#i know this won't happen but I'm praying that they're here to spray water at high oressure thru my upstairs neighbors windows

[lemoniiiiiii]

lacking trust

(ralph bohner x gn!reader) in where you try to cheer up your paranoid boyfriend with a gift...

content: angst, swearing, yelling, mentions of being naked

a/n: i have so many ideas for ralph it's insane i love this man... but anyways i was hoping the gif would show what i mean when i say he blinks and twitches lmao. and uhm the context is that reader was not around when the whole hex stuff happened

--

"ralph baby?" you enter the living room, placing your things down by the couch. "how was it? what did they ask?"

"it was just some kids... askin' about what it was like..." approaching him from behind, you massage ralph's shoulders, trying to ease the obvious distress in his expression.

"...just when i was praying for them to not ask about.. her, they did. like they read my mind or somethin...'"

your boyfriend reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. "at least i got something outta it..." he mumbles.

"any migraines lately?"

"this morning yeah, but it's about gone now"

throwing your arms around ralph, you lean down give him an affectionate squeeze from behind before pulling away. "well, i got you a present.."

"yeah?" his head turns to follow you.

"i know you said you were missing your blu-ray collection... and so..."

"holy shit-"

once ralph sees the DVD storage case in your arms, he excitedly grabs it out of your hands and flips through it like a kid on christmas day. you haven't seen him smile like this in so long...

then he pauses.

he pauses and he looks up at you, eyes glazed with fear.

"you went back to the house." he says, voice menacingly monotone and low.

"i- i did."

"do you know what you've done?"

"ralph-"

he stands up, grabbing a spray bottle out of his pocket, dousing you in spritz' of the rose water toner you use in your skincare routine witch repellent.

"ralph what the actual fuck!?"

he mutters to himself, looking down in thought. "this won't be enough." his gaze returns to you. "did she touch you?"

"i- well-" you stammer, still disoriented by his previous actions.

"well what? what did she do?"

"we shook hands-" you admit. ralph groans loudly and holds his head like he's heard the most devastating information. frantically you try to reassure him. "ralph she's never met me before- agatha has no reason to come looking for you. wanda's gone."

"don't say- DON'T SAY THEIR FUCKING NAMES!" the veins in his face show themselves, prominent, like they're about to burst.

feeling defensive, you scoff. "this is insane ralph! this isn't normal you're being crazy!"

"do you know what it's like to have your mind mentally fucked by two exponentially more mentally fucked women?! to be forced to do awful shit, hurt people, and not be able to do anything about it? it's not good! not fucking fun! so i'm sorry if I've been just a little crazy... i'm trying to protect us"

"i understand baby but what i'm trying to say is-"

"take off your clothes" he suddenly blurts out.

"excuse me?"

"we need to burn them. make sure she didn't get any of her witch filth on you. then you should take a shower...and wash that hand real good" he blinks a few times and twitches his head, making you frown. you've noticed that it gets worse when he gets worked up and the new quirk seems to irritate him.

"i need to wash up too..." he adds eyes wandering, rubbing his neck where you were massaging him. "can never be too sure..."

when you see the expectant look on his face, you raise an eyebrow.

"right here?"

ralph twitches and stares at you blankly, grabbing a trash bag, motioning it towards you as if to say "go on".

too tired to protest you comply and undress, taking off your jacket, jeans, and top, leaving you just in your undergarments.

you wait for his next instructions but he simply continues to give you that same expectant look.

"i don't think i need to-"

"can never be too sure" he repeats.

with a sigh, you remove the two thin fabric pieces leaving your body bare in front of him. a part of you feels a bit humiliated, and you wonder if this is how similar to how he felt under wanda's hex.

"thank you." ralph exhales. "i know what i'm asking seems extreme- i know. but the last thing i would want is for you to have to go through what i did. see- look-"

ralph undresses in front of you in the same manner. it had been months since either of you had last seen each other naked, so freely like this. you take in your boyfriend's current appearance. he had grown out his hair and beard to "disguise" himself from who knows what and his toned body had now softened with some small but noticeable pudge on his stomach (likely due to a lack of having a bowflex plus his daily physical activity being reduced to pacing around the house at odd hours). not to mention the dark and deep eyebags.

he looks different and he's gotten some new... personality traits, that's for sure, but you still loved him the same.

and you knew he did too.

--

ralph holds your (non-contaminated) hand and smirks, rubbing the back with his thumb. "maybe we should shower together. y'know save water, i could make sure you get allllll the right places when you're cleanin' up"

you roll your eyes at his perverted proposal and smile.

things would get better. you were certain.

