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onlyfortaetae · 2 months ago

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- STOLEN PANTIES

ᴀᴜ: ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴍʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴛᴀ��ʜʏᴜɴɢ sᴍᴜᴛ sᴏ ᴛʜɪs ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛ.

-> PAIRING: kim taehyung x female reader

-> GENRE: boyfriend au, smut

-> SUMMARY: your pink panties go missing and you find out what your boyfriend had been doing with it.

-> CW/TW: boyfriend!taehyung, masturbation(m), unprotected sex, creampies.

NOTE: don't like, don't read

(do not interact if you are a minor)

It was Saturday, and the air had the scent of fabric softener. The drone of the washing machine provided a steady rhythm to the morning, a comforting reminder that the weekend had arrived. For a brief moment, you felt the weight of the week's worries lifting off your shoulders, replaced by the anticipation of freshly laundered clothes. As you sorted through the pile of laundry, you noticed that your favourite pink panties were missing.

You searched through the tangle of shirts, socks, and underwear, feeling the softness of the fabric against your fingertips. The frustration grew with each unraveled knot of clothing that did not reveal the sought-after prize. You paused, frowning, and glanced around the room. Perhaps you had misplaced them while changing, or they had slipped out of your laundry basket and found refuge elsewhere.

With a sigh, you decided to retrace your steps, heading back to your room with the intention of conducting a more thorough search. The bed was unmade, a testament to your rushed morning routine, but you hoped that maybe you had left them there, a small beacon of pink among the sea of white sheets and pillowcases. You tossed aside the blankets and peered under the mattress, feeling the coolness of the floorboards against your knees. Nothing.

The scent of your perfume lingered in the air, reminding you of the moment you had discarded them. It was a faint hint of vanilla and musk, the same scent that had filled the room when you had returned home from a long day at work. You had been tired, but the comfort of your own bed had beckoned, and you had shed your clothes with a weary grace, allowing the panties to glide down your legs and puddle at your feet. Perhaps they had been kicked aside in your haste to crawl under the covers.

You knelt down and began to sift through the garments on the floor, feeling the softness of your clothes as they whispered against your skin. Each piece told a story of its own, a silent testament to your week's activities. The black skirt spoke of a professional meeting, the cotton t-shirt of a lazy afternoon lounging around the house, and the lacy bra of a night spent in anticipation of something more. But amidst the cacophony of fabric, your eyes remained trained on the prize: the pink panties that had somehow vanished into the fabric of your existence.

As you moved to the living room, you recalled the previous evening. Your boyfriend, Tae, had come over, bringing with him a bottle of your favorite wine and a hopeful smile. He had helped you unwind, his strong hands massaging your shoulders as you recounted the trials of your week. The memory of his touch was still warm against your skin, and you wondered if he had seen your panties when he had carried your laundry to the basket. The thought of his eyes lingering on them, a secret shared only between the two of you, sent a shiver down your spine.

You called out Tae's name, the sound echoing through the empty house. His laughter from the night before lingered in the air, a phantom memory that only served to amplify the silence of his absence. You checked the kitchen, the dining room, and even peeked into the shower, half expecting to find him lounging beneath the stream of hot water, the pink fabric held up as a teasing flag of conquest. But the house was as quiet as it had been when you first awoke, the only reply to your calls the muffled thumping of the washing machine in the background.

Disappointed but not deterred, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You pulled out your phone and sent a quick text, your thumbs flying over the screen with the ease of muscle memory. "Tae, have you seen my pink panties anywhere? They seem to have gone missing." You hit send with a smirk, the playfulness of the message a stark contrast to the seriousness of your quest. As you waited for his reply, you couldn't help but wonder if he had any part in this curious disappearance. The thought made your cheeks flush and your heart race with a mix of frustration and excitement.

Minutes ticked by, the washing machine's cycle nearing its end, but no response from Tae. You decided to continue your search, feeling the coolness of the floorboards as you padded into the hallway, the softness of your bare feet a stark contrast to the firmness of your resolve. You called out his name once more, louder this time, hoping the echoes would coax him from his hiding place. But the only reply was the distant hum of the air conditioner, a constant companion in the silent dance of the weekend.

The door to Tae's room was slightly ajar, and you pushed it open with a gentle nudge, the wood groaning softly as if whispering secrets. The room was a mess of discarded clothes, tech gadgets, and the faint scent of his cologne. The bed looked untouched, the pillows still in their perfect place, the sheets pulled tight like a fresh canvas awaiting its artist. You felt a pang of disappointment—perhaps he had not been the culprit after all. But then again, Tae had always been good at hiding things.

You began to rummage through his dresser drawers, the sound of fabric shifting and metal on metal as you moved his neatly folded clothes aside. The feel of his shirts, still warm from his body, brought a smile to your face despite the gravity of your mission. The smell of his cologne grew stronger, mingling with the faint scent of your laundry detergent. You found nothing in his sock drawer, nor in the pocket of his jeans that you had thought might be a good hiding place.

Moving to the closet, you slid the door open with a gentle ease, revealing a wall of his clothes, all neatly hung, and a floor littered with shoes. You stepped over them, feeling the coolness of the tiles beneath your feet as you scanned the area. Your eyes fell on his laundry basket, a mix of his clothes and yours from when you had done his laundry the last time. With a sudden jolt of hope, you reached in and sifted through the pile.

Your hand brushed against something smooth and silky—could it be? You pulled out the fabric, your heart racing, only to find a pair of his boxer briefs. Disappointed, you tossed them aside and continued searching, pushing aside his t-shirts and pants. The scent of his clothes, a mix of his sweat and cologne, filled your nostrils, sending a wave of longing through you. Despite the frustration of your quest, you couldn't help but feel a warmth in your chest at the thought of his presence in your home.

As you turned to leave the room, a gust of cool air wafted in from the open window. It whispered through the curtains, carrying with it the scent of rain and the distant sound of children playing. It was then that you realized you had been so focused on the indoors that you had not considered the outdoors. A strange feeling nagged at the back of your mind, an inexplicable pull towards the open space beyond the walls. You decided to step outside, the mystery of your missing panties momentarily forgotten.

The porch was slick with the early morning dew, and the coolness of the wood sent a shiver up your spine as you padded out barefoot. The air was alive with the promise of rain, and the trees swayed in the gentle breeze, their leaves rustling like secrets shared among old friends. You scanned the yard, the vivid greens and yellows of the plants stark against the grey clouds that loomed overhead. The pebbled walkway led to the clothesline where your laundry hung limply, the pink panties nowhere to be seen.

As your eyes wandered to the driveway, they tuned into something unexpected—Tae's car. It sat there, parked haphazardly as if he had arrived in a hurry. Your heart skipped a beat, and you approached the vehicle, the mystery of his whereabouts deepening. The windows were tinted, but as you leaned closer, you could make out his silhouette through the glass. He was inside, his movements frantic and erratic.

With a trembling hand, you reached for the handle and pulled the door open. The sight that greeted you was shocking, to say the least. Tae sat in the driver's seat, his pants around his ankles, and your pink panties stretched around his erection as he stroked himself. The moment your eyes met his, he froze, his cheeks flushing a deep red, but he made no move to cover himself or stop what he was doing.

"I found them," he said, his voice low and raspy with need. The grin on his face was unmistakable—a blend of mischief and pure, unfiltered lust. His eyes remained locked on yours, as if challenging you to be the first to look away. The fabric of your panties was drenched with his arousal, and as he resumed his strokes, the material clung to his skin, revealing every contour and vein of his cock.

You felt a warmth spread through your own body, a delicious heat that started in your core and radiated outwards. "Tae," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. Your eyes trailed down to his hand, watching as he pumped himself, his movements growing more urgent. The sight was intoxicating, and you found yourself swaying slightly, your body responding to the rhythm of his strokes.

"I was looking for those," you said, still standing in the doorway, the cool morning air playing across your skin. Your tone was even, but the slightest tremble betrayed your excitement. Tae's eyes remained on you, his pupils dilated with lust. He didn't speak, but the way his hand tightened around your panties was all the response you needed.

With a sly smirk, Tae leaned back in his seat, his hand still working your panties over his swollen member. The rain began to patter against the windshield, each drop a silent beat in the symphony of desire that hung in the air. "They seemed to fit me quite nicely," he said, his voice thick with want. The fabric of your underwear was stretched taut, the pink a stark contrast against his tanned skin.

You stepped closer, the rain kissing your legs and soaking into the fabric of your shirt, clinging to your skin like a second skin. The chill of the water sent a thrill up your spine, mingling with the heat that had taken root in your belly. "You know you're not allowed to touch with my things without permission," you admonished, but the playfulness in your tone belied any real anger. The scent of the rain and the heady aroma of arousal filled the car, creating a potent cocktail that intoxicated both of you.

Tae's eyes never left yours as he continued to stroke, the fabric of your panties gliding over his cock with a wet, needy sound. His hand moved in a blur, the tension in his arm speaking louder than words ever could. "But you left them out, begging to be found," he argued, his voice strained. The way his muscles tensed and released with each stroke was mesmerizing, a silent confession of his desire. You felt your own panties growing damp as you watched, your breath coming in short gasps.

With a flicker of decision, you stepped into the car, the warmth of your body enveloping him. You slammed the door shut, cutting off the world outside. The rain grew heavier, the drumming on the roof a primal beat that seemed to sync with the pounding of your heart. "Well, since you found them," you murmured, sliding onto his lap, "I guess you should return them to their rightful owner." You straddled him, your knees pressing into the leather seat, your soaked shirt clinging to your breasts.

Tae's eyes widened with surprise, and he paused his stroking for a brief second before his hands found your hips, urging you closer. You felt the heat of his cock, the wet fabric of your panties sticking to your skin as you ground against him. He groaned, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body, making your toes curl. The rain outside grew into a crescendo, a backdrop to the intimate dance playing out in the confined space of the car.

The fabric of your panties clung to him like a second skin, a vivid testament to his illicit indulgence. The rain's rhythm grew more insistent, each droplet a silent applause for your shared secret. You reached down, your fingers tracing the line where Tae's cock met the softness of your underwear, the contrast of the wet fabric and his hot, hard flesh sending a jolt through your body. The world outside was a blur of water and color, the only reality the two of you in that tiny, steamy sanctuary.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you slid the drenched panties down his shaft, watching as his cock emerged, glistening with pre-cum and rainwater. He was so hard, so ready for you, the veins standing out in stark relief against the velvet smoothness of his skin. You felt a thrill of power, a heady rush of desire that made your head spin. The scent of him filled your nostrils, a potent blend of sweat, lust, and your own arousal.

You leaned in, your breath hot against his ear. "You're going to return these to me now," you murmured, your voice a seductive purr that sent shivers down his spine. He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. You took his hand, guiding it to your own panties, which were soaked with need. He stroked the fabric, the wetness of it a silent confession of your own desire.

With a growl, Tae pulled you closer, his cock pressing against your slick folds. You could feel the heat of him, the promise of what was to come, and it made you whimper with need. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, the tip of it nudging insistently against your clit. You raised your hips, guiding him home, feeling the stretch and burn as he filled you completely. The sound of the rain outside was drowned out by your gasps of pleasure, the slickness of your bodies the only music in the car.

Your hips began to move in time with his, the friction of skin on skin creating sparks of pleasure that shot through you like lightning. The leather seat was cool and slick beneath your ass, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Each stroke was a symphony of sensation, the wetness of your panties mingling with his precum, creating a slickness that only amplified the intensity.

Tae's hand found your breast, his thumb flicking over the hardened nipple, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You arched your back, pressing into his touch, your eyes never leaving his. The rain hammered against the car, the sound a cacophony that matched the rhythm of your lovemaking.

The air was thick with the scent of sex, the windows fogging up as your bodies moved in perfect harmony. The taste of him was on your lips, the feel of him inside you a drug that you couldn't get enough of. Each thrust was a declaration of need, a silent vow of passion and lust that echoed through the car and into the soaking wet world outside.

The climax built slowly, a crescendo that grew with each stroke, each touch, each gasp. You could feel it coiling in the pit of your stomach, a tightness that grew and grew until it was all you could think about. Tae's grip on your hips tightened, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding.

And then it hit you, the orgasm crashing over you like a wave, stealing your breath and making your body convulse with pleasure. You threw your head back, crying out his name as you came, the sound of your ecstasy lost in the cacophony of the storm.

Tae followed suit, his body stiffening as he released his own pent-up need, the warmth of his seed filling you completely. The tension in his muscles eased as he slumped back into the seat, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding.

You leaned into him, your forehead pressed against his, the rain's tempo slowing to a gentle patter as the storm outside mirrored the one you had just weathered together. The fabric of your panties lay forgotten between you, a symbol of the barriers

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takingchences · 2 months ago

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𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 𖤟 killer queen

Where Savanna Rios, the reigning queen of Beacon Hills High, learns that while she may be at the top of the social food chain, she's not the only predator prowling the halls.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x siren!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language, dark themes, death, blood/gore, attempted assault

series masterlist + other works

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Junior year was supposed to be a return to normalcy. After the tumultuous events of last year, Vanna was hoping that her remaining time at Beacon Hills High would be smooth sailing from here on out. She should've guessed that her peaceful summer was nothing more than the calm before the storm.

The new semester started with a bang. Literally.

The cheerleader entered her first period class, which happened to be Advanced English. She was surprised to see Scott McCall there, but then again, she didn't know the boy very well. The rest of the troublemakers were also present, the only two available seats near Stilinski and Greenberg. She chose the lesser of the two evils, sighing heavily as she dropped into the open chair behind Stiles. The sheriff's son turned in his seat to greet her. "Hey," he smiled.

"Hi." The ravenette responded without looking up from her phone. Just Danny asking if she going to Heather's party after tryouts were over. She declined, pointing out that she hadn't spoken to the girl in years. The blonde had transferred to another school at the end of sixth grade. Crashing her birthday party didn't seem like the best idea. The drama that would ensue wasn't worth the free booze.

"How was your summer?" Stiles had an elbow on her desk to prop his head against.

"Alright." She set her phone down on the desk. "I spent most of the break on the beach." Despite living in the small town of Beacon Hills for half of her life, San Diego would always be her true home. She visited as often as she could, going swimming and hanging out with her old friends from cheer camp. Her mother refused to return to the city, but kept their old beachfront house for old times' sake. This year's trip had been extra fun because Danny had tagged along. He'd unfortunately had to cut the vacation short for a week of Coach Finstock's mandatory lacrosse boot camp.

"Right, yeah. Danny mentioned going surfing." He scratched his temple nervously. "Well, you didn't miss much. It was actually pretty boring around here."

She shook her head with a wry smile. "Beacon Hills? Boring? I doubt it."

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a number of ringtones. Vanna flipped her phone over as Stiles dug his out of his pocket. There was a new text from an unknown number. A dark-haired woman walked into the classroom holding her phone up as she quoted Heart of Darkness. Savanna crossed her arms, her mocha-colored eyes narrowed into slits as she observed the woman. She introduced herself to the class as Jennifer Blake, their new teacher.

The lesson had hardly begun before Scott was pulled out of class. The rest of them were quietly taking notes when Stiles noticed a bandage on Lydia's ankle. "Lydia-"

"Do you mind?" Vanna glared at him from beneath her lashes, her glitter pen poised above her journal.

"Sorry." Stiles glanced back at the cheerleader before leaning over to get Lydia's attention, making sure to keep his voice down. Savanna tried to ignore them and pay attention to the board as Stiles grilled the redhead about her dog. "Has it ever bitten you before?" Lydia thought about it before shaking her head. "Okay," Stiles shifted in his seat. "What if it's the same thing as the deer? You know, like how animals start acting weird before an earthquake or something?"

The redhead arched a brow. "Meaning what? That there's gonna be an earthquake?"

"Or something." Stiles insisted, sensing that she wasn't fully convinced. "I just... maybe it means something's coming. Something bad."

Lydia looked dubious. "It was a deer and a dog," she shrugged. "What's that thing you say about threes? Once, twice-" A loud bang on the window caught everyone's attention. Vanna dropped her pen when she saw blood splattered on the glass. Ms. Blake moved towards the window to investigate. The panicked cries of the bird made the cheerleader shift uncomfortably.

The cries grew louder and more frantic as hundreds of crows flew towards them, their black bodies blocking out the sky. Their teacher jumped back as a second bird crashed into the glass, then another and another until the cracked surface finally gave way. Dozens of birds forced their way into the classroom, causing a full-on panic. The students ducked, throwing their arms over their heads for protection against the sharp beaks and talons. "Get down!" Ms. Blake screamed.

The squawking, combined with the screams, was near deafening. The ravenette winced, pressing her palms against her ears to block out the noise. Stiles shoved Lydia's desk aside and moved to duck underneath it when he noticed that Savanna hadn't moved. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were parted in a pained scream as she clutched the sides of her head. "Van!" He yelled over the noise, grabbing her forearms and pulling her down to the ground with him and Lydia.

"Van, come on!" He cradled her head with his arm, using his other to protect the redhead beside them. He laid his head on top of Vanna's, keeping her pressed against his chest as he tried his best to shield the girls with his body. Much the same as last year, she realized, when they'd been trapped inside the school with the Alpha... which she still hasn't received an explanation for now that she's thinking about it. Stiles had stuck by her side that whole night, consistently placing himself between her and the danger they faced. Even now, he didn't hesitate to prioritize her safety over his own.

He was warm and his lean frame felt surprisingly muscular as she and Lydia clutched onto him for dear life. His chest heaved up and down rapidly as he sucked in short breaths of air, shouting reassurances to both girls as he fought to be heard over the cacophony.

It felt like hours before the last bird crashed down onto the linoleum, lifeless. The students slowly peered out from their hiding spots. Blood and feathers covered every surface.

Savanna slowly peeled herself off of Stiles, her willowy frame trembling from the adrenaline. She stared at the carnage around them in dazed confusion, softly shaking her head. Everything felt hazy, like her mind was caught between sleep and consciousness. "Van," Stiles' voice sounded muffled despite his proximity. There was a sharp ringing in her ears, making it impossible to concentrate. "Van, hey, look at me." Stiles spoke louder, gently cradling her face and turning her to face him. "Shit."

"What?" Lydia leaned around him to look, her voice cracking.

"She's bleeding." Red rivulets ran down her neck from her hairline. He pushed the thick, black hair aside frantically, looking for any fresh cuts only to find nothing. More blood dribbled down the side of her neck. "Where does it hurt, V?" She squinted at him, softly shaking her head. His voice still sounded like he was underwater, but it wasn't as bad as before. Vanna slowly raised a hand to her ear, only to touch something warm and wet. When she pulled her hand away, her fingertips were stained crimson. Lydia and Stiles stared at her hand in shocked horror. "Van? Where does it hurt?"

"It doesn't." Her voice was soft, quiet. The opposite of her usual self.

Stiles urged her to go to the nurse to be checked out but Savanna refused. She grabbed her bag before going to the locker room and wiping the blood off the best she could with a wet paper towel. Her hearing was already back to normal, the momentary tinnitus thankfully gone. She could almost believe that the whole thing never happened... that is, if she ignored the dried blood on the collar of her letterman jacket.

Most of the students involved in the incident chose to leave early, but the Rios girl stayed. Cheer tryouts were scheduled to start right after school let out and as captain, she needed to be present. Danny stayed glued to her side for the rest of the day, constantly asking if she was okay. She had a sneaking suspicion that Stiles had run his mouth about her "injury."

Tryouts lasted for hours, with Vanna drilling routines into them as the sun sunk lower in the sky. Eventually, she called it a night, noticing their exhaustion. If she pushed them much further, then someone was bound to get hurt. The cheerleaders were dismissed and Vanna loaded her bags into the backseat of her car before checking her phone.

Stiles, Danny, Scott, Allison, and Lydia had all texted to check on her, with Stiles being the most persistent of them all. She secretly appreciated their concern, even though she vehemently denied being friends with most of them. She honestly didn't even know how Scott or Allison had her number.

Please text me so I know you're alive, was the last real text Stiles had sent, which was thirty minutes ago. He'd then proceeded to send her different emojis with zero context to the previous conversation every two minutes to bug her into responding faster.

She shot the boy a quick message telling him she was headed home and to stop blowing up her inbox before starting the car. Vanna turned into the preserve, taking her usual shortcut. The Rios home was in a secluded area of woods bear the lake on the edge of town. Her mother valued their privacy and wanted to enjoy the tranquility of the nature around them. The shortcut shaved about seventeen minutes off her commute.

The ravenette frowned as her car suddenly rolled to a stop. The lights of the dashboard died and her headlights flickered out, shrouding her in pitch black. She cranked the keys a couple times, waiting for the engine to roar back to life only for nothing to happen. Her car was still fairly new and was checked regularly. The gas tank was nowhere near empty, so she was stumped as to what the problem was. She grabbed her phone and left the car, turning on her flashlight. She popped the hood and held up the flashlight, looking for something out of place. Everything looked fine, which only confused her further.

Savanna jumped, her phone slipping out of her hand as the car radio blasted to life, filling the quiet air with eerie chanting in a foreign language. The headlights suddenly turning on momentarily blinded her, forcing her to shield her eyes. "What the hell?" She grabbed the hood of the car and closed it. There was a rustle of leaves and a cool rush of air behind her before she was struck in the back of the head.

The cheerleader cried out, her upper body crashing against the front of the vehicle. She slid down until she was on her knees, her head throbbing. A thick cord wrapped around her neck and squeezed, cutting off her air supply. She gasped, clutching her neck. She scratched at the gloved hands gripping the cord, clawing at her attacker's hands and arms as her body thrashed wildly. She tried to scream, but it was nothing more than a strangled whimper.

A cool press of metal against her neck was the last thing she remembered before her entire world went dark.

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A rusty red truck slowed down as the headlights caught a figure walking robotically along the side of the road. The driver checked the time, noting that it was after midnight. From the back he could see that it was a slim girl with long legs and straight black hair wearing a maroon cheer uniform."Hey, sweetheart," He whistled, rolling his window down and banging his hand on the side of the door to gain her attention. "You lost?"

The girl ignored him, continuing to walk forward mindlessly. Mud and dirt stained her clothes and golden brown skin, while leaves and twigs were tangled throughout her long hair.

The man glanced around, not seeing anyone else nearby. He couldn't even tell where she'd come from. There wasn't a building or an abandoned car anywhere nearby that he'd seen. "Come on, doll. Why don't you let me take you home?" He trailed after her slowly in his truck. "A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be left out here all alone."

The girl stopped, still facing away from him.

The truck crawled towards her still figure, the man's confidence growing. He pulled over and parked, leaning over to open the passenger door for her. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her. He hadn't yet caught a glimpse of her face in the dark, her features indistinguishable in the dim light. His truck was old, the dashboard lights shot to Hell. The man pressed down on the gas, propelling them forward through the light fog forming.

He reached over and ran a calloused hand over the skin of her exposed thigh, squeezing the flesh beneath the hem of her cheer skirt. She felt cool to the touch despite the reasonably warm weather out. "Didn't your mamma ever teach you not to get into cars with strangers, little girl?" he cooed. The cheerleader remained silent, motionless. He grabbed her hand and pulled it over the armrest, forcing her to palm the growing bulge over his jeans. He leaned over to sniff her hair with a low groan, biting his lip before chuckling darkly. "I hope you aren't this quiet in bed. I wanna hear you scream."

She turned her head to face him just as they passed under a flickering streetlight. The man cursed, flinching back. "Holy fuck!" He stomped on the brakes.

The teenager looked like she'd just crawled out of a grave. She sported a deep laceration spanning the width of her throat. Her hairline was matted with blood as fresh crimson liquid wept from her neck wound, coating the lower half of her neck and staining the top of her uniform. Dirt and dried blood was smeared across her face... but it was her eyes that unnerved him the most.

The pupils and irises were gone, leaving only milky white orbs. The way her ghostly eyes bore into him reminded him of a predator observing its prey. Her mouth curled into an eerie smile, her teeth glinting in the moonlight. They were stained red and looked unusually sharp.

He scrambled backwards in his seat so violently that his back crashed against his door. He fumbled for the handle, nearly tumbling backwards to the ground as he finally wrestled the door open.

He bolted for the trees, dialing 911 with shaky hands. "Hello? I-please! Help me. There's-" he shouted in surprise as the undead girl appeared in front of him. Her small, icy hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed, sharp talons digging into his flesh. He dropped the phone to grab her wrist as she lifted him off the ground.

She cocked her head, as if observing him. He screamed in agony as her sharp, pearly white teeth ripped into his flesh.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

The police cruiser parked behind the abandoned truck on the side of the road. Officer Tara Graeme stepped out, taking in the scene. The engine was still running, soft country music spilling out from the the driver's window that was rolled down. The stuffing was poking out of a few holes in the stained seats. Rust-colored smears could be seen on the passenger side door handle.

They'd traced a call to the emergency line to this area. An unidentified man had called, babbling hysterically before the line disconnected... but not before they'd heard bloodcurdling screams and animalistic growls. The officer circled the vehicle cautiously, spotting a prone figure slumped in the passenger seat.

Tara yanked the door open, reaching out to feel for a pulse when the girl's eyes suddenly shot open. Her expression was completely blank, her dark eyes empty as she looked straight through the officer. She was covered in blood from head to toe, some parts dried and flaky while most of it appeared to be relatively fresh. There was no outward reaction from the girl as Tara radioed for an ambulance. There was also no sign of the man that had placed the call, but the amount of blood at the scene told the officer that there likely wasn't much left of him to find.

Officer Graeme had a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach, remembering all of the vicious animal attacks that had plagued their quiet little town last year.

"Unidentified female, Hispanic, approximately 16 to 17 years old." She placed her free hand on the gaping neck wound and applied pressure. "The victim appears to have severe lacerations to the face and throat, as well as multiple contusions to the face and head." Tara spoke quickly and calmly, not wanting to frighten the traumatized girl further. "Honey, can you tell me your name? What happened here?" Savanna didn't acknowledge her presence whatsoever, continuing to stare through her blankly. The only indication that she was still alive was the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

"Hang in there, sweetheart." She said in a soothing voice, both hands now on the girl's throat to prevent her from bleeding out. "You're gonna be just fine."

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Scott and Stiles arrived at school none the wiser of the events that had transpired earlier that morning. They met up with their friends and Derek before class to discuss what was happening with the local animals.

The pale boy frowned when he spotted Vanna's vacant seat in English. He made a mental note to text her later and see how she was doing after yesterday's reenactment of Hitchcock's The Birds. Lydia glanced at the empty seat as well, remembering how she'd screamed herself awake last night. She snuck a peek at her phone while Ms. Blake read from the textbook.

No response. It was normal for Vanna to ignore or respond late to messages from anyone that wasn't Danny or her mother. She tried to tell herself that she was being silly and that there was nothing to worry about. But after cornering the lacrosse goalie during lunch, the redhead learned that he hadn't heard from their friend since yesterday also, which caused Lydia's anxiety to skyrocket.

The black-haired beauty momentarily slipped her mind after Lydia unintentionally drove to the public pool and found the mutilated body of a lifeguard later that night. Stiles was the first number she dialed after 911, which he did not appreciate. After giving her statement to the police, Stiles drove her home, not wanting her to be behind the wheel in her current state. She had her hand on the door, ready to jump out, only to hesitate. "Have you talked to Vanny today?"

"No," the hazel-eyed boy frowned. "Not since last night. Why?"

"I felt..." Lydia shook her head, her eyes burning with tears. The knot in her stomach grew heavier, making it difficult to breathe. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Lydia?"

She slammed the door shut, cutting him off. Stiles watched her head inside with a look of confusion. He backed out of the driveway, contemplating driving over to the Rios house, when he received a call from Melissa McCall. The nurse asked him to come to the hospital before quickly hanging up.

He pulled up to the hospital doors within ten minutes and went inside. Due to the late hour, not many people were around. He made a bee-line for the front desk, where the dark haired woman was flipping through papers. "Hey."

"Hey," she rounded the desk and grabbed his arm. "Over here," Melissa spoke in a hushed voice, as though she was worried someone might overhear. She led him down a hallway, smiling tightly at one of her coworkers as they walked by. They stopped outside the morgue as she swiped her keycard. "If you tell anyone I showed you this, I swear to God I will kill you slowly and painfully."

Stiles wasn't remotely fazed by the death threat. "Why do you want to show me a body I've already seen?"

"Because you haven't seen everything." Melissa pulled on a pair of medical gloves and pulled back the white sheet covering the body of the lifeguard. She pointed at one of his wounds. "See this around his neck?" Stiles leaned in to get a closer look. "That's a ligature mark—that means he was strangled with something, like a cord or rope."

"Okay, wait a second," Stiles held up a hand. "What kind of werewolf strangles someone? You know, that's not very..." he struggled for a better adjective before settling on, "werewolf-y."

The woman nodded. "My thoughts exactly." She rounded the table to stand by the man's head. "Then there's this," she lifted his head to show Stiles his fractured skull. The boy gagged, pressing the back of his hand to his nose and mouth. "God, man, what is that? Is that brain matter? Yeah, it's brain matter. Of course."

The McCall matriarch, ever the professional, didn't so much as flinch at the gory sight. "See the indentation?" She continued, tracing the outline of the wound with her finger. "He was hit in the back of the head hard enough to kill him." This peaked the boy's interest. His disgust was overridden by his curiosity, drawing him back over to the body. "In fact, any one of these could've killed him. I mean, somebody seriously wanted this poor kid dead."

Stiles licked his lips. "All right, so this couldn't have been Cora or Boyd, you know? They wouldn't have done all that."

"You're right," Melissa nodded, moving on to another body. "Because two girls were brought in with the exact same injuries. The first two victims were attacked just after midnight last night, which means they were attacked-"

"Before the full moon." Stiles finished

Melissa nodded and waved him over to the second body, pulling the sheet aside. "This is victim #2. The ME said this one wasn't just strangled. Whoever did it used a garrote, which is a stick that you put through the rope and you just kind of keep twisting."

Stiles stared at the dead blonde in shock, his eyes welling with tears. "Stiles?" The nurse asked, worried. "God, did you know her?" Stiles only nodded, wiping under his eyes quickly. Melissa rushed to cover the girl back up. "I'm so sorry. I didn't even think."

"I was... I was at her party." He struggled to get the words out around the sudden lump in his throat. "It was her birthday. Her name is Heather."

The brown-haired woman sighed. "Okay, we need to call your father because you're a witness." Stiles stumbled back, his hazel eyes flittering back and forth as his mind raced. "Stiles?"

He gasped, as if he'd just come to a huge realization. "You said there were two girls that were brought in, right?" Melissa agreed. He ran his hands through his hair as he paced in a small circle. "Okay, the first victim. Where is she?"

"The third floor."

He stopped pacing to gape at her. "She's alive?"

The pair took the elevator up to see the sole survivor, with Stiles bouncing on the balls of his feet as his mind raced with the possibility that these weren't random killings, but something far more sinister. He squeezed through the elevator doors before they were even fully open, Melissa rushing to keep up as he practically jogged down the hallway. "They brought her in around one in the morning. The officer on the scene originally ruled it as an animal attack, but no animal did this. I saw her chart. Cerebral contusions, throat slit, and bruising consistent with being strangled." She counted on her fingers. "The same injuries as the other two."

"It's a pattern," Stiles whispered to himself, shaking his hands at his side anxiously. He turned to face the woman with a manic look in his eyes. "Has anyone else been through here tonight? Any other bodies or even anybody missing?"

"Uh, no. No bodies, but, um..."

"What?" Stiles asked, growing impatient.

"Two girls," Melissa explained. "They brought the first one, Caitlin, in for a tox screen and then I overheard that her girlfriend, Emily, just disappeared." The woman shrugged. "I mean, they were out in the woods, and-"

Stiles' mind continued to work overtime, piecing together the information like a jigsaw puzzle. "Nobody's found her yet?"

Melissa shook her head helplessly. "I don't know."

They came to stop, just a few feet away from where a uniformed officer stood guard outside the victim's room. "Okay, the girl...?"

"Caitlin."

"Is she here? Is she here right now?"

"I-I think so?"

"Okay, where? I need to talk to her next."

"Okay, wait. Just wait a minute." The woman held her hands up in timeout, preventing an annoyed Stiles from forcing his way into the guarded hospital room. "Please."

He groaned, throwing his hands towards the closed door. "I have to talk to her."

"And why's that?"

"Because I think I know what's happening." He left her, quickly approaching the police officer stationed in front of the door. "Hey, Wayne."

"Stiles," the old cop greeted back, looking mildly amused. "Visiting hours ended a while ago. Does the boss know you're here?"

"No, and I'd prefer to keep it that way if you don't mind." Stiles pat the older man's shoulders, trying to slip around him but Wayne's massive build completely blocked the doorframe.

"I don't think so, bud. Why don't you head on home and come back tomorrow?"

Melissa nudged the teen out of the way with a strained smile. "Hi. Nurse here," she pointed at her name badge. "I just came by to change her bandages for the night." Wayne nodded, stepping aside. She thanked him, turning the knob, only to be stopped when Stiles tried to follow her inside.

"Stiles-" the guard started, holding up a hand.

"It's okay," he insisted. "I just want to talk-"

"Stiles."

The boy sighed, recognizing the voice as his father's. He turned around slowly, his face pinched in annoyance. Noah approached the group with his hands on his hips. "What are you doing here? It's a school night."

"I, uh... just stopped by to say hi to Melissa here." The sheriff crossed his arms as the teen faced Melissa. "So... hi," he trailed off awkwardly, scratching his temple as the two parents simultaneously rolled their eyes.

Noah glanced between his son and the door before a look of understanding passed over his features. "You heard, huh?"

The boy's face scrunched up in confusion, exchanging a look of surprise with the McCall matriarch. "Uh, yes?"

Noah sighed tiredly. "Look, kid. She's not in the best shape right now, but seeing a familiar face might do some good... maybe help her open up so she can give us an idea of what happened last night. I'll give you five minutes with her, but only if Melissa thinks she can handle it." He held his hand up palm out towards the younger Stilinski. "I don't want to upset her in her condition. Five minutes, Stiles. Capiche?"

Stiles nodded eagerly, his curiosity growing. "Yeah, yeah. Got it. Ten minutes."

"Stiles."

The teenager hovered closely behind Melissa as she gently knocked on the door, pushing it open. The room was dim, a bedside lamp in the corner the only source of light other than the tiny bulbs on the machines. The steady beep of her heart monitor was the only sound. "Savanna, honey? Are you awake? You have a visitor."

Stiles froze in place, feeling like he'd just been drenched in ice water. "Wait... Savanna?"

#teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #hell is a teenage girl #lydia martin #allison argent #scott mccall #melissa mccall #beacon hills #stiles x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski #noah stilinski

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sometimesanalice · 1 year ago

Text

Make You Mine This Season

Summary: It’s your second Christmas with Bradley and the holidays are always better with him by your side. After the perfect day out, you come home with a new accessory- just not the one you were hoping for.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: so much fluff and some allusions to smut and a cast that looks like a candy cane.

(Author’s Note: set in the Oh, Christmas Tree universe, can be read on its own)

You can’t fight the smile on your face as you watch Bradley studiously stare at the Christmas tree with a delicate glass icicle ornament dangling from his long finger.

“I think it need to go a little to the left, Roos,” you say, watching the way the little golden thread attached to it gleams from the many strands of white lights he had spun around it earlier in the afternoon.

The contrast between your handsome Naval aviator boyfriend and the very large, very fluffy pink Christmas tree he had bought for you would never not thoroughly charm you.

“Here?” he asks, moving the dainty icicle to the left per your suggestion.

“Maybe just a bit up?”

Bradley moves it and holds it up to a spot near the little glass Hawaiian shirt ornament you’d gotten for him. He was so amused by it that he’d given it what he called a place of honor on the tree.

“Hmm, no. I think back to the right and down a smidge.”

He turns and shoots you a smirk over his broad shoulder, “Ok, now you’re just messing with me.”

And then he hangs it on the tree with a flourish.

You laugh when he steps back and gives a dramatic sweep of the hand that would put Vanna White to shame.

Ever the showman.

He had been so excited when he’d found the ornaments in the storage locker he’d kept in Virginia earlier in the summer when the two of you had taken a quick trip to there to pack up the remaining things he’d left behind and bring them home.

The sleeves on the flannel plaid shirt he is wearing are rolled up highlighting his forearms and that snug fitting tank and the ridges of his abs on full display. You’d taken the liberties to sneak in a few glances as he’d bent over to grab ornaments out of the large plastic storage container you keep them in.

It’s an easy choice to abandon the silvery glittery Fa-la-la-la garland that you had been working on hanging on that tricky bit of wall space beneath the stairs to come stand next to him by the tree.

Plus, you know that you can get Bradley to put it up for you- even though he hates the feeling of glitter on his hands- if you offer to make him an Old Fashioned in exchange.

He drapes his arm over your shoulders and drops a kiss to the top of your head as you wrap your arms around his waist, the two of you taking a moment to admire the pretty twinkling tree in front of you with Bob Hope crooning softly on the background.

You love this tree.

And not because it is the most wonderfully ostentatious thing you’ve ever seen. Or because he’d surprised you with it when he asked you to move in with him the year before. But because it was one of the many ways he showed you just how important you were to him, just how much he paid attention to you.

Bradley kept asking what you wanted for Christmas this year, but you’d been avoiding giving him an answer.

Because he was the only thing on your list this year.

You would gladly never have a real tree again as long as it meant that Bradley got to be yours forever.

His allergy to pine trees had taken both of you by surprise last year. Before that chaotic afternoon last December, he had never had a real tree before, but it didn’t take long until his normally sunkissed skin has been covered in angry red hives.

And that gorgeous seven-foot Noble Fir that you had selected from the Christmas tree lot had quickly become Jake’s gorgeous seven-foot Noble Fir.

But you’ll never forget that magical moment when you had walked into his cozy living room to see that candy colored confection of a tree for the first time and how proud Bradley had been to be the one to make your dreams of a pink tree Christmas come true.

It was something you had only ever mentioned once in passing, but that’s who Bradley Bradshaw is. The type of man who goes above and beyond for the people he loves.

Last year, the two of you had just picked up a couple boxes of basic multicolored bobbles to hang on the tree. But this year, your pretty pink tree has some new decorations that you’d collected along the way since then.

The sparkling frosty mug was something he’d found at the airport on the way back from when you’d taken him home to meet your parents for the first time. To no one’s surprise, they’d loved him. He’d had a lot of fun at the breweries you’d taken him to and you liked getting to see a tipsy and pink cheeked Bradley Bradshaw.

There was a blue miniature model toy Bronco with a bottle-brush Christmas tree hanging out the back was one you’d recently found at a Christmas market you went to with Nat and Bob the previous weekend. You’ve never handed over your credit card for something so quickly before in your life.

There was even a shiny shamrock that Jake had picked up to commemorate your first- and last- Leprechaun Run.

It was a promise you were coerced into making in exchange for Jake’s help and the use of his truck to move your things into Bradley’s place the weekend after you happily agreed to live in with him. You were planning on waiting until after the beginning of the New Year, but Rooster wouldn’t hear of it. You were able to hold off for a few days, but he’d made some rather compelling points with his mouth that had swayed your mind pretty quickly.

That New Year’s Eve, he’d kissed you properly and thoroughly surrounded by a dozen half-unpacked brown cardboard boxes.

You thought Hangman would have forgotten about it, but it turns out the only person that had forgot was a you, because you’d nearly spit out your beer mid-sip when he’d slapped down the race bib in front of you at the Hard Deck one evening in March.

It was just as terrible as you’d imagined it would be and worse. Not even the four-leaf clover bobble headband you’d worn had cheered you up even the slightest.

The term fun run was an oxymoron and you were willing to die on that a hill.

And of course, there was also a copy of the house key dangling on a pretty pink velvet ribbon. The one he’d originally given you was a permanent fixture on your key ring.

“So what’s the verdict, sweetheart? How did I do? Is it fluffed enough?” he asks, pulling back to look down at you.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” you say grinning up at him.

You’ve loved his homey Craftsman since the first time you’d stepped inside it with all of its warm wooden paneling around the entryways and ceiling beams. The hand tiled fireplace was mostly for aesthetics rather than functionality. You’d filled it with a display of tall pillar candles, but there’d been a couple of occasions where the two of you had stacked it with wood picked up from the grocery store and had the sounds of its crackles and pops serving as the soundtrack to your cozy night in.

You loved it even more now that your books were mixed in with his on the bookshelf. On top of his upright piano there were framed pictures of you and him and of all your friends and family. On the mantle of that fireplace were ivory knit stockings embroidered with your name and his.

This was your home now too, pink Christmas tree and all.

“The best thing, huh?” he says, amused.

“Maybe second best,” you muse, sliding your hand into the back pocket of his snug jeans, “Those Danny Zuko shorts you wore last Halloween still live rent free in my head.”

“I’ve still got those short-shorts, you just say the word and I’ll go put them on for you anytime.”

You snort a laugh and pull him down for a kiss.

The two of you have been together for almost a year and a half, but the way Bradley kisses you still sets off butterflies in your stomach and makes your heart flutter.

Soft kisses. Passionate kisses. Hello kisses. See you soon- never goodbye- kisses. Just because kisses. There you are kisses. Never stop kissing me kisses. All of them turn you upside down just like a snow globe.

He pulls away first, looking to the tree again contemplatively, “You know, the more I look at this the I feel like something is missing.”

You skim over the tree with its warm glow from the many strands of lights, the sparkling ornaments, the glinting icicles, and the delicate bejeweled snowflake tree topper. Short of tying on a few bows for the fun of it, there’s nothing more you think this tree needs.

“I might have tucked a little something in the piano bench,” Rooster says with a nod towards his well-loved upright, “Why don’t you take a look.”

You try and fail to ignore the swoop in your stomach as you walk up to the bench. You already know that you want to be his forever and the two of you are on the same page about it, but you don’t want to get your hopes up. You’re trying to be practical, realistic.

But the heart wants what the heart wants, and your heart wants him.

The seat creaks open as you lift the lid open with a not-so-steady hand, and sitting inside a small box filled with iridescent filler are the prettiest pair of ceramic ice skates you’ve ever seen. You lift the dainty ornament from the box to see that they dangle from a couple ribbons that have been tied together in a lovely bow at the top. They even have a little white fluff lining the rims of boot.

It was one of the things you missed most about home, your town had a little outdoor rink that was set up every year. You weren’t the greatest skater and it had been a few years since you’d laced up a pair of boots, but it had always been one of your favorite traditions growing up.

“Oh Bradley, they’re so lovely,” you say with a dreamy sigh, “I love it, thank you!”

You admire them for another moment taking in all their little details before hanging them up on the pink tree near his little Hawaiian shirt ornament in a place of honor on the tree.

“I have another surprise for you,” he says with a grin, looking very proud of himself.

“Oh? When did you become such a man of mystery?” you tease.

“Gotta keep my girl on her toes,” Rooster winks, sliding a finger through your belt loop to pull you closer before wrapping his arms around you. “You know how Hotel del Coronado has that ice-skating rink set up now?”

Of course you did.

The tickets went on sale a little over seven weeks ago and time slots had sold out in five minutes. You’d even signed up early to try and get a spot in the queue and it still had kicked you out with empty hands.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, looking up at him skeptically.

Bradley has been on a training detachment at the time, so there was no way Mr. One Percent could have gotten them when you couldn’t. There’s just no way.

You must say that part out loud or think it loud enough for him to hear you because that gorgeous smile of his gets devastatingly self-satisfied.

“I sure did, sweetheart-”

You jump up and cut him off with a kiss, he is quick to get his hands underneath you for support while your legs wrap around him.

“Oh my god, Bradley, how?” you ask excitedly between peppering kiss across his nose and cheeks.

“Ok, I can’t take full credit. I had some help,” he admits, clearly happy with your reaction, “Nat has, and I quote, ‘fast fingers’.”

You make a little squeal in delight as you throw your arms around his neck to hug him and he laughs. It’s the best sound in the world to you.

“What do you say, want to make a day of it? I might have a few things in mind for our San Diego Christmas. We’re a couple weeks early, but I’m feeling festive.”

You get too distracted by his smiling mouth to give him your answer then and there, but you remember to officially accept later that night in bed after your heart finally stops racing.

Convincing you to move in with him might be the best thing Bradley’s ever done.

Those cool Winter nights last year had tasted like bourbon and were spent wrapped up together on the couch and under the covers.

Your first big fight had been over whose Super Bowl team was going to win. There had been a lot of trash talk that night, but eventually a peace had been brokered. And really, no one was a loser when it came to orgasms.

In the Spring, he had built you a bunch of raised garden beds in the backyard for you to grow whatever you wanted. He’d learned that he had a bit of a green thumb when it came to zucchinis, a fact that irked you to no end because you could never get them to produce anything. He didn’t know sunshine had a scent until he could smell it on your skin with your hands covered in dirt and a smile on your facec.

And he was not surprised to learn that he was also very much a fan of your sundress collection.

The golden Summer days were spent at the beach and taking road trips to nowhere in the Bronco then the long way home. Rooster burned more often than he cared to admit, but you started keeping a container of aloe in the fridge for him. He’d never say no to have your soft hands on his body, your touch more soothing than the cooling gel could ever be.

That Fall he’d finally been able to go home with you for Thanksgiving. He’d met your family earlier in the year, but you’d been so proud to show him off at the official family gathering as you’d sipped on your cranberry mimosa. And after a year of planning, the two of you had finally been able to enact your Stealthy Soufflé Scheme.

He had been determined to get his girl that closely guarded recipe no matter what.

Your Aunt Christine had been putty in his hands with all of his yes, ma’ams and no, ma’ams and charming smiles and All-American golden boy aviator thing. You’d primed him on what things she was interested in and he had fully leaned into it, sweet talk and all. It didn’t hurt that she had been a big fan of the expensive bottles Syrah the two of you had brought with you.

You and your mom had been thrilled when he’d presented you with the handwritten copy of the coveted recipe. He had been happy to do it, but he didn’t mind the way you showed him your thanks later that night in your childhood bedroom.

He was the first boyfriend you’d ever had in there, and if he has his way, he’d also be the last.

Victory- and that not-so-secret-anymore corn soufflé recipe- never tasted so good.

The two of you had had a great first Christmas together last year, excluding the slight hiccup with the whole hives thing. And he knows he’s a bit of a perfectionist, but he wants to make this one even better.

He had let you sleep in as long as he could, but he was excited for all the festive things he had arranged for today.

“C’mon, sleepy girl. We’ve got plans,” he says, skimming a few soft kisses along your shoulder.

“Do those plans involve coffee?” you mumble sleepily into your pillow.

He chuckles and brushes back a few of the hairs that are stuck against your forehead, “Of course, it’ll be the first stop after.”

You peek up at him from under your silk eye mask, he’s always liked a slightly fussy girl. You’d even got him one for his deployments to help him sleep better on the carrier.

“After what, Roos,” you ask skeptically.

“You seemed to enjoy that Leprechaun Run you did with Jake and I saw that there was an Ugly Sweater Fun Run today and I signed us up, we have to be there in an hour.”

“Bradley, you didn’t,” you say with a gasp, sitting up like you’ve been struck by lightning.

You look so alarmed, clutching the top sheet to your chest, that he can’t help but throw his head back and laugh.

“No, I didn’t. I promise,” he says, trying to pull you into his chest.

You shove lightly at his shoulder, “That was so rude of you, Bradley Peter Bradshaw.”

“Not the government name,” he smirks, leaning down to trail a couple kisses along your neck. He likes the way you always shiver when his mustache grazes that ticklish spot under your ear.

“Oh my god, I swear I just had a war flashback to that second mile when Jake tried to make me keep up with him,” you huff, leaning your head to the side to let him continue apologizing with his mouth, “You’re so lucky I’m even talking to you right now.”

“I am very lucky to have such a pretty, smart, and forgiving girlfriend. One who appreciates over the top Christmas decorations and brunch with themed cocktails.”

That piques your interest and you seem much more awake now for someone who usually needs at least two cups of coffee before becoming a fully functional human being, “Themed cocktails, you say?”

“Mhmm, they even have a Ho-Ho-Hot and Spicy Bloody Merry, spelled m-e-r-r-y,” he says with a smile, running a finger down the bridge of your nose. “But to get one, we have to get out of this bed and into the shower.”

“Sounds like it would be more efficient if we took one together, huh?” you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Plus I’m all about preserving the planet’s natural resources.”

The two of you were a little late getting out of the house, having worked up an appetite, but still manage to make it in time for the reservations he had made.

The restaurant had been swathed in miles of frosted evergreen garlands with so many oversized ornaments dangling and ribbons woven throughout that he wasn’t sure how it hadn’t come crashing down off the ceiling. Not an inch of it was left undecorated, it was all stands of lights and shiny wreaths and giant cellophane covered candies.

Brunch had been complete with a couple of those Bloody Merry’s he’d heard about from Coyote, as well as an order of Santa pancakes topped with a hat of strawberries tossed with orange zest infused syrup.

The Christmas radio station was playing all of your favorites and you were singing along as he zipped along the highway to the next stop.

The Ocean Beach Christmas tree was beloved for being San Diego’s unofficial response to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Bob had told him he’d stumbled upon it on accident one day last year when he had been exploring his new city and learned about the tree’s forty-year history and had enthusiastically recommended that Rooster added it to his festive agenda.

Bradley loved the way your face lit up at the sight of it. The top of the massive tree was leaning to the right and looked straight out of Whoville the way it decorated with all kinds of blow up pool toys. There were beach balls galore, traditional ones and ones that looked like disco balls, a few parrots, and even one shaped like an electric guitar.

“Oh my god, look!” He looks up from the text message he was replying to and follows the line of your arm to where your finger is directing his gaze, “Another bird defying the laws of physics.”

And there tucked away up in the tree next to a blow-up globe is an inflatable rooster.

On the way back into town, two of you stopped by Mission Bay to grab some more coffee and walk around the marina to check out some of the decorated boats docked for the Parade of Lights. He’d heard about it from Penny, who had even participated in the event herself a few years ago.

You’d both agreed the one that had turned the tall mast of the sailing boat into a glowing Christmas tree was the clear winner.

The next stop was something Bradley knew you’d be really excited about.

He’d found out about the Christmas centerpiece floral arrangement class from Nat who had a crush on the florist who ran the little shop.

The class was filled with mostly women, but there were a couple other men scattered around. They’d greeting him with that head nod that only men seem to exchange, like you got roped into this too, huh?, but what they didn’t know was that being there had been his idea.

Rooster was slipping his phone back into his pocket when you returned back to your little round table with an arm full of various flowers and different greens, with not a pine frond in sight. He’d even called in advance to make sure that there wouldn’t be any involved, just in case.

You were divvying up the things that you’d gathered from the long farmhouse tables in the front between the two of you when his phone pings again.

“Rooster, is everything ok? I feel like your phone is going off a ton this afternoon,” you asked, putting down the white berry looking things to look at him, a little crease there between your eyebrows.

“Yeah, of course,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Fanboy decided to invite chaos into the group chat by asking if a hot dog was a sandwich or not. It’s getting pretty contentious.”

You give him a look but go back to dividing the pile in front of you, moving on from the berry things to some small roses.

“Also, for the record, a hot dog is definitely a category of its own. You don’t call a hamburger a sandwich,” you’d replied, not missing a beat.

“You won’t hear me arguing with that logic.”

“Good. Because facts are facts, Bradley.”

He pulled out his phone again to give it one last quick skim before turning the volume down, before noticing what flowers you’d just set in front of him, “Hey, are those dahlias?”

You hold up a stem with a large deep burgundy flower for him, giving it a spin between your fingers, “They are! It’s a little late in the season for them, so I’m surprised to see them here. Aren’t they pretty?”

“Those were my mom’s favorites,” he’d said fondly, remembering a backyard from decades ago that was lined with around the edges with the flowers.

“Were they? Well, I’m glad I grabbed them then,” you said with a soft smile, before handing him a few more to work with.

By the end of class, he knows his ears are pink because of how much you’re showering him with praise and gushing over his arrangement. He’d even gotten a few supportive thumbs ups from some of the other people in class.

“Seriously, Bradley. It’s so lovely! I mean, look at those pinecones you tucked in it. I can’t wait to put it on the dining table!”

You wanted to swing by Mav and Penny’s place to drop yours off for them, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he managed to convince you that it could wait until tomorrow.

He couldn’t wait for the next part of your day together.

Bradley jogs around the front of the Bronco to open your door for you after he parks at the Hotel del Coronado. He gives you his hand to help you down from the car, instead you reach and pull his face to yours.

The kiss is like spun sugar, airy and sweet. He could taste the lingering peppermint from your latte earlier.

“What was that for,” he murmurs against you lips.

“I just really love you,” you sigh, nudging his nose with yours, “Today has been so perfect. I feel like I’m in one of my Christmas movies, except I know you’re not going to ask me to leave my job in the big city to help you run your grandmother’s failing bakery to only get paid in gingerbread and Christmas spirit.”

“Lucky for you, my grandma could barely make toast, so you’re spared from such a fate. You wouldn’t need that little Mini Cooper of yours in a town that only has one stoplight.”

You press a quick kiss to his cheek, “Well thank goodness for small miracles.”

“We’ve still got one more thing on the list. You ready for this?” Bradley asks, holding his hand out.

You slip your hand in his with a grin, “Virtue and Moir better watch out.”

You can’t say you’ve ever expected to see an ice rink set up with a display of white sand and sparkling blue ocean behind it. But it was easily one of the most magical things you’ve ever seen.

The sunset has painted the skies a beautiful display of cool blues, soft pinks, and dusky purples. The palm trees lining the rink have been done up in strands of white lights that crisscross over it above your heads. The mixture of happy laughter, Christmas songs piped over the sound system, and waves crashing served as the soundtrack to the moment.

And you’re trying desperately not to fall and make a fool of yourself.

It was more than a little humbling stepping onto the rink after having not had a pair of ice skates on for more than a decade. It had been awhile since your family had indulged in this particular tradition, but you figured it would be like riding a bike.

It’s almost laughable now how wrong you were.

“How are you so good at this?” you jokingly accuse as you wobble on your skates, yet again. Luckily, Bradley’s sturdy grasp on your hand keeps you from falling.

He laughs, “I thought you said you did this all the time growing up?”

“I did! I just never said I was good at it.” A kid whizzes past you- a little too close, a little too fast- and Bradley shoots a disgruntled look at his swiftly retreating figure. “You come from a snow state, it’s in your blood. You automatically have the advantage.”

“Are you thinking of the other V-state? Vermont?” he teases, easily gliding around you swapping spots so that you’re closer to the edge of the rink rather than the middle.

“It snows in Virginia, I googled it.”

“I mean, yeah, but not a ton,” he says, “But it wasn’t like I was hitting up the indoor rinks either.”

“So you’re telling me you’re just a natural?” You roll your eyes affectionately at him.

He winks at you, “You said it not me, sweetheart.”

You’d nearly melted on the sight when Rooster had knelt down in front of you and looked up at you with such a boyishly charming smile as he’d tied the laces of your rented ice skates.

It took a moment to get your hummingbird heart back under control after that.

After a few more laps around, you’re starting to feel like you’re falling into the rhythm of it. You’re still keeping an eye out for people and the older kid who had earned himself more than one glare from people trying to enjoy their time on the rink as he erratically bobbed and wove his way through them. But your strides are getting longer and the shifting motion from side to side is getting smoother. You could almost claim to be gliding.

You’d forgotten how much fun it was, but then again, Bradley always made everything better and brighter.

Your cheeks ache in the best way from how much smiling you’ve been doing today.

And if you faked a couple wobbles so that he’d put his arm around you, it was worth the sacrifice of trying to look graceful. He’s already seen you at your best and at your worst, so you didn’t think your lack of skill standing on a quarter of an inch of metal was going to scare him away.

Rooster is a few feet ahead of you showing off some of his fancy footwork and maybe if you hadn’t been so distracted by his smile you would have heard the aggressive woosh of the kid’s skates as he sped up behind you.

It had only been a matter of time.

He collides with you but keeps his balance and propels himself forward, not slowing his pace in the slightest before taking off again. Your feet slip out for beneath you and before you know it you’re extending your right arm down to try and break your fall.

You meet the ice hard.

You feel pop.

A rush of warmth.

And then throbbing.

The next five hours pass in a twinkling blur of heavy guilt and aching pain.

Bradley had gone through so much effort planning such a perfect day for you and you feel terrible about how it ended.

The wait at the hospital had been miserable. The lights were too glaring and the noises too loud. The garish green and red garland draped on the desk seemed to mock you as you’d gone through the motions of getting checked in.

Your wrist had been killing you and you hated being the reason that Rooster’s leg hand been bouncing anxiously next to you in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. He’d tried to hide it, but you’d seen that deep furrow between his brows. You’d almost cried when he started stroking the back your pain-free hand with this thumb. It wasn’t until they’d brought you back for X-rays and had given you a light dose of painkillers that the world had shifted back into the dreamy soft focus it had been like earlier in the day with Bradley when he’d taken you on all those perfect dates.

You didn’t know if he had planned anything else, all you knew is that everything had unraveled so quickly.

It’s an odd feeling like you could float away at any moment. The painkillers made you feel buoyant and light, yet you can feel the weight on your shoulders just the way you feel the weight of the cast on your wrist.

Even now as the candy-colored lights that he’d put up along the front of the house bounce off of his still perfect curls, he’s wearing the softest of smiles for you as he works to open the front door. His dreamy brown eyes are reflecting nothing back at you other than warmth and affection and care.

Your wonderful, loving, perfect boyfriend. Your perfect Bradley.

You know it’s not entirely the drugs fault the way you’re struck by just how pretty he is. You’ve always thought so, but here and now you’re simply mesmerized by him under the glow of the Christmas lights.

“I don’t think I’ve been called pretty before, sweetheart. But thank you,” Bradley says with a little amused chuckle.

“Well you are. And your hair. Bradley, it’s not fair.” The words are tumbling out of your loose lips.

“My hair isn’t fair?” he asks with a tilt of his head, holding open the front door for you.

“No, it’s not! You just wash it and it dries like that?” He takes your purse from you and sets it on the entry table before helping to ease off the heavier sweater jacket you were wearing from your shoulders. “I don’t think you get it. You’re pretty, but you’re so handsome too.”

He squats down in front of you and smiles up at you before helping to slip off your shoes, “I’ll take handsome too if it’s on the table, sounds like a nice combo.”

“Please, you sound like Jake now,” you giggle.

“Oh no, we can’t have that now can we,” he grins, “But at least I’m pretty and handsome, hopefully that’ll cushion the blow.”

And you just love him.

You love him for the way he loves you and takes care of you and tries to make you laugh when he knows you’re feeling down. You reach up to pull his face to yours when you are distracted by the thick cast on your arm.

“This wasn’t the accessory I was hoping for for Christmas,” you say with a sigh.

The panic that electrifies your body is immediate as your spine goes ramrod straight. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. You can almost see the words swirl and twirl around him, and you know there’s no way you can snatch them back from the way they hang in the air.

“Ohmygod. Oh my god, I didn’t mean to say that.” You’re so flustered now, so embarrassed. “Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”

But Bradley is looking at you with his eyes crinkled around the corners and his lips pressed together like he is trying to hold back a laugh with the way his cheeks are pulling up.

“Oh, did you want a pair of earrings?” he teases, cupping your face in his hand.

“Bradley,” you whine.

“C’mere, baby,” he laughs and pulls you into his chest. You wrap your arms around him and wonder briefly if he can feel the hard plaster of your cast pressed against his back. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “You know you never did tell me what you wanted for Christmas.”

“Don’t need anything,” you murmur into the warmth of him.

He’s already all you’ve ever wanted.

As you make your way up the stairs, glow from your pretty pink tree seems brighter than usual. Normally, you’d take one last peek back at it before going to bed, but you’re still a bit wobbly on your feet. It’ll still be there waiting for you in the morning.

“Oh shit,” you hear him mutter from behind you.

“What’s wrong, Roos?”

“Ah- just stubbed my toe. C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.” The heavy tread of his footsteps is close behind you, you can almost feel the warmth of him at your back.

At you back. By your side. He’s the only person you’ll ever need.

They’d given you some of the strong stuff and he could tell that you were still floating in that sweet spot before all the gravity settles back into your bones.

The distal radius fracture in your right wrist meant that you’d be in the cast for the next six weeks. You’d gone with a white and pink stripped candy cane inspired look to match the tree, Bradley. While he wishes it wasn’t there in the first place, he thought the pattern you’d chosen was cute.

He’d quickly and quietly kicked off his shoes before he’d followed you into the bedroom. Hoping that you wouldn’t notice them, he’d take a disinfecting wipe to the floor and stairs tomorrow.

For as well as Rooster knew you, he felt a little out of his element because he knew you were hurting but he wasn’t sure what would make you feel better in that moment. When he offered to draw you a bath he’d instantly known it was the right choice by the look on your face.

So he’d made you one with all of your favorite products. The mound of bubbles he was able to achieve was truly impressive, if he did say so himself. He even dimmed the lights and lit a few candles for you.

Bradley had carefully wrapped up your cast in plastic wrap and secured the top with a rubber band. And the dejected pout on your face when you looked at it and called it an “unattractive arm condom” had nearly sent him over edge.

He’s already looking on his phone for other options, sitting on the bathroom floor next to you as you soak in the tub, when he feels your fingers thread through his hair and he leans into your touch.

“I really am jealous of your hair, you know. I’m sure there were a few of the girls at that floral class who were too.”

Your head is leaning back against the lip of the tub as you gaze at him, your hair wet from him washing it for you. He’d noticed the moment you realized how difficult it would be for you to do it yourself for the foreseeable future. But you brought out the optimistic side of him and he’d already come up with a solution, “I guess we’ll have to take more showers together then, so I can wash your hair for you. Plus, it’ll be good for the environment”. You’d laughed, and he was happy to see some of the light returning back into your eyes.

“I don’t know why when yours is so pretty,” he says, reaching out and lightly tugging on a lock of your hair.

“Did I tell you one of them asked me if you had a brother? She was honestly so put out when I said that you didn’t that I’m pretty sure she took the last of the dahlias out of spite when she saw me reaching for them. They didn’t even match her arrangement,” you say rolling your eyes, adjusting the way your plastic wrapped candy cane cast rested against the other side of the tub. “Like sorry not sorry, I’m not going to give you my boyfriend.”

“Was it the woman in the striped sweater?”

“Yes! It was her!”

Bradley had notice her checking him out a little too closely for a man who was clearly there another woman and happily taken.

“She had crazy eyes, I wouldn’t have wanted you to give me to her anyways.”

You snicker at that, “She did have crazy eyes.”

He makes a mental note to remember to grab the arrangements from out of the back of the Bronco before he goes to bed. He didn’t want anything to happen to them, but that could until after you were tucked in bed and asleep.

“But the instructor was so sweet, Roos. I told her that the dahlias were your mom’s favorites and then she went to the back and got me a bunch. She didn’t put them on the table or anything for anyone else, just handed them over to me for us to use. It was a real girls supporting girls moment, we bonded.”

He’s struck by the fact that you’d already known about his mom’s favorite flower. That you had let him think it was happenstance when really you had grabbed them because you’d known it would mean something to him. That you wanted to make it special for him when he was trying to make it a special day for you.

He didn’t think it was possible to love you any more than he already did, but you were so good at making him fall in love with you over and over again.

“That was really nice of her, sweetheart,” he says, his throat a little thick.

“It really was. And better yet she’s single and likes women,” you say with a grin, “I got her number to get coffee, but I might see if I can play matchmaker between her and Nat. She looks like Nat’s type.”

“This was our instructor? You got all of that out of her in a few minutes of conversation?” he asks, impressed.

You give him a cheeky shrug of your shoulder, “Yeah, I’m efficient. She owns the shop too. I think I’m going to order something for Penny and Mav from her closer to Christmas.”

“You know what, I think you’re right, she does seem very much like Nat’s type,” Bradley smiles to himself, Phoenix is going to be very excited when he tells her about this.

“’m always right,” you hum.

“You sure are, sweetheart,” he says fondly.

He watches as your eyelids start to get heavy and helps you to get out of the tub, wrapping you up in the biggest, fluffiest towel he can find and sits you on the bed as he goes into the closet to find something cozy for you to wear.

“What do you want me to grab you, baby?”

“Your shirt,” you call out sleepily.

He peeks his head around the opening, “Sweetheart, you’re not going to want hospital germs in bed.”

“No, not that one,” you say, scrunching your nose, “Your henley. The soft navy one with the little white flecks. ‘s my favorite.”

You look so tired, he doesn’t like the slump of your shoulders. He knows that feeling all