed and well-fucked.

“You better not have gotten jizz on the seats,” Stiles threatens, shoving Scott against the side of the Jeep so he can wiggle his keys out Scott’s pocket. “I’m going to kill you both.”

“Aw baby, you’re just mad the backseat doesn’t fit all three of us,” Derek says, slotting against his back, sandwiching Stiles between him and Scott. Scott grins at him in that softly mischievous way of his, and kisses him, fingers hooking in Stiles’ belt loops.

“I’ve always wanted to try semi-public sex,” Stiles chokes out, as Derek’s hand sneaks up his shirt. They won’t get arrested. Hopefully.

[kirasderek]

Allison Argent Rarepair Week --> Day 6: Favorite Polyamorous Ship

Kira, Allison, and Lydia are witches at an elite private school for girls.

[fandom-madnessess]

Pictures of my new hair! I am so in love with this colour ♥

[scalira]

They are half of my soul, as the poets say

Written for: Kira rarepair week day 1: favorite ship Pairing: Kira/Lydia/Malia Words: 1.7k Summary: the name of Kira’s soulmate appears on her skin when she’s young and gets ripped away from her only two years later. She gets a second chance at true love when she’s fifteen and right when she thinks she’s over the loss of her first soulmate, her name reappears on her skin.

The first name appeared on Kira’s skin when she was six, and she almost jumped off the swing mid air to show it to her mother. She proudly threw up her arm to show the curly letters on her forearm, spelling out a name that sounded like a poem.

Malia.

Her mother smiled and sank to her knees to look Kira in the eye. She told her it was unusually early for a name to be written on her skin but that she was very proud. She also warned Kira for the amount of time it could take to find her soulmate, the owner of the name, and that she should always be patient.

“It took me 900 years to find mine,” she reminded her, once again reminding Kira of her extraordinary heritage.

It should be noted that Kira really wasn’t the patient type. She could barely sit still long enough to finish a drawing and she got sent out of class a lot because she kept obnoxiously swinging her legs. So, naturally, she spent entire days looking for her soulmate. She would talk to other girls at her school, asking them for their names and hoping that one would recognize as the other part of their soul. Unfortunately, the only Malia she came across was a girl twice her age, and she didn’t have Kira’s name written anywhere on her skin.

Kira was disappointed, but she remembered to never give up. So she kept looking, asking girls for their names at the mall, on the bus or on the streets of New York. And though they were all very friendly and very pretty, none of them had her name on their body.

A year passed and the letters lost their shine, their bright curls. They faded until they looked like an old tattoo, but Kira still loved them. She often traced the letters with her fingers, imagining what Malia would look like. She hoped she liked being outside just as much as she did so they could go on long walks in the woods when they met. She imagined bruised knees to match her own, summer freckles spread across a pretty face, chipped teeth from falling on the pavement. She wondered if Malia thought about her too, traced Kira’s name as well. She wondered what Malia would hope Kira would be like.

And then another year passed and Kira’s eighth birthday came and went. The name was still there, and she still hadn’t found the girl attached to it. She had recently started writing to her, putting the finished letters in a shoe box and planning to give them to her once their paths finally crossed. She often rambled in them, crossing words and leaving sentences unfinished. The letters felt more like a diary, the way she just wrote down all her thoughts without structure. But she thought Malia would like them anyway. So she told her about her day, about stupid boys at school, about Central Park. She told Malia about how she begged her parents to buy her a cat and she tried to describe her father’s smile when she made him laugh. She didn’t want Malia to miss out on any part of her life.

It was spring when it happened. Looking back to it, Kira remembers every detail about it. The snow had just started to melt, leaving the streets of New York wet and slippery. She’d been helping her dad with the dishes, yabbering on about school and the book she was reading and a puppy she petted that morning and Malia. Always Malia.

She was in the middle of putting away a plate when an indescribable pain shot through her body and she fell to the floor, her mouth twisted in a silent scream.

Her dad had lurged forward, lifting her head off the kitchen floor and yelling her name. But she couldn’t respond. All she could do was lie perfecttly still, hoping the pain would pass. And it did, eventually, leaving a dull aching in her chest.

Somehow, she knew. She knew that, when she looked at her forearm, the name would be gone. But she did it anyway, and she fell into her father’s arms with sobs ripping through her throat.

They held a funeral in their small backyard. No body, no family of the girl, no information other than her first name. Kira stood there long after her parents had gone back inside, grieving over the improvised gravestone. She had made it herself, trying to mimic the curly letters that had once been on her arm.

She mourned a girl she had never known, the name sitting on the tip of her tongue but refusing to spill, and she also mourned herself.

Because wherever Malia went, she took a piece of Kira with her.

The second name appeared on her wrist when Kira was fifteen. She was doing her homework on her bed, listening to soft music in the background, when a familiar tingling warmed her skin. She looked down on her wrist and smiled when she saw a new, pretty name appear.

Lydia.

It sounded like a foreign song, like a promise. She tasted the letters on her lips as she spoke them aloud.

“Lydia.”

This time, Kira was more patient. She only asked girls their names when the situation called for it, went to parties just like she did before. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining her though, just like she had before. She imagined long hair, fair skin. She dreamt of full lips, red like blood. Lydia’s voice was soft and pleasant to listen to, and she was smart. She imagined twirly dresses, soft guitar music.

It still hurt to think about Malia, about the Could Have Been, but she couldn’t help but to compare them. Where she had imagined Malia to be wild and free, she imagined Lydia as calm and soft. Malia had been heavy rain and the smell of freshly cut grass, Lydia was a sunny day and the feeling of slipping between freshly washed sheets. Malia had been getting lost, and Lydia was coming home.

Not a day went by when Kira wasn’t scared the name would disappear again, the dull ache in her chest reminding her over and over again that a piece of had been taken and wouldn’t return. She just hoped the feeling of having lost something would go away once she met Lydia, that she would finally feel whole again.

A few more years passed and then she was seventeen and her parents told her they were moving to California, to a place called Beacon Hills. Kira was excited, knowing that moving would give her new opportunities to meet Lydia. Saying goodbye to her friends was bittersweet, but soon she was on a plane to her new home. And as they flew closer to Beacon Hills, she swore she could feel the letters on her skin throb in anticipation.

Meeting Lydia was just like she expected. She knew it was her from the second she saw her in the hallways, and it was almost like her soul reached out to hers. Lydia’s head jerked towards her when their souls touched and it was as if time stopped around her. Though it was crowded in the hallways of Beacon Hills High, it somehow felt like just them.

They gravitated towards each other like magnets. First, there was the introducing.

“Are you-”

“Your name-”

“On my wrist-”

Kira saw it for herself; her own name on Lydia’s collarbone, beautiful and curly just like Lydia’s was. Then the inviting each other to hang out, the talking. Kira gave Lydia some letters she wrote for her and Lydia read them all, never stopped smiling.

She thought this was it and it was gonna be like this till the end of time, the two of them, but then, one day, the familiar tingling came to her again. Kira was surprised when a new name appeared on her forearm.

Or... an old one?

Back like it never left, curls and all, the name she would never forget.

Malia.

She immediately called Lydia, panic fluttering in her chest like a scared bird. Because how could she have two soulmates, and how could it be the girl that had died nine years ago? When Lydia picked up, all she said was: “I have it too.”

And that was that. They both had the name of a dead girl on their skin, someone who could never complete their bubble of happiness. And somehow, that made it worse. The name was back and so was the feeling of Could Have Been, of Not Enough, of Incomplete.

But then there was a stirring in their friendgroup, a feeling of unease, of something important about to happen. And Lydia told her there was a girl, a girl who had been trapped inside the body of a coyote for nine years. And her name was Malia.

Kira cried in Lydia’s arms that night, remembering the wooden gravestone still in her backyard back in New York, the letters smeared from the rain and time. She had lost her first soulmate when she was young, but now she was back.

They didn’t meet Malia until After, after the possession, after the Oni, after Allison. 

When they finally did, they were warned that Malia was still adjusting, still had the blood of an animal in her veins. She was feral, dangerous, even.

Kira had been right about meeting Lydia (like coming home) but when she saw Malia and her soul recognized her, it wasn’t like getting lost at all. It was like coming home all over again, like seeing something familiar after spending a long time away.

Malia possibly looked dangerous and feral to others, but when Kira saw her, it was very easy to see past her walls. And when they hugged, Malia crumbled unerneath their touch.

They all cried and then they laughed and then they all cried again, pointing at names on skins and kissing away the tears and never, ever, letting go off each other’s hands.

Kira had finally found the two lost parts of her soul , and the only way she was ever losing them again was if someone pried their fingers out of her cold, dead hands.

[kirasderek]

Update to my Boyd/Jackson/Scott headcanons: Jackson has trouble expressing his emotions when they're not spilling over uncontrollably (something he and Lydia had in common, if we're being honest). Which, in turn, makes him kind of insecure. Because, see, at the very least he and Lydia knew that, outside of emotion and sex, they were both benefiting from the relationship. But Scott is over that headrush of popularity from just after the bite and Boyd never wanted to be the center of attention - only to have good friends. Jackson can't count on his ability to give them social status to be his /contribution/ to the relationship, and that makes him antsy, makes him feel like not enough. He starts buying them things. First it's just what he'd want, or the first things that come to his mind: nice watches, new shoes, sunglasses. Designer wearables, essentially. His boyfriends accept them with not a little confusion and reluctance, and the only time he seems to get a really good reaction is when he buys them new jackets, close to the sort of thing they already like to wear. He realizes this isn't working, that he's just. He's not putting his money to work in the /right/ way. So he buys them massages. He takes Scott to get the tattoo he hasn't shut up about getting for six weeks. He drives Boyd (and Lydia; Boyd needs someone who cares about this stuff around) out to see a series of physics lectures, shelling out for gas and nice rooms. Scott goes to buy some strings for his guitar while they're gone and the overexcited teen behind the counter informs him that he can take home just about anything he wants in the store with the line of credit Jackson opened. Boyd signs for a package and finds those expensive-ass History Channel DVDs of old black and white war-time footage colored up - and a couple of over-the-top comedies, the kind that make him spit his drink all over Scott and start a popcorn fight. It's not that they don't like the gifts, especially as they get increasingly more personal. But eventually they have to sit Jackson down and explain. Explain that the fact that he pays enough attention and cares enough to know what they'd like most is what makes them happy about the gifts. Scott would like a mix CD just as much as his run of the music store. Boyd would be just as happy for Jackson to sprawl across him and relinquish the remote for once, take an interest in whatever /he/ wants to watch. Jackson doesn't have to buy them. He's got them.

[fandom-madnessess]

Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes/Malia Tate ♥ Rating: T, Word Count: 834 ♥ Canon Divergence, Fluff, Road Trip, Established Relationship, Agender Malia, POV Erica, Polyamory

Erica is going on a trip with her significant others, but she's very bad at packing.

Erica looks around her room. She can’t think of anything else to put in her suitcase. Not there she’ll be able to fit in much else. She’s probably going to have to sit on it to get the zipper closed. Her phone buzzes and she grabs from under her bed, where it must have ended up during her furious packing. It’s a message from Mal. >>we are on our way Erica looks at her suitcase and realizes she forgot to pack her toiletries. Shit.

(For Teen Wolf Polyamory Saturday: Erica Reyes)