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @wcnderlnds @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx

[mobydyke]

I think it's rly funny that I grew up wanting to be like Holmes but I turned into a Watson and I'm okay with this bc the quality I share most with Holmes is that I fucking love John Watson so regardless of which character I see myself in, I am participating in an act of radical self love bc they adore each other

[voidstilesplease]

in another life

part two

Stiles assures Theo answers for all of their questions -god knows they have so many- tomorrow. Theo's reluctant at first, doesn't intend to let go of Stiles's words hanging in between them: "You think she's alive?" Eventually, Theo nods, finding something in Stiles's eyes and placing his trust in him. An odd feeling of protectiveness settles in Stiles's stomach at the vulnerability that Theo freely displays - in the past, he used to act guarded like everyone was out to get him. Granted, Theo had conned most of them before with charm and fake tears, and it's not above him to try it again if Theo could gain something worthy from it. But Stiles doesn't feel the usual tingle in his bones when he meets some shady criminal mastermind. His instincts have gotten him this far, so he gives it credit.

Stiles sighs. Innocent until proven guilty. He hopes Deaton has answers that expose the truth.

In the meantime, they have saddled him with more responsibility: bringing Theo home with him. Theo refuses to be stuck with either Liam or Mason any longer, it is unwise to put Theo alone with Melissa, and stupid to leave him unattended. So Stiles is the only viable choice. Plus, Theo thinks they're together. It only makes sense. Maybe.

It probably won't to his dad initially, but hey, after a while of normalcy, even he will acknowledge the need for something to go down - even dressed as Theo Raeken.

•••

They're in Stiles's Jeep, driving home to the Stilinski's, and it is a little disconcerting how Theo seems to be accustomed to his car. Theo had seen and been in the Jeep before, but this is different. He's too comfortable in the cramped space, even knows how to operate Stiles's defective radio. And the way he leans against the seat on the passenger's side and knows where to keep the screwdriver Stiles uses to manipulate the ignition is boggling his head worse than the snow outside.

Stiles draws in a breath, glancing sideways to his quiet company. "So, um, Deaton," he says, "we're going to Dr. Deaton tomorrow."

Theo turns to him, frowning. "What kind of doctor? Are you taking me to a shrink? Babe, I'm not crazy. What happened is freaky, but you have to believe me."

Okay, the babe thing, they're going to have to iron that wrinkle as soon as possible. Not even Lydia called him babe when they dated, and certainly not Malia. It's a cosmic joke that the once bane of his existence gets to call him that first. "No, he's not a shrink," Stiles promises him. "He's a veterinarian. But he knows about these things."

Theo arches a brow, "He knows about teleportation?"

"Telepor-" Stiles creases his forehead, jerking his head to Theo. The latter is expectant when he looks back. Stiles blinks, disbelieving and a little horrified. There's also a small bubble of hysteria beginning to form in his stomach. Somehow, this takes the cake in the weirdness of the situation. Because, of course, Theo also doesn't remember he's a chimera, does he? Blowing a heavy breath, he turns back to the road. He rubs the side of his temple, where it's starting to hurt, and purses his lips. "Yeah, sure. Teleportation."

Silence hangs in between them for a moment, Stiles sighing when he takes the last turn to his street. He can feel the burn of Theo's stare at the side of his face.

"You really don't remember we're together?" Theo sounds genuinely small when he speaks. "Then why are you here, if not to take me home? The two -Liam and Mason- are accusing me of having amnesia. But it's you who can't remember."

Stiles opens his mouth, but he doesn't know what to say. He knows that if he tells Theo that he remembers an illusory life, it's only going to invite more questions Stiles has no answers yet. In honesty, he's still reeling until now, and he's too tired to consider diving into research mode immediately, much less form a cohesive plan other than to bring Theo to Deaton first. And the best thing for them both to do before then is rest. They can't do that if Stiles stays up all night convincing Theo that they're not even friends, that he was a lying, conniving chimera asshole that tried to break his pack once, before turning a new leaf and helping them, and then disappearing on them like a bubble one day. Oh, and yeah, that it's so twisted for him to think his sister was alive when he had allowed her to die when he was nine.

No. Rest, Deaton, and then fuck up some shit - Stiles is doing this in that order.

"Hm," is what he ends up saying. Stiles pulls in the driveway, noting the blue truck already parked there. He's relieved to find a change of topic. He clears his throat, pointing at the vehicle. "That's your truck. Corey, Mason's boyfriend, drove it here."

Theo doesn't look away from him for the entire minute it takes Stiles to turn the engine off and gather his belongings. When he looks at Theo, that's only when the other man lowers his head and breathes. Theo nods and gets out of the car, moving towards the truck. Stiles silently prays for more strength if this is how awkward it is going to be for the whole evening until the morning.

Theo is studying his blue truck, eyeing it with trepidation. Stiles slings his messenger bag and stands beside him. Theo turns to him, shaking his head. "This isn't my car."

Stiles moves to the bed of Theo's pickup. "It is," he tells Theo. 

Stiles is, unfortunately, familiar enough with this car, and not with pleasant memories. Stiles lifts the haphazardly strewn cloth covering most of the space of the truck bed and makes a noise of disgust with what he finds underneath. It was definitely tidier before.

Theo also peeks under the cloth and pulls his face in a similar reaction. An alarming amount of empty plastic noodle cups and take-out boxes litter the covered area. "It can't be mine because I'm not crazy for instant ramen."

