#twrarechar

[banshee-cheekbones]

title: make it to tomorrow [ao3: here]

main pairing: Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall

rating: Hard M

word count: ~2100 words

written for: the ‘robots′ square on my Teen Wolf Rare Character Bingo card and for the 2017 Summer Heat Mini Round over at the ROK LJ community.

summary: After all is said and done and the Breach is closed, Isaac and Scott share a moment in the catwalks above the Shatterdome, away from the victory party below.

(or, the Pacific Rim AU with "I'm so happy that we're alive" hand jobs.)

Mere hours ago, the Shatterdome had echoed with the sounds of an army prepping for war; yelling in half a dozen languages, the screech of metal against metal, the frantic, repetitive thud of booted feet crossing the expanse of the room over and over again. It’d been chaos; organized chaos, albeit, but chaos nonetheless.

Now, the vast space is filled with the sounds of joyous victory.

Isaac isn’t sure who is in charge of the music, but the speakers that are normally reserved for broadcasting announcements and orders are now spilling out pounding electronica tracks, the volume so high that the bass seems to reverberate through every surface he lays his hands upon. Drunken whoops and joyous yells break through the music every so often, along with the sharp crack of a cork exploding from a bottle of champagne.

For being an active military base, there seems to be a lot of the latter lying around.

Isaac’s sure that, if he ventured down from the catwalk, he wouldn’t have to ask for a drink. They’d shove full bottles in his arms, pour it down his throat, probably drench him in it. It’s all too possible that he’d end up on someone’s shoulders, carted around the room like a trophy or idol.

Some of the other pilots would absolutely love that. He’s sure they’re already down there having the time of their lives.

That’s all the more reason for him to stay away.

As far as he can tell, he’s the only one up in the catwalks; all the mechanics and technicians that usually fill them have abandoned their posts, are probably down below soaking in the revelry. Not that Isaac blames them; there’s nothing for them for them to be working on, after all. Every last one of the cavernous Jaeger bays is empty, their normal occupants either abandoned in the bay or ripped to pieces or blown to bits in another dimension.

Hopefully, they'll never be occupied again.

He has to believe they’ll never be occupied again, that what happened today is a permanent fix, because otherwise everything they did, all the people they lost-

(and that is not a line of thought he wants to pursue right now, because while he’s only been at the Shatterdome for two weeks, barely enough time to get to know anyone, he knows that they were good people, people with lives and hopes and dreams for after the apocalypse was thwarted, people who deserved to live)

-was for nothing.

Abruptly, the sound of nearby footsteps thudding against metal breaks through the music, and he pulls his gaze away from the deep shadows of the bay that previously held Alpha Wolf, which is now entombed in the murky waters of the ocean. Most of the overhead lights have been switched off, so it’s a few moments before Isaac can actually make out the figure of someone coming towards him. He gets ready to defend his absence from the party below, starts combing through excuses in search of one that won’t just lead to more invasive questions that he doesn’t feel up to answering.

Thankfully, before he actually has to decide on an excuse, he recognizes the figure, and he relaxes back against the sturdy railing.

“I figured you were up here,” Scott says, smiling as he leans up beside Isaac. There are three stitches holding together his eyebrow, and butterfly bandages dot his forehead and cheeks. Two of the fingers on his left hand are bound together in a splint, and dark bruises march up and down both arms, extending from his wrists to where the sleeve of his tee bisects his bicep.

All things considered, the fact that he’s in one piece, that they’re both in one piece, is something of a minor miracle.

“How was the party?” Isaac asks, sliding down to rest on the ground with his legs stretched out and his back pressed against the railing. His ankle bone is bruised, and although the painkillers that were thrust upon him in the medical bay are top-grade, it’s probably best to get off it sooner rather than later.

“Skipped over most of it, actually,” Scott says, sinking down beside him, a wince momentarily passing over his face. “Last I saw, they were hoisting Jackson around on their shoulders.”

“I’m sure he’s absolutely loving that,” Isaac mutters.

“He probably won’t even remember it tomorrow, if he keeps drinking like he was.”

It’s the last either of them say for what feels like hours. Isaac isn’t sure when Scott’s head drops down onto his shoulder, but he follows suit by carefully lowering his own head down so that he doesn’t end up resting his ear on any of Scott’s battle scars. Their hands end up entangled together shortly after, and Isaac finds himself entranced by the way their fingers slot together, like they were solely designed for that purpose.

“It’s so quiet,” Scott eventually murmurs, the words washing over where Isaac’s collarbone branches away from the collar of his t-shirt. The Shatterdome is still echoing with noise; if anything, the music and yelling has only increased in volume, but Isaac knows what Scott means.

Without the drift connecting them, without Scott sharing every single inch and hidden corner of his brain, his own mind seems painfully quiet and empty.

“It is.” If he concentrates hard, closes his eyes and does his best to block out the sounds of revelry filling every inch of space, he can still feel something connecting his mind to Scott’s. Something thin and tenuous, like a loose thread gently unraveling from a well-worn sweater.

He wonders how long they have before that thread reaches its end and tears away for good.

He wonders what that will change between them. If that will change anything.

He hopes with everything he has that it doesn’t. Scott’s the first person in years that he’s been able to depend on, and even though they’ve known each other for all of two weeks, he’s not sure if he knows how to go back to being on his own again.

Even if he was interrogated, he wouldn’t be able to definitively answer which of them leans in first; what he knows, and what matters most, is that their mouths meet and immediately meld together like they’ve been doing so for years.

They don’t stay leaning against the railing for long; Scott slowly slumps over, until he’s stretched out on his back, and Isaac is obliged to follow him. Thankfully, the catwalk is more than wide enough to safely accommodate them so, once they’ve moved safely away from the edge, they pick up right where they left off. The only difference is that, this time, Isaac is slotted between Scott’s legs, and Scott’s right hand is fisted tightly in his hair, tugging slightly whenever Isaac shifts.

He was starting to think that his hair was getting too long, but he’s definitely reconsidering that notion.

The rough metal of the catwalk scrapes against his knees, even through the thick fabric of his pants, and he can’t imagine that it feels comfortable against Scott’s undoubtedly bruised back. But when he pulls away for a moment, before he can even part his lips to ask, Scott shakes his head fiercely.

“I don’t want to move,” he says, tightening his fingers in Isaac’s hair. “I’m fine. Kiss me.”

That’s all the assurance Isaac needs to dive back in.

Part of him thinks that they should be talking about this, trying to work through things before they step over a line that they can’t come back from, but that part only remains in the forefront of his mind for a few moments. The last few weeks have been an absolute exercise in control, in keeping himself carefully between the lines, so that he didn’t jeopardize the mission. The drift was no better, because for every errant thought that slipped through, every memory of his father or every half-thought out musing about what Scott would sound like choking back a moan, there were dozens, hundreds more that he had to keep hidden away.

He’s tired of holding himself back.

The others down below are celebrating their victory with rivers of booze.

Isaac is going to celebrate by letting himself go.

His own various aches and pains let themselves be known across his body as he rolls his hips down against Scott’s, but he does his best to ignore the urge to pull away when Scott’s fingers press into a bruise or trail over a line of fresh stitches. When he braces his forehead against Scott’s to take a breath, the butterfly bandages holding Scott together scrape against his skin, and he silently apologizes for any pain he’s causing before he dives back in.

By the time Scott’s fingers yank open his button and zipper, Isaac already feels like he’s walking along the edge, whether it’s from the adrenaline that has yet to totally wane from his system or from the sheer fact that he’s alive, they’re both alive, still living and breathing and able to touch each other.

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to last,” he laughs against Scott’s swollen mouth, words trailing into a gasp as Scott’s fingers slide past the elastic of his boxers.

“I was going to say the same thing,” Scott grins, arching his hips into the line of Isaac’s thigh. “There’s always later for that.”

Later.

Hearing that word pass from Scott’s lips officially shuts down the last remnants of concern in Isaac’s mind.

When Scott’s fingers wrap around Isaac’s cock, Isaac’s breath catches in his throat. He wants to return the favor, but for a few moments, all he can focus on is the feeling of Scott’s calloused palm, the slick slide of his thumb slipping across the head of him. It’s just on the right side of overwhelming, and he thrusts his hips into the loose circle of Scott’s fist, bites back a groan as his mind finally sparks back to life. He sits back slightly, putting more weight onto his knees, so that he can better access the zipper of Scott’s pants. His fingers, normally so sure of themselves, fumble and skitter, until he finally manages to get the button open with a frustrated growl.

“Take your time,” Scott says quietly, resting his free hand on Isaac’s face. The metal of his splint is warm against Isaac’s cheekbone and he twists to press his lips to it, another silent apology.

The real thing can wait until later.