Stiles drops the cloth and walks to the driver's seat. He cups his hands on either side of his eyes and looks inside through the window. He finds a folded blanket at the backseat and a pink sweater on top of the pile of clothes. The chimera wore the hell out of those, Stiles remembers grudgingly. Transferring his scrutiny on the passenger side, he sees empty water bottles and coke cans, and old receipts. What the hell has Theo been up to that he can't even throw his trash out or attempt to be less sloppy?

One thing is sure, though. The car is where Theo lives; the pizza in the backseat looks stale but not molded. He faces Theo and gives him a grim nod, "Let's discuss the condition of your car and your unhealthy lifestyle tomorrow, yeah?"

Theo huffs, wanting to protest and eyeing his car in disgust, but shrugs in agreement.

•••

His father is working the night shift, so explaining Theo is a problem for future Stiles, which makes him sag in relief under the hot spray of his shower. When he's finished, he changes into clean sweatpants and an old Christmas ugly sweater and goes back to his room.

Theo is already sitting on his temporary bed on the floor. Stiles refuses to make him sleep on the couch where the kitchen and knives are near. At least, inside his room, he can fight him should Theo attempt anything at all. Stiles has gotten better at hand-to-hand combat since the FBI, and also a very light sleeper and sometimes prone to insomnia, especially on stressful occasions like this. Any minor shuffling from Theo will alert him. Not that he thinks Theo will do anything. His impulses tell him that Theo's memory dilemma is not made-up, and he's truthful this time, but it's always better to be safe than sorry.

Theo looks up when he enters, offering a small smile. Stiles's eyes catch sight of the outline of a necklace hidden underneath the collar of Theo's borrowed shirt. Stiles's clothes look a bit tight on him but otherwise, more comfortable than the dirty jeans he was wearing earlier. 

"It's so weird to see your old bed," Theo says, looking at the said bed. "Noah brought you a bigger one so that we can share when we visit. I wonder what happened to it?"

Stiles drops onto his bed with a small bounce. He didn't expect that. "Oh, um,"

Theo meets his eyes, "And Roscoe," a shadow crosses his face. "You took down all of the polaroid pictures we put of us. You even replaced the screwdriver that I gave you with an old one."

He sounds so betrayed that Stiles is stunned by what he's hearing. What startles him most, though, is: "You know my Jeep's name?"

At this question, Theo looks downright affronted. But Stiles has every reason to be surprised. His mom, his dad, and Scott are the only people apart from him who knows his Jeep's name -not another soul. Not even Lydia.

"Of course, I know your Jeep's name," Theo responds with a deepening scowl. "We've been together for four years, Stiles."

Stiles raises a hand to halt Theo as his cogs turn in his head. A swell of panic takes root in him. This memory thing is more serious than he initially thought. Theo's not only hallucinating a different life but he also somehow knows things he shouldn't. The screwdriver compartment, his broken radio, his Jeep's name -what else does he know that he isn't supposed to?

"Okay," Stiles finally says, lowering his hand and barrier from Theo, who's still glowering. It seems he has lost his patience with Stiles, as well. If this continues, Stiles might snap, too. So he says as appeasing as he could. "Let's say that whatever happened to you affected our memories of each other. But we'll go to Dr. Deaton for answers tomorrow, and then we can go back to our normal lives. Yes? Do you trust me?"

As soon as he says it, Stiles wants to take it back. It seems like a strange concept to ask Theo, of all people, to trust Stiles after everything. As crazy as Stiles actually trusting Theo. But here they are.

Theo doesn't reply for a long time, but he looks pensive and considering as he glares. In the end, he huffs in surrender, shoulders drooping in defeat. For the first time, the bags under his eyes become more prominent in his features. He looks so weary, hurt, and confused. Stiles is well acquainted with that look. It's the look of someone who hasn't been sleeping well. With the state of Theo's truck, Stiles has no problem picturing the man twist-and-turning to find a good position and not finding any.

Theo dips his head, replying with a rough voice, "Yeah. I trust you."

Before Stiles can say any more, Theo gives him his back and reclines on his mattress. He pulls the covers on himself, like a shield, and mumbles good night to Stiles.

Sighing, Stiles turns the desk lamp off and lays on his bed, staring at the ceiling for who knows how long. After a while, he exhales and rubs the bridge of his nose. His body is exhausted, and so is his mind, but they're not shutting off like they're supposed to. He almost wishes he is back in his dorm room in Virginia, staying up to piece the puzzles of a case. He has dealt with mundane human crises for so long that coaxing the supernatural mojo back appears to be an impossibly draining affair.

When he glances back at Theo on the floor, he pauses as he notices it. There's a blank inked mark on Theo's nape: a tattoo that Stiles knows for sure he didn't have the last time they saw each other. He turns to his side to look closely at it.

The tattoo is of a circle interlaced with three interconnected ovals. It reminds him closely of Derek's triskelion tattoo. But unlike Derek's, Theo's mark gives him an ominous feeling.

Because Stiles is sure, it isn't an optical illusion when it glowed in the darkness of his room for a second.

~•~