He gets Scott’s zipper down with more ease, yanks his pants down his hips until he can get his hand inside. It’s far from a great angle; warning twinges of pain shoot through his wrist, but he ignores them.

What’s a little more pain, after all?

In the end, he doesn’t have to worry about finding a way to work through a wrist cramp; before the warnings can turn into the real thing, Scott spurts onto Isaac’s fingers with a sudden gasp. His head drops back against the catwalk with an alarmingly loud thud that seems to echo. The grip of his fingers around Isaac’s cock grows tighter, and he twists his wrist in a unfamiliar way that makes fireworks go off behind Isaac’s eyes.

He comes with his teeth pressed into Scott’s bottom lip and the taste of blood in his mouth.

Who the blood belongs to, he couldn’t say.

Once he’s gotten his breath back, he wipes his hand off on the thigh of his pants and carefully lowers himself to the ground at Scott’s side, wincing as every ache and pain that he’s been ignoring makes itself known with a vengeance, painkillers be damned. Scott wipes his own hand off on the hem of his shirt before carefully tucking himself back into his pants. There’s a fine sheen of sweat covering his face, and when he rolls his head to face Isaac, so close that their noses brush together, a smile more radiant than the nuclear heart of a Jaeger splits his mouth.

“We’re here,” he says. One of the bandages dotting his forehead is slowly turning red, the skin underneath freshly split open. “We’re here.”

Now that the adrenaline has started to melt away, replaced by pain and rational thought, Isaac is ready to admit that, at some point, they’ll have to talk further. They can’t just ignore what happened today, all of it; they need to mourn for the people they lost, find their place in a world no longer on the edge of disaster, figure out how they fit together without the drift to tie them together.

But all of that can wait for tomorrow.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, dropping one hand to Scott’s chest, right above his pounding, beautifully strong heart. “We’re here.”

He leaves the I’m not going anywhere unspoken, but he trusts that somehow, Scott hears it all the same.

[maliayukimura]

The Wolf in My Bed

Multiship Meme ➸ Alicia Boyd [2/5] Prompted by @ericadays Pairing: Alicia Boyd/Cora Hale On Ao3 here

After a few hours of blaring music and dodging drunk classmates, Alicia had finally had enough of this high school party. She started wandering the halls, looking for her brother, so she could let him know that she was going to head home for the night.

She finally found Vernon in the kitchen. He was nursing a beer as he leaned against the counter. His girlfriend, Erica, leaned against him as she laughed at a joke their buddy Isaac had just made. All three of them smiled when they saw Alicia approach them.

“Hey, Little Boyd,” Isaac greeted. “How’s it going?”

“Hi, Isaac. I’m good,” Alicia answered. She then turned her attention to her brother. Hey, Vernon, I think I’m going to call it a night and head home. I’m not really in a party mood.”

Vernon pushed himself off of the counter and walked over to his sister. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Alicia protested, motioning for her brother to stay with his friends. “It’s only a few blocks away.”

Vernon shot his little sister a questioning look. “Are you sure? I can walk you home if you want. It’s no problem.”

“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Stay and enjoy the party.”

Vernon nodded, accepting Alicia’s decision. “Okay, just text me when you get home safe.”

After agreeing to her brother’s request and saying goodbye to everybody, Alicia left the party and started on her way home. The cold air sent a shiver down her back as Alicia pulled her jacket tighter around her. It was pretty dark outside, but she had the streetlights and the full moon to light up the sidewalks as she walked.

It didn’t take long until Alicia realized that something was wrong. She felt like something or someone was following her. For a second, Alicia debated on texting her brother for help, but instead, she decided to confront her stalker.

When she turned around to see who was following her, all Alicia saw was a large grey wolf.

“Holy shit,” she exclaimed under her breath as she stared at the wolf. She couldn’t believe her eyes – there was a wolf standing less than a foot away from her.

Wait a minute, Alicia thought. There aren’t any wolves in California. It’s probably someone’s dog, like an Alaskan Malamute or something.

Alicia tried to get closer to the wolf to see if it had a collar because she assumed it was someone’s lost dog.

“Are you lost?” she asked, hoping that her calm voice would be soothing to the wolf. “I’ll help you find your family.”

She softly petted the wolf as she looked for its collar. “Who’s a good boy?”

The wolf let out a low growl at that. Alicia froze, her hand still entangled in the wolf’s fur. She quickly recovered with a, “Who’s a good girl?”

The wolf quit growling and leaned into Alicia’s touch. She could have almost sworn that the wolf was smiling at her.

“You know what? I’m going to call you Wolfie,” Alicia informed the wolf. “Come on, Wolfie. Let’s get you back to my house. We’ll put up found posters of you in the morning. You’d like that? Right, Wolfie?”

The wolf let out a bark as if it was agreeing to her plans. Taking the bark as conformation, Alicia led the wolf back to her house. She quietly chatted with the wolf as they walked.

After a few more blocks, they arrived at the Boyd residence. Alicia unlocked the door and let the door and let the wolf into the house. Once she and the wolf were both safely indoors, Alicia sent off a quick text message to her brother to let her know that she got home safe.

Alicia led the wolf up to her room before she started on her nighttime routine. When she finally returned to her bedroom after brushing her teeth and changing into pajamas, Alicia found Wolfie laying down on her bed.

After a failed attempt to shoo Wolfie off of her bed, Alicia decided to just climb into bed. Wolfie curled up beside her and the two of them went to sleep.

Sunlight beamed in through her window, waking Alicia up. She groggily reached out to pet Wolfie. When her hand came in contact with smooth skin instead of fur, Alicia jolted awake. Her eyes were as wide as saucers when Alicia saw that she was lying face to face with her crush, Cora Hale.

Alicia had no recollection of going home with Cora last night. Her mind was racing as she tried to come up with an explanation for how she could wake up with Cora in her bed.  None of the explanations she came up with made any sense to her.

When she began to stir, Alicia realized that Cora was currently naked in her bed. Alicia jumped back startled.

“Why are you naked?!” Alicia screeched as she jumped out of bed, accidently pulling the sheets back with her. She quickly realized her mistake and threw the sheets back at Cora, who quickly pulled the sheets around her to try to cover herself up.

Cora looked up at her, trying to think of how to answer. Her eyes were wide with fear. Thick tension hung in the air as the two girls stared at each other.

When Alicia started to get over her initial shock, some new questions popped into her head. “How did you even get into my bed? And what happened to Wolfie?”

Cora shook her head and sighed. “I can explain.”

“Then start talking,” Alicia said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Alicia didn’t believe Cora at first. Who would believe that werewolves existed? Definitely not Alicia. And that Cora actually had a crush on her? That would only happen in her wildest dreams. It took Cora a few hours to convince her, but eventually Alicia believed her – both about the werewolves and the crush.

“So werewolves,” Alicia stated nonchalantly.

“Yep,” Cora answered. “Werewolves.”

Alicia smirked. “So what you’re telling me is that you are a werewolf and that even in wolf form, you still remembered that you had a huge crush on me and insisted on making sure I made it home safe?”

Cora tried to cover her face with her hands as she blushed. “Pretty much.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I have a huge crush on you too,” Alicia said as she leaned in closer. Their faces only a few inches apart.

Cora looked up at her confused. “You do?”

Alicia smiled widened. “I do.”

Cora closed the space between them as she pressed a kiss to Alicia’s lips. The kiss was innocent and pure, only lasting a few seconds before Alicia pulled away. Cora blushed again when she remembered her current clothing situation. She pulled the sheet tighter around her to make sure she was completely covered.

“I’ll loan you some clothes, so we can head downstairs and get some breakfast,” Alicia said, trying to comfort Cora. “And then you can tell me more about werewolves and whatever other magical creatures that exist.”

After Cora put on a pair of Alicia’s sweatpants and a spare t-shirt, the two girls headed down to the kitchen, walking hand in hands together. Alicia kept asking questions about werewolves and Cora just laughed as she tried her best to answer her questions.

Cora knew she would have to face the consequences when she got home and her mother found out that she had told a human that werewolves exist, but for now, Cora was happy that Alicia knew and that Alicia accepted her. Well, and that her crush was actually requited.

[blueshawaii]

         teen wolf bingo » fake dating (mason & erica, boyd/erica)                mason isn’t ready to come out yet and erica helps him lie.                    details: approx 4100 words. canon divergent. death. hella angst.

                                                        ***

"What do you mean you're not out to your parents?" Erica asks, looking up from her book. She and Mason are alone in the library. They study together every other day of the week, and spend the other days camped out on the sidelines of the lacrosse field, window shopping for boys. It's quiet in the library now, so her voice echoes. He flinches.

"Oh my God? Be quiet!" He whisper yells, glaring at her. She nods apologetically and, after a few seconds of silence, he says, "What does it sound like I mean? I'm not out, they don't know. They think I like girls..."

The way his sentence trails off makes Erica's brow furrow because she can tell there's a question lurking near it. She waits for it without saying anything and after a moment, it comes. Part of it, anyway.

"And they keeping asking me about a girlfriend, and it's just - I think they're starting to figure it out, you know? I'm gonna tell them someday, but not yet. Probably not until college."

She considers changing the subject. She can easily ask him what he wants to major in, or simply make the offer she knows he's getting at, but she doesn't want to do that.

What she wants to know is, "Why? Aren't you, I mean. Why don't they know?"

He looks surprised but after a soft sigh, he answers her. "I just don't want them to look at me differently. It's not a big deal, to me. I like boys. I've always liked boys. But it's always a big deal to families, and it was even kind of a big deal to all of my friends except Liam." Her mouth opens but he speaks over her. "There weren't negative reactions or anything, don't get me wrong. But I kinda went from being Mason to being Gay Mason."

She nods, understanding. It makes sense to want to keep things to yourself, she thinks. But still, something about his words makes her grin and once she figures out what it is, she giggles. He raises his eyebrows at her.

"You don't want to go from Mason to Gayson again, huh?" She teases, with a playful smirk playing on her lips.

He tries to look annoyed but he grins anyway. He even chuckles a bit.

"You are messed up." He tries to sound angry but there's too much mirth for her to take him seriously. She smiles back, as bright as the sun, and raises a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. He rolls his eyes in response.

A comfortable silence stretches between them, one that's somehow warm, even though the air conditioner is always blasting in their school. She reaches across the table for his hand and laces their fingers together easily, giving his hand a squeeze. She's the gentlest with him, touching him in ways she's never really touched anyone else. She's all claws and sharp edges usually, but Mason makes her melt. Maybe it's his patience, or his relentless kindness. In his freshman year of high school, when Erica had met him, he had been a vibrant ray of sunshine in a world of darkness.

"So why are you telling me?" She asks, dragging her thumb over his knuckles. She counts them as she does. There are five, like always, but she double and even triple checks to be sure.

"I will if you want me to," she says without a pause between sentences. She doesn't want to make him ask. Telling her he's still semi-closeted had probably been hard enough for him.

Her eyes raise up to his face and she bites her lip, trying to look nonchalant. The whole idea of it was insane, since she can't imagine acting romantic with Mason, but she also thinks, with a glance at their hands, that the way they normally act is enough to fool most people. If they add in a shared t-shirt and maybe some empty condom wrappers, they can pull this off. At least, she tries to look like she believes that.

"Really?" He's never sounded so relieved. He squeezes her hand and she knows from the grin that stretches across his face that she's made the right decision. She tries not to look pleased but it doesn't work out. Her face splits into a grin mirroring his, and they look like Cheshire cats, huddling in the library together.

She nods. "Yeah."

His smile grows somehow, and hers does too. Her face hurts, but her heart is warm and soaring, bubbling away happily in the warmth of Mason's friendship.

"Thanks, Erica."

"Anything for you," she mumbles. She means it. He tells her that he'll give her the rest of the details once he knows more and they settle back into studying, their fingers still comfortably entwined.

                                                       ***

It's a week later when her phone rings, a lazy Saturday afternoon that finds her laying on her stomach in bed, scribbling away in her journal with her favorite pen. It startles her but she scrambles for it. She smiles to herself when she sees that it's Mason.

"Hello?"

"Hey, listen... I know I told you I'd warn you," he starts. He hadn't really, but he's an apologetic person, so she leaves it. He's nervous enough anyway. "But my dad wants to know if you want to come over for dinner tonight?"

Erica catches her reflection in her mirror, and she hisses softly at what she sees. Sweat pants and an oversized t-shirt, blonde hair thrown up in a messy bun, a total lack of makeup. She looks at the clock. It's already 4 o'clock, and she's not sure that even Lycanthropy can make her look presentable in time to meet her fake boyfriend's parents for the first time.

"What time?"

"Like... 5:30? We'll probably eat around 6 and I can have you home by 8, unless you want to hang out after."

"Obviously I want to hang out after," she grumbles. She's a little annoyed that it's so late in the day, but it's hard to be annoyed at Mason on a normal day, much less one where he's already pretty stressed out. She sighs, defeated. "I'll be there at 5:30."

"Oh," he falters for a second. Her brow furrows a bit, but her face melts into a grin when he continues. "I was gonna come pick you up, for the full girlfriend experience." He chuckles nervously.

She mirrors it with a nervous laugh of her own. "Yeah, okay. Pick me up, but come around 5. If you want a girlfriend, you're gonna have to sit downstairs with my dad while I take forever getting ready."

He groans playfully, but he sounds less stressed. "I will never understand straight men."

"Honestly, same."

They laugh together for another few minutes before her eyes find their way back to the clock. 10 minutes of her precious hour have dwindled by.

"I gotta get ready, Mason," she says.

"Alright, alright." He pauses for a moment, then cheekily adds, "Hey, wear something nice okay? Look presentable."

"Oh my God, I could show up in a trash bag and look amazing."

"You're not even wrong."

"I know. Listen, I really do need to go."

"I know, sorry. You're the best, Erica. I'll see you soon."

"Yep. Soon." She looks at the clock again - 5 more minutes, wasted, and she flinches. "Super soon. Bye."

She hangs up and tosses her phone onto her bed, retreating into her bathroom to get started on making herself look nice.

***

She's ready by the time Mason shows up. She guesses that he's trying to give her the full boyfriend experience too, because he shows up 10 minutes later than he said he would. He sends her a text from the driveway, telling her he's there, and she fires back for him to knock on the door, like he's supposed to.

She runs her fingers through her hair again before she bends forwards, bowing her head so she can get her fingers to the roots to tease some extra body into it. She doesn't need much help, really, but it looks even better when she stands back to her full height, falling in a stylish mess she'd straightened while she waited. She spritzes perfume on, just a dab, and looks herself over in the mirror one last time. She's wearing a red, pleated skirt and a white v-neck tank top and a leather jacket thrown over it, with a bra that offers minimal support so her (awesome) figure isn't too accentuated, and a pair of killer black Loubotins that Derek had bought for her just before he left.

She doesn't linger on the thought of him though, or the thought of Isaac, and especially not the constant, nagging memory of Boyd, even when she puts on her favorite necklace: a ring congratulating him for graduating JROTC that he'd never even gotten to wear, preordered by a proud father, on a simple silver-colored iron chain she had chosen ironically. She raises her shirt and drops the necklace behind it, finding a moment of comfort in the coolness of the metal against her skin. She wonders, just for a second, if her dad is downstairs thinking of Boyd too, while he makes idle conversation with Mason, the same way he used to when she would drag out getting ready just to see how long he'd wait.

Tears spring up but she suppresses them, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her knuckles. He's gone, and messing up her eye makeup isn't going to bring him back. She thinks he'd be proud of her for helping Mason out like this anyway, so for both his sake and her own, she can't think about how the last time she spent this much time getting ready was for a date with a boy who had died a hero in her arms.

She clears her throat and applies a thin touch-up coat of red lipstick, then she's out the door in a flurry of black, red, and unresolved feelings.

                                                       ***

His mouth goes dry when he sees her. He understands those movies now, when the girl comes down the stairs in slow motion and the boy is blown away. There's something so theatrical about it, the never-still swing of her hair, the bounce of her chest, the sway of her hips, the vulnerability in her face as she tries to pretend she isn't watching for his reaction. He gives it to her with a slightly slacked jaw that turns into a grin as she gets closer to him

"You look beautiful," he says. Her cheeks light up for a second but she rolls her eyes still, shoving a purse into his hands.

"Here ya go, boyfriend. I'm giving you the full experience," she reminds him, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. When she's close, she mumbles, "Thank you," just for him. He nods.

"Are you ready to go?" He looks her up and down, awkwardly clutching onto her purse. She nods, and he turns to her dad, holding his empty hand out to shake. He takes him up on the offer immediately. "Hey, J, I'll catch you another time, huh?"

Her dad nods. He knows what she's doing, and he's told her already that he thinks it's sweet. He grins at them both, a bit cheeky but mostly sincere.

"You kids have fun."

Erica rolls her eyes, but Mason chirps, "We will!" She grabs his hand and pulls him outside before they can get started talking again. It's already 5:20 and he lives a few blocks away.

                                                       ***

They're late, but Mason's family doesn't seem bothered. She's never been greeted with so much love, actually. His mom, Wanda, hugs her so tightly that it makes her rib cage ache, and his dad, Michael, does the same. They smile at her like they've known her forever, and they're so nice that she almost feels bad for lying to them.

At least, she would feel bad, if she couldn't smell stress and anxiety rolling off of Mason in waves. Once she's free from his parents, she finds his hand with hers and laced their fingers together, giving him a comforting squeeze.

When no one is looking, she mouths, "It's okay." He looks grateful, and his chemosignals relax some. It's enough.

                                                       ***

They end up sitting in the living room with Wanda while Michael finishes up dinner. She's so friendly, asking Erica a million questions and complimenting her nonstop. Erica thinks that the boy who marries Mason in the future will be lucky to call this family theirs. Wanda reminds him of Melissa McCall in the best way possible. Her heart warms at just the thought of her.

"So you're older than Mason, right?"

"Yep! Barely, though. I just turned 17 last month."

"And you're a senior?"

She gets this question a lot. She smiles. "Yeah, I'm a senior."

She hopes the next question won't come, but she knows without a doubt that it's going to. She holds her breath.

"Are you going to let Mason take you to prom?"

She has to fight back a sigh. She's been systemically fighting off thoughts about prom for a while, because she and Boyd had already started to make plans for it during their Junior year, and it's almost impossible to think about it without thinking about him. Her chest constricts, but she fights through it. She tugs her necklace out of her shirt and subtly closes her hand around the ring.

Boyd would want you to keep supporting Mason, she reminds herself. Don't make him eat dinner alone.

Concern washes over Mason, and she can sense that he's looking at her even if she isn't looking at him. His concern isn't for himself, though. It's for her. He knows all about Boyd and their prom pact. He scoots closer to her on the couch and lays an arm over her shoulder, pulling her body against his. She's grateful for the contact.

After a few seconds, as long as she can pull off without raising suspicions, she plays off her momentary panic as shyness and shoots Mason a glance from the corner of her eye before she bows her head, smiling softly. It's fake, but not entirely. She does feel oddly nervous here, because she's still trying to make a good impression on his family. She wants them to like her so she and Mason can stay friends without awkwardness when they break up. And, if she's honest, thinking about prom with him actually isn't so bad. Part of her has been hoping Isaac will come home for it, but she knows that's a long shot.

"I mean... I don't know," she says, forcing herself to sound bashful and humble, of which she is neither. She scrunched her face up and shrugs. "It hasn't come up, but I'd love to go with him, absolutely." She's surprised that she means it.

Mason clears his throat. "Yeah, Mom. I'm gonna take her to prom. Definitely." He leans over to press a kiss to her temple before he pulls away from her.

"But for right now, I'm going to go see if Dad needs any help." He lingers, his eyes finding Erica's. "You good?" She knows he doesn't only mean being left with his mom, and she smiles in spite of herself at his sincerity. She nods.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Alright babe, just let me know if you need me." She's going to have to tell him to drop the 'babe' ASAP, because it sounds unnatural as hell, but his mom seems charmed by it. A moment of silence stretches between them once Mason leaves. Erica is uncomfortable, and she finds herself at a complete loss for words, so she settles for playing with her ring.

"You know," Wanda says after a moment. Her voice is thick with emotion, and the air of the room is heavy with it too. It's a wonderful smell, a mixture of gratitude, love, and pride, the likes of which Erica has never encountered from her own mother. Mason is lucky, she thinks again.

Erica looks at her as she continues, "I don't want to scare you off, but I'm glad Mason has you." She chuckles sadly, locking their eyes together from across the room. "You're a really good friend, coming here with him tonight."

Erica's stomach drops, and so does her jaw. She tries to recover, stammering about how she's not just his friend, but Wanda shuts her down with another laugh, sadder now, and shakes her head.

"A mother knows, Erica. I've always known."

She thinks of fighting again, because it's not her place to out Mason, but she chooses to avoid the situation altogether.

"I would do anything for him," she says, surprising herself with the intensity of her voice.

Wanda looks her over for a moment before she nods. "I believe you." There's a fresh rush of affection in her chemosignals, and Erica hopes its for her. They go back to talking about mundane things like school, prom, and college while they wait for dinner.

                                                       ***

Michael Hewitt is nice. He's a little on the quiet side, contradicted by how outspoken he is, and how excitable he can be when the right subject comes up, but Erica sees where Mason came from in him. She's enraptured by him while they eat, laying a thick foundation of praise for everything from his cooking to the house's decor, both of which he takes full credit for.

Eating with them reminds her of eating with her own family, the one she's lost, but she's surprised to find that she isn't sad. She's nostalgic, but she's happy. She thinks Boyd must have been right when he said no one should have to eat alone, because the simplicity of sitting down to a meal with anyone other than herself makes her feel brand new.

                                                       ***

After dinner, she and Mason are in his car. It's 9 PM and they're driving to the beach. They're making casual conversation and rehashing the night. She hasn't brought up what happened with his mom yet, because he's so happy that she's almost intoxicated from the smell, and she doesn't want to lose it yet. One of her hands holds onto his and the other holds her necklace, with a finger loosely hooked into the ring. It's far too large for her, but it's comforting, giving the illusion that she has room to grow.

                                                       ***

The beach is dark and as empty as beaches get in California. They find a nice spot by themselves, high up on a rock, and they stretch out under the stars. She stays up on her elbows so she can look out into the ocean, drinking up the serenity of it. The soft lap of the waves against the shore, the smell of the sea hanging heavy around them, the occasional flop of a fish out deeper than any human can hear. The silvery light of the moon shining down on her makes her feel regenerated, even if it's far from full. She enjoys just being there with him for a while, until her secret eats its way out of her.

"I have something to tell you," she starts. He nods, encouraging her, and she spits it out the best way she knows how, "Wanda knows. I mean, totally knows. She told me that I was a good friend for what I did tonight."

There's a sharp intake of breath from him, and a hurricane replaced the calm of his chemosignals. It smells terrible, anxiety and anger and confusion, so she breathes through her mouth instead of her nose.

"Did you..." He trails off though, finding the question ridiculous before he even says it. "Is she.. okay with it? Did she seem -" he falters, his voice cracking. He's quiet for a moment before he finishes in the softest of voices, "Disappointed?"

A sharp saltwater smell that's not from the sea cuts through the air and she realizes, a bit blown away, that he's started to cry. It's a single tear for now, but it's still a tear. Lightning reflexes kick in and she wipes it away before he has a chance to react. He tries smile, but it only sends more tears rolling down his cheeks. She wipes those away with her thumbs and cups his face lovingly, finding his eyes in the bright light of the moon.

"No," she says, her voice firm. He seems doubtful. "I can tell how people feel, you know, from their chemosignals, and she wasn't disappointed." He sniffles sharply, and shakes his head.

"You'd lie to protect me," he protests. Her instinct is to argue, but it's true. Seeing him cry is making her own eyes wet but she blinks her tears away, determined to focus on him.

"I'm not right now. Mason, I swear, she wasn't disappointed. She was the opposite of that... She was proud. She is proud." She pulls him to her with ease, taking advantage of being a werewolf while he's a human, and pulls him into her lap, hugging him tightly against her chest.

"I wouldn't lie to you about this."

He doesn't say anything. He tries to keep himself together but he melts eventually, sobbing into her chest for a few minutes until he's quieter. His scent is different, thick with relief. There's gratitude too, and affection, and selfishly, Erica hopes part of those are for her.

She's so focused on him that she doesn't notice he's touching her necklace until he asks, "This was his, wasn't it?"

The question catches her off guard and suddenly, she's the one tearing up. She hesitates before she nods.

"Yes," she says, needing to speak to stay out of her head. "His dad got it for him. He was going to give it to him when he finished JROTC, but... He never got to. He didn't even know it existed. His dad gave it to me after his funeral." She doesn’t mention that this isn’t the ring she expected him to give to her. She doesn’t mention that she thought she was going to marry him someday. It’s too hard to say that. Her hand closes over his, her fingers sneaking through the gaps in his to press against the ring. She aches for the comfort of it, the only thing of his she has left to touch, and the warmth of Mason’s touch in equal parts. She’s thankful when she finds both, but it doesn’t dull the ache in her chest. "I wear it all the time. It's weird, I know, but -"

He cuts her off. "It's not weird. What's weird is that you won't talk about him. Or Isaac. Or Derek. Or Allison. You and your friends just pretend none of them ever happened. Liam says Stiles was even possessed once? Why do you guys ignore that?"

He doesn't intend for them to be, but his words are brutal. She bows her head, ashamed, and hides her face in his hair.

"I don't know," she admits, her voice just barely over a whisper. The waves washing up almost drown it out, but unfortunately for her, they’re not quite that loud, so she continues, "Because it hasn't even been two years and I've lost.. I-I didn't have anyone before, but that was nothing like now. Now that I’ve had, and then I don’t, and...” She pauses suddenly with a sharp shake of her head. “How could Isaac leave? Or Derek? How could Stiles and Lydia be so goddamn irresponsible about Boyd? Why didn't anyone listen when Lydia said not to find her? It's not -" She stops, her voice hardening a bit. "If we talk about it, we have to deal with it, and we have to deal with who did what and someone has to take the blame. We need each other. You've dealt with a lot, I know, but... We've been through a lot of really shitty things too. Stuff no one else understands. We have to forgive and forget, no matter what. We need each other more than we need closure or resolution."

Mason looks a bit surprised, but when he says, "That actually makes a lot of sense," she can tell he means it.

Things go quiet again, except for the waves licking at the sand. She holds him until he starts getting squirmy. When she lets him go, he settles beside her again, staying so close that their thighs press together. She feels lighter, somehow, like he's taken some of the weight off of her just by being there for her. It's been a long time since anyone was, weeks, maybe even months.

She wants to tell him that she appreciates him. She wants to tell him that he makes her feel better, while again. She wants to tell him that being his friend is one of the greatest things she's ever done, that he reminds her of Boyd and Isaac, loyal and intelligent. Most of the words stick in her throat, but she manages to get out, "I love you."

He looks over at her for a few seconds, visibly taken aback, but he ends up grinning. He nudges her thigh with his.

"I love you," he says back.

She reaches for his hand at exactly the moment that he reaches for hers and their fingers tangle together into comfortable familiarity. She glances up at the sky and allows herself, for the first time, to think of Boyd without pause. She knows he would be proud of her. Wherever he is, whether it's heaven or the great beyond or just a place where he's found peace, she's proud of him, too.

[gamecube-blog]

mason/liam + “I got you a present.”

approx 800 words of fluff set after s4 but before s5, for the send a ship & i’ll write you a drabble meme i did a few months back. yikes @scott-lydia, i’m sorry this took me forever and a day. i actually stumbled across it half finished while i was organizing my notebook and decided to try to finish up these prompts in my inbox so expect a lot more from me in the next few days!!

Liam doesn’t talk about his birthday much. He doesn’t necessarily dislike it, though. It isn’t like anything traumatic ever happened to him on it, and it doesn’t remind him of anything sad; there’s no poetic reason for it, it just doesn’t usually come up. He usually lets the day come and go without saying much. It isn’t worth making a fuss.

True to his nature, he turns 16 quietly over the summer between his Freshman year and his Sophomore year. He has cake with his dad and Mason on his front porch. He thinks about how lucky he is to be there. He glances at Mason, and thinks about how he’s even luckier to have him there too. Their eyes meet and they smile at one another, teeth smeared with chocolate.

(Liam wonders for a split second, whether or not the chocolate in Mason’s mouth tastes different from his, and he realizes that he wants to find out. He has nothing to do with this information, so he simply lets it be.)

***

“Your birthdays are always nice,” Mason tells him later.

They’ve both had a shower and brushed their teeth and the air of his bedroom is pleasantly thick and warm, fragrant with body wash, minty toothpaste, and cologne. Mason is in a plain white t-shirt and basketball shorts and Liam is in a BHHS Lacrosse shirt and basketball shorts. They look like the epitome of summer vacation.

“Yeah.” Liam turns his head to look at his friend, waiting for him to continue. Mason rarely says a simple sentence without any elaboration. He talks more than anyone Liam has ever known. It’s one of his favorite things about him.

“A little quiet, though. Are you sure you don’t want a party? I could get you a party. Maybe Lydia would let us use her lake house again…” He trails off, looking thoughtful.

Liam nudges his shoulder with his and shakes his head. “Nah, man. I like it how it is. Just us,” he says, before he catches himself. His tongue twists and he spits out, “And my dad.” It’s a bit more awkward than it needs to be, an obvious fumble on his part.

Mason’s eyebrows arch, and Liam can tell right then that he knows. He can read him like a book.

Their eyes linger for a second and Liam wonders, dumbly, if Mason is going to kiss him. He leans over like he might, and their noses are just about to touch, and then he whispers, “I got you a present.”

Liam sighs audibly and Mason laughs. He looks pleased, though, like the almost kiss was just a test. Liam wonders if he passed it, but he thinks that he must have because Mason is  still lingering close, so close that he isn’t entirely sure if he’s being toyed with or not until suddenly, Mason’s mouth is on his.

He tastes like cinnamon toothpaste and everything that Liam never knew he wanted but knows he can never come back from. His hands come up to cup his face and he pulls him closer, kisses him deeper. He kisses him until he can’t breathe anymore, until his lungs are aching and even then, he stays close. He inhales Mason’s every exhale, raising his eyes up to his face.

They look at one another - gaze, really, is a better word, because Liam can see a million things in Mason’s eyes that he knows he can’t find the words for because he feels the same way, until finally, Liam breaks the silence.

“So… Where’s my present?” A playful grin stretches over his face and Mason mirrors it, rolling his eyes. He leans in to drag his kiss swollen lips over Liam’s, making his way over his jaw and up to lightly nip at his earlobe. A flood of heat exploded inside of Liam, his heart slamming away in his chest. He feels a bit overwhelmed, honestly. He’s thinking of saying so, but he doesn’t have to, because Mason speaks instead, his voice breathy and warm against his skin.

“I’m going to let you beat me in Mortal Kombat,” he whispers. Somehow, he really does sound seductive. Liam laughs a lot louder than he should, at least halfway because he’s a perplexing cocktail of surprised, relieved, and disappointed, but also because Mason is probably the funniest person he’s ever met, if he doesn’t count himself.

“Oh my God. That’s the worst present. You’re the worst friend.” He shoves him away from him, but he still stands up to put Mortal Kombat into his XBox. They both know that Mason is too competitive to let Liam win, even if it is his birthday.

“I’m a better boyfriend,” Mason replies. It catches Liam off guard, even though he can still taste him in his mouth and he knows beyond a reasonable doubt that he hadn’t imagined making out with him just a few moments before.

He glances at him from the corner of his eyes, arching his eyebrows. “Oh, really?” He tries to look busy searching for Mortal Kombat. The truth is that it’s right by his hand. Mason slips up behind him and reaches around him to pick it up, sliding an arm around his waist. He pulls Liam back against him and holds the game out to him. Liam takes it, finding himself equal parts uncomfortable (because his heart has literally never hammered so quickly) and relaxed (because it’s Mason, the safest place in the world) which leaves him sort of just standing there, existing in his best friend’s space.

“Mhmmm…” Mason murmurs. He nuzzles his nose against the side of Liam’s neck and that’s all it takes to make him melt into his arms. His head falls back onto his shoulder and he lets out a content sigh that is just loud enough to be embarrassing. He feels Mason grin, and he squeezes him gently. “Do you wanna find out for yourself?”

Liam is quiet for a moment, his grip on the game case in his hand suddenly so tight that his knuckles are turning white. He feels the pull of the wolf inside of him and he is, for a moment, unsure of how he’s going to be able to control it since it’s always been Mason who pulls him back and Mason is the one causing it to try to break free, but a soft kiss to the temple from Mason calms it immediately.

He’s probably never felt more like his entire life is just a jumble of newspaper clippings put into a bag, shaken, and dumped out onto a tabletop for better or for worse, but one thing is for sure.

“Yeah. I wanna see if you’re a better boyfriend than you are a friend. You kind of have to be, right? The bar isn’t very high.” But even as he ribs him, he’s grinning. He glances at him from the corner of his eye and pulls away from him to put their game in.

As he settles down onto his bed with Mason a few minutes later, his lips freshly swollen from kisses stolen between his game shelf and his bed, and his best friend (boyfriend, now) lays back on the bed with his head in his lap, everything the same and yet somehow different, Liam realizes that his birthday very well could be the best day of his life - or least this one is.

[scalira]

New Gen April Week 1: an AU of your choice: If I Stay AU

Hayden and Paige couldn’t be more different, but they find each other through music. Though Paige enjoys classical music while Hayden goes to loud concerts and gets a kick from the sound of drums, that doesn’t form a problem between the two of them. They make their own symphony.

Everything is good between them and they are convinced they will stay together forever, but then tragedy strikes. Paige gets into a car accident and has to fight for her life. Meanwhile, Hayden has to concider a life without her girlfriend.

Question is, how could Hayden move on if Paige gets left behind?

[kirasderek]

Kira Rarepair Week --> Day 1: Favorite Ship

Multiamory March --> 7/??

Kira has a problem.

Well, actually, she has something like twenty problems, the worksheet in front of her blank except for her name in careful print at the top. Her shoulders had sagged with relief when the disinterested man at the desk up front turned out to be a substitute. She escaped the hourly expectation to introduce herself to a room full of kids who don't care and found her own seat at an empty table behind the full rows of seats. For about two minutes, she'd gotten to relax.

Her tablemate shows up with a tardy slip that their temporary teacher barely glances at, handing him a thick stack of papers to hand around. Kira tries to be at least a little subtle, watching from the corner of her eye as he counts out enough for each row leader to pass back. He's tall and round-cheeked, eyebrows arching when he catches sight of her and keeps two worksheets rather than one before he heads right toward her.

It's been ten minutes and she hasn't managed to do anything since. Her brand new (to her, at least – the edges worn) textbook is open in front of her, pencil poised and ready. The work is only a review of the first semester of physics, stuff she could recite in her sleep after the constant pop quizzes in New York. The high school only a few blocks away had clever shirts, printed upside down with every equation they could need; her dad laughed for ten minutes when her teacher's midterm study guide proclaimed in bold italic type that they would not be working from cheat sheets in college.

“Page seventy-four.” Kira snaps her gaze away from the upside-down name on the top of his paper. Vernon. “For the first four problems. One of them's straight out of the examples.” His voice is warm but quiet, deep brown eyes still trained on his own work. “And eighty-nine for the next three.”

She whispers, “Thanks,” as softly as she can while she turns the pages, and twice more when he directs her after. Once she's started, the work is comes easily, but she doesn't have the heart to tell him that she knows what she's doing when he's been so nice. Instead, she pauses after every set of problems, biting her lip while she waits for him to notice her pencil's gone still. They finish at almost the same time, five minutes before her schedules says the bell will ring. He takes both papers to the front for them, collecting a few more as he makes his way there, stacking them on top of the early hand-ins – the redhead's, taken up by her Abercrombie model friend with his own.

When the bell rings, she gathers her bag and binder slowly, waiting out the rush so she doesn't have to push through the crowd. Vernon hangs back with her, digging through his booksack and coming up with a brown paper bag. “You have lunch this period?” he asks, his voice deeper but just as warm at this volume. “I can show you the caf.”

There's a map stapled into the front cover of each other notebooks and binders, but she nods at him anyway, tongue thick in her mouth. She watches the way his arms stretch at the hems of his sleeves while he hefts both straps over his shoulders and leads the way. It isn't far, but there's a turn that Kira wouldn't even have noticed for all the disjointed groups of underclassmen blocking her view. Vernon can see over all but the tallest of them, though, and he offers her the loose end of one strap to hold onto while they wind their way between unmoving shoulders and feet placed just right to trip over.

He takes her through the line – apparently, the bag is only holding a couple of cupcakes from home – and recommends the pizza over the sloppy mess they seem to be calling lasagna. The salad and appple that come with it don't look half bad. Maybe there's hope for public school food, after all. The table they're beelining for has four people at it already. Three, really, considering two of them are attached at the mouth, a mess of lips and tongue.

“Really,” Vernon says flatly, and the girl pulls away, smiling and unashamed.

“I didn't see him this morning. I never complain about you and Scott.”

The tiny spark of hope in Kira's belly is extinguished. She watches Vernon skirt around the edge of the table, lean into another boy – Scott. They all laugh, comfortable and familiar, at the feather-light kisses he drops on Scott's crooked jaw. He's handsome, almost absurdly so, with soft-looking hair and a bright smile that he turns on her without pause.

“So, how do you know Boyd?”

Kira keeps her secret safe through three weeks and five dates. Not that she realized they were dates until the third time she found herself alone with the boys who may or may not be her boyfriends, now. She's too skittish to ask, afraid to scare either of them away. If one goes, she'll lose both, she knows. That's the last thing that she wants, especially in a school full of strangers who don't seem interested in learning her name. She can afford to be shy about this, wait for one of them to speak up.

The physics study sessions, though, are getting a little ridiculous. Scott doesn't even take physics, focusing on biology and chemistry because he wants to go to veterinary school after college. He still helps, though, checking her practice problems against the book or against Boyd's answers. She never purposefully gets an answer wrong – it's like lying, makes her stomach squirm with unease- but she plays fast and loose with the math, not checking over her work before she hands it over. He's so encouraging when she only misses one or two from the set, showing her paper off to Boyd.

Boyd is walking through her through the latest lesson himself, though, slow and simple, building from everything else he's been so patient with her about. It's too much, finally, watching him search her face for a sense of recognition, of getting it.

“I know all of this,” she blurts, flushing.

She gets a blinding smile in return. “Yeah? You're getting it?”

“No, I mean...” Kira hesitates, glancing from him to Scott, labeling the insides of one animal or another, tongue still poked between his lips even when he looks up at them. “I had an A in physics last semester. At my old school. I like it. The math's not that hard, and they made us memorize all of the equations.”

Boyd's smile falters, lips pressing tight into a straight line as he takes it in. Kira's lungs seize up, thoughts racing to the inhaler zipped into Scott's backpack and the other, safely stashed in the top drawer of Boyd's bedside table. Just as her heart's threatening to thump out of her chest, the silence snaps, replaced with Boyd's rich belly laugh.

“You let us treat you like you had no idea?” Scott asks. “I'm sorry. We should've known, you're really smart -”

“It's alright,” she assures him, hardly able to believe he's apologizing for something caused by her own dishonesty. “Not everyone's that's smart is good at school. I kind of actually do need help in English. If either of you has some thoughts on Ms. Blake's essay due on Friday.”

When he kisses her, Boyd is still laughing, pleased noises pressed to her lips. She dissolves into giggles before too long, feeling Scott's fingers walking up her socks before he flops on his belly to join them. The physics textbook falls to the floor, papers fluttering across the carpet, and they ignore it.

It's Erica who turns out to be the English tutor of their group, her wild, expansive vocabulary a little too flamboyant for Kira's writing. They work things out, though, barely a few feet from Boyd help Scott with his history flashcards, from Stiles stressing over his photocopy of Lydia Martin's math notes. Her A in physics is pretty solid again this semester, her high C in English climbing every day. More than her grades, though, she feels her spirits rising. She still has to put up with her dad's horrible teasing and obviousness every day at school, her mother's tendency toward asking fifteen questions every time she sees Boyd or Scott. Most people still don't know her name. For now, though, she figures that's just find. She'll gladly answer to 'Boyd and Scott's girlfriend'.

[saviourfinn]

I was filled with poison             But blessed with beauty and rage

[maliayukimura]

the coyote princess

[blueshawaii]

one. you can’t remember a time before him. you think were born with his soul wrapped around yours. finding him was your destiny, fulfilled at age 5. you think with him, everything will be easy (- you’re wrong, but not entirely) two. he’s got the sun in his smile. you look for it every day, every time the tide of the anger you’re constantly fighting against gets too high. you count how many times you can make it shine just for you, blinding and beautiful. you lay awake at night and wonder how it can make you feel so warm. three. “you’re my best friend,” he says. you tell him he’s your best friend too. (you don’t mention that he’s your only friend) four. it’s 2 am when he tells you that he likes boys. his words tear through you, find the pandora’s box of “kiss me kiss me kiss me” you’ve been crushing closed for years and rip it open. it bleeds out until every atom of your body cries out for his. your fingers tremble by your sides. you wait for him to tell you that you’re the one for him, the boy who made him realize he didn’t want girls. but he doesn’t. he just asks if you want to watch a movie and even if what you want is for him to kiss you until you see stars, you say yes. five. he has a gentle voice and a soft touch to soothe the fury that rests at the base of your spine. he’s the only one who can reach into the churning ocean of your rage and pull you out again. the only one who looks at you the same even when you’re soaking wet, dripping anger and resentment and blood that may or may not be yours. the only one. your only one. six. your teachers put you in his classes. “so he can keep you in line,” they say. you know he can’t, nothing can. (but if anything could, it’d be him) seven. you think high school will be different but it isn’t. you’re as angry as ever, maybe angrier with age and you only have to snap once to be booted from the fancy school your dad was so proud to send you to. you can’t meet his eyes when he drives you home. your phone buzzes right when you get to your room. “you okay?” it’s him. you tell him the truth, yes. you tell him a lie, yes. you tell him everything except what you need to tell him the most. you fall asleep at noon and you dream of him. eight. he’s your first thought when the boy becomes a beast and sinks his teeth into you. for the first time, you’re glad to be away from him. nine. “why weren’t you on the bus?” it’s a question with a simple answer but there’s weight, for you. you look up at him and you think that you can’t tell him the truth. not now, maybe not ever. the gentleness in his eyes is something you can’t afford to lose. you gape and he stares until you finally just say, “how did you find me?” even though you might have been the one to find him, you can’t remember. all you see are sharp teeth, too many teeth, sinking into skin and ripping, tearing, blood dripping splattering. you have chills on a 90 degree day. “i could find you anywhere,” he says. he’s joking, so you force yourself to laugh. but you hope it’s true because even you can’t find you anymore. ten. there’s something inside you. feral, bloodthirsty. your anger slides into it like a missing piece from a puzzle and his eyes on you are the only thing keeping it from swallowing you whole. eleven. you become a beast. it feels inevitable. whether it was the hatred stewing in your stomach or the boy with too many teeth, you were destined for this. you have sharp claws and even sharper teeth and, as the stories say, who could ever love a beast?

twelve. as it turns out, both of you.

[gamecube-blog]

♥ otp / sterica meme  »  8/8 quotes

[scalira]

Good civilian

Written for: New Gen April Week 1, Day 1: Favorite ship including Hayden, Liam, and/or Mason Pairing: Mason/Corey Summary: my take on the "holy shit you just saved me from getting run over by a bus" au  Words: 1k Also using this for my ‘Mason x Corey’ square on my TW bingo card

Mason is known to be very fast. With everything. He’s a fast talker, a fast reader, fast learner. He gets bored fast, he gets excited fast, he falls in love fast and he walks fast. Liam always tells him he just lives fast, barely taking the time to take in what's happening around him.

That's the problem. Mason never has time.

He prides himself in the fact that he's a skilled multi tasker. He could do his homework while simultaneously catching up with Liam over the phone, could cook his famous pasta while cleaning the house and he could read a book while crossing the street.

At least, that’s what he thought.

In his defense, he’d been slacking lately, procrastinating till no end and putting off all his homework till waves of anxiety kept him awake at night. So really, he didn’t have a choice but to try and finish the assigned book on his way to class.

Mason has the tendency to get lost in books, even if he doesn’t really like them. Honestly, if he could choose, of Mice and Men wouldn’t have been his first pick. But even so, he's still lost in the pages, all tangled up in the words as he tries to make it to class.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t bump into anyone as he walks down the sreet. Everyone seems to see him coming, the boy with his nose in his book, and gets out of his way before there can be an accident.

Unfortunately, the bus driver doesn’t see him coming like the people on the street did.

Mason doesn’t realize he’s crossing the street, too focused on the few last pages of his book. He doesn’t think about looking to see if there’s any traffic approaching or to cross on a pedestrian crossing. He just keeps walking.

It all happens really fast, even for Mason. First, there’s the noise; honking, slamming brakes, people screaming at him. Then the smell of burned rubber, probably from trying to stop so fast. Mason doesn’t even have the time to look up to see what’s happening before a body crashes into him and knocks him off his feet.

He falls onto the pavement and hits his head against the curb. A hot, stinging pain spreads where he hit his head and Mason’s vision blurs.

There are hands on his body; on his shoulders, his neck, his cheeks.

“Hey, are you okay?” The voice is distant and wrong, like Mason is listening to it under water.

“Can you hear me? Are you hurt? Hey, can someone call an ambulance?”

Mason tries to open his eyes and groans. Everything is too bright. He blinks a few times to get his vision back again and stares into a pair of deep brown eyes, furrowed brow above them.

“Hi there,” the person hovering over him says.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Mason squints, lifts up a hand to rub his head.

“Four?” He mumbles.

“Oh, man. You hit your head pretty hard, didn’t you?”

“Well, technically... you hit my head.”

The boy above him snickers.

“Well, I also happened to save your life.”

“I’ll thank you when the world stops spinning. Can you help me up?”

The boy takes Mason’s extended hand and supports his neck as Mason tries to sit up. His vision immediately blurs again and he groans in pain.

“Oh, dude. You’re bleeding.”

“Again, not my fault.”

“Jeez, you’re a witty one, aren’t ya?”

“I try.”

The boy orders him to close his eyes and lie down again. This time, Mason’s head doesn’t hit the curb but something soft. The boy must’ve taken off his sweater to make a pillow for him.

“The ambulance is gonna be here any second now. Just hang in there, alright?”

“I hit my head, man. I’m not dying.”

“Hey, just doing my duty as a good civilian.”

“I know, I know. So,” Mason rubs his eyes, not daring to attempt to open them again, “what’s your name?”

“Corey. What’s yours?”

“Mason.”

“Well, Mason. I can imagine at least fifteen better first meetings than saving you from getting hit by a bus, but it’s nice to meet you anyway.”

“Right back at ya.”

Mason needs stitches in the back of his head from hitting the curb so hard and the doctor orders him to stay in bed for at least two days (’stay in longer if the dizziness doesn’t subside, okay?’) which really isn’t helping Mason with his anxiety about unfinished assignments.

He doesn’t have to stay in the hospital over night and is ready to leave when there’s a knock on the door and a head peeks through it.

“Mason?” The boy standing in the doorway asks.

“Yes?”

The boy enters the room completely now, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m uh - I’m Corey. You know, the guy that gave you a concussion?”

Mason smiles at him.

“You also saved my life.”

Corey breaks into a smile and he immediately gets ten times more attractive that way.

“That I did.”

Mason hops off the hospital bed he was sitting on, momentarily blacking out and stumbling backwards. Corey’s immediately there to grab his arm and steady him.

“Thanks,” Mason breathes shyly, suddenly very aware of the firm grib Corey has on his upper arm.

“Just doing my duty as a good civilian,” Corey winks and Jesus Christ. Jesus. He’s adorable.

“So, uh... can I take you out for a drink as a thank you for saving me?” Mason asks, leaning into Corey so he won’t lose his balance again.

“Well, considering you’re already leaning against me like we’re dating, how can I possibly refuse? How about I give you my number and you call me when you’re feeling better?”

“Awesome,” Mason smiles, and he has to fight back the giggle fit he’s about to have. He blames it on the painkillers, of course. Why else would he feel so giddy and smily all of the sudden after just almost dying?

Corey carefully lets go off Mason’s arm, as if he’s scared Mason will fall once he lets go, and takes Mason’s phone from the bedside table. Mason unlocks it for him and Corey quickly types in his number before locking it and handing it back.

“Call me,” he says with a grin before squeezing Mason’s hand and walking out of the room.

When Mason checks for Corey’s number, he sees Corey called himself ‘the cute guy who saved your life’.

That sounds about right.

[twrarecharacternetwork]

IT’S NEWGEN APRIL!

NewGen April is an event to celebrate some of our favorite new generation rare characters of Teen Wolf! Any character who first appeared in Season 4 and on is considered a NewGen character. (A full list of NewGen rare characters can be found here.)

Each week of the month will be assigned a different group of characters to focus on and each day a different prompt in hopes of generating more content for these lovely characters. All types of creations are welcome! (Gifsets, Fic, Fanart, etc.)

Your creations can include OldGen characters (any character who first appeared in Season 3b or earlier) and NonRare characters (Derek, Stiles, Allison, and Lydia) but the main focus must be on the New Gen rare characters of that week.

Make sure to tag any creation you make with #newgenapril within the first five (5) tags so we can reblog it here and spread the love!

More information on the individual weeks and their associated prompts is below the cut! 

April 1st and 2nd: “Free for all”

Any NewGen rare character creations are up for grabs for the first two days of the month so go crazy!

Week 1 (April 3rd – 9th): “Silver Trio” ⟶ Hayden Romero, Liam Dunbar, Mason Hewitt

Day 1: Favorite ship including Hayden, Liam, and/or Mason Day 2: Character Highlight Day – Liam Dunbar Day 3: An AU of your choice Day 4: Character Highlight Da – Hayden Romero Day 5: MOGAI headcanon creations Day 6: Character Highlight Day –  Mason Hewitt Day 7: Free Choice

Week 2: (April 10th – 16th) “The Villains” ⟶ Garrett, Violet, Theo Raeken, Corinne (Desert Wolf)

Day 1: Character Highlight Day – Garrett Day 2: Origin story headcanons Day 3: Character Highlight Day – Violet Day 4: Teaming up Day 5: Character Highlight Day – Theo Raeken Day 6: Role reversal AU Day 7: Character Highlight Day – Corinne (Desert Wolf)

Week 3: (April 17th – 23rd) “The Chimeras” ⟶ Tracy Stewart, Donavan Donati, Corey, Josh Diaz

Day 1: Character Highlight Day – Tracy Stewart Day 2: Pack dynamics Day 3: Character Highlight Day – Donavan Donati Day 4: Polyamory headcanons Day 5: Character Highlight Day – Corey Day 6: An AU of your choice Day 7: Character Highlight Day – Josh Diaz

Week 4: (April 24th – 30th) “The Others” ⟶ Brett Talbot, Deputy Valerie Clarke, Marie-Jeanne Valet, Lori Talbot

Day 1: Character Highlight Day – Brett Talbot Day 2: MOGAI headcanon creations Day 3: Character Highlight Day – Deputy Valerie Clarke Day 4: Quotes/song lyrics Day 5: Character Highlight Day – Marie-Jeanne Valet Day 6: Origin story headcanons Day 7: Character Highlight Day – Lori Talbot

[50-points-for-ravenclaw]

So this is my Teen Wolf Rare Character BINGO Card! I don’t have prompts open right now (because I’ve bit off more than I can chew with everything else as usual) but I’ll hopefully be opening those soon! 

Go check out @twrarecharacternetwork!

[banshee-cheekbones]

Braeden/Kira - ‘My clothes look good on you.’

~550 words of domestic fluff! also using this for the ‘she’s so nosy’ square on my Rare Character Bingo Card! 

on ao3 here.

By the time Braeden hears the bedroom door creak open, she’s drank half a pot of coffee, read the entire weekend edition of the paper, and compiled a grocery list sub-categorized by which store has the best deals on certain products. Kira’s shuffling footsteps veer into the bathroom and moments later, the water starts running. Braeden gets up and flicks on their electric kettle; it’ll be a few moments before Kira gets out of the shower, but the kettle is an older model that takes a few minutes to boil so, if she times it right (and she’s certain she will), she’ll have a cup of tea on the table at the exact moment Kira stumbles in.

She places the cup down mere moments after the bathroom door opens, and she sits back down in her own chair just as Kira shuffles into the kitchen. Her hair is wrapped up in an intricately knotted towel, and the curve of her neck is slick with water. She’s also wearing Braeden’s clothes, a tank top and pajama shorts, both of which are too big on her.

Braeden’s never been particularly fond of sharing her things with others, but for almost five years, Kira has been the exception, particularly when it comes to clothes.

“Good morning,” Braeden says, sipping her fresh cup of coffee. Kira mumbles something incoherent, grabs her cup of tea and drags it to Braeden’s side of the table before unceremoniously flopping down onto Braeden’s lap, chin digging into the top of Braeden’s head. Braeden snorts quietly and drops her hand from her coffee mug so that she can wrap her arm around Kira’s waist instead.

“I thought you were going to sleep in today,” she asks, sliding her hand under the hem of Kira’s (or rather, her) shirt and smoothing a thumb over the smooth, still damp skin of Kira’s hip.

“Tried,” Kira mumbles, pressing her face into Braeden’s hair. “But I forgot to turn my alarm off last night, and I couldn’t go back to sleep once it went off.”

“You can always nap later,” Braeden says. Kira makes a sound that might be agreeable before reaching out and grabbing her mug from the table. Braeden isn’t much one for the taste of tea, but there’s no denying that it smells rather pleasant, and she inhales deeply as the scent passes her nose. Kira takes a tiny sip and sighs contently before dropping her chin to the top of Braeden’s head again.

“Anything interesting in the paper?”

“Is there ever?” Braeden replies. “Mrs. Margolis was on her front stoop though. Stared at me the entire time it took me to get the mail.”

“She’s so nosy,” Kira grumbles. “You think she’d be over us by now.”

“Some people don’t have anything better to do than be nosy.” When Kira leans forward to put her mug back on the table, Braeden intercepts and does it for her. When she leans back, she twists so that she can see Kira’s face, still a little puffy from sleep. “By the way, have I ever mentioned that you look good in my clothes?”

Kira flushes pink, fingers dropping to the baggy fabric of her stolen tank top.

Braeden grins and leans up to steal a kiss.

[banshee-cheekbones]

title: sync up the cuts (to the bass drum kick) [ao3: here]

main pairing: Laura Hale/Stiles Stilinski

rating: G

word count: ~600 words

written for: the 'making music’ square on my Teen Wolf Rare Character Bingo card and for day 2 of Shipping With Stiles 2017!

Watching Laura perform is like watching a tornado decimate a town.

She’s only been singing for five minutes, but her cheeks are flushed scarlet, and her neck and collarbone are covered with droplets of sweat. The glaring lights overhead glint off the hoops threaded through her nose and lip and illuminate the intricate, vividly colored tattoos covering her bare arms, and every time she shifts, the inked wolves and vines and ravens seem to move as well, like they have minds of their own. Her tank top and black jeans, littered with holes from years of wear, are stuck to her like a second skin. Her long, black hair, streaked through with shots of neon-pink and deep red, is a tangled, wild mess, and every time she shoves it away from her face, it falls right back into place. Her eyeliner and mascara are starting to bleed down her face, but her cherry red lipstick is still firmly in place, doesn’t budge as she spits out lyrics that started their lives at the end of Stiles’ pen.

The stage is only a few yards across, and her four inch stilettos have already covered every single inch of it that isn’t taken up by one of her bandmates or a piece of equipment. She’s done a few of her signature backbends, each of which elicited a roar of approval of the crowd, and while she hasn’t yet kicked over a stack of speakers or gone crowdsurfing or swung the microphone cord around her neck (and nearly brained Malia and Erica in the process), Stiles knows that all of those will happen in good time.

As she snarls the chorus of the first song they ever worked on together, she drops to her knees directly in front of where Stiles is standing, sandwiched between the edge of the stage and the rabid crowd. Without missing a beat, she presses one finger under his chin and tilts his head back, until she’s screaming mere inches from his face.

The lyrics coming from her mouth are anything but joyful, but the smile splitting her face, reaching all the way up to her piercing green eyes, is nothing less than delighted.

She stays like that, fingernail digging into the underside of his chin, eyes locked on his, until Malia launches into her guitar solo, the sound as loud and sharp as a buzzsaw. Only then does she close the space between them, pressing a deep, messy kiss to Stiles’ waiting mouth. She tastes like lipstick and peppermint, and although she only has a few moments before she has to sing again, Stiles presses his tongue against hers and slides his hand into her hair.

He feels rather than hears the moan that slips from her mouth.

All too soon, long before he’s ready to actually stop kissing her, she has to go back to singing. With one last press of her mouth against his, she leaps to her feet and goes back to racing across the stage, screaming louder and louder, hair flying around her reddened face.

It’s the same thing that happens every show, happens at the same moment in the same song, but while Stiles has experienced it hundreds of times in hundreds of venues of varying sizes, while it’s long since become routine, the kiss is still his favorite part of Laura’s show.

He's fairly certain that it’s going to remain his favorite for as long as she keeps stepping onto a stage.

[banshee-cheekbones]

"Autumn Fic Meme" baking or cozy night in + boyd/kira pretty please?

here’s 500 words of domestic fluff! on ao3 here.

warnings for brief mentions of food poisoning and subsequent hospitalization. also written for the ‘it didn’t come with instructions’ square on my teen wolf bingo card!

Beyond the glass of the living room window, Kira can see nothing but hints of streetlight and a wall of rain.

It’s been raining on and off for most of the day, but only in the last hour has it turned into an outright downpour. Long streaks of water are running down the window and the rhythmic beat of it grows louder and softer intermittently. No headlights pierce the night and even the sickly orange glow of the streetlights is barely visible, dim as the ember of a cigarette in the vast expanse of the dark night.

Kira sighs dejectedly and drops her chin to her crossed arms.

So much for date night.

“It’s still coming down pretty hard, huh?” Boyd asks, stepping up behind her and dropping one broad hand between her shoulder blades. Kira nods and leans back slightly into his touch.

“Don’t think it’s going to stop anytime soon,” she mumbles and, on cue, the rain starts to lash even harder against the already soaked glass. “I just checked Facebook, and they cancelled movies in the park. I don’t think they’re planning on rescheduling.”

“I’m sorry,” Boyd says, stooping over and kissing the top of her head. She leans back against his stomach, just taking a moment to bask in the contact. As always, he’s unreasonably warm, comfy in a t-shirt while she’s huddled in one of his sweaters to keep away the cold.

“We can still have a date,” Boyd mumbles after awhile, thumb slowly brushing up and down along Kira’s spine.

“Do you really want to drive in this weather?” Kira asks, finally taking her eyes away from the window and spinning around on her stool, widening her legs so that Boyd can stand closer.

“No,” Boyd replies, full lips curving into a closed-mouth smile. “That’s why we don’t have to leave.”

“Wait,” Kira says, “you mean the place downstairs?” There’s a diner on the first floor of their building and, if they stuck close to the side of the apartment complex, Kira’s pretty sure they could get inside without getting more than a little damp.

However, the last time she ate there, she ended up with a case of salmonella bad enough to put her in the hospital for a day. She doesn’t want to disappoint Boyd, but the thought of eating there again makes her stomach churn preemptively.

“Definitely not,” Boyd says, and Kira sighs gratefully. “But we have chocolate chip cookie dough in the freezer. And that new board game Stiles bought us.”

“It didn’t come with instructions,” Kira points out, a smile spreading across her own face. Boyd shrugs his broad shoulders and pulls her to her feet, tugging her in close.

“We’ll make some up.” Where her cheek is pressed against his chest, Kira feels his deep voice rumbling, and she lets her eyes drop closed, just for a few moments, just so that she can properly savor the moment without being distracted.

“Okay,” she murmurs, locking her arms around his waist, fingertips just barely touching together. “But you’re in charge of the cookies. I’m not setting the oven on fire again.” Boyd laughs and presses another kiss against the crown of her head.

“Deal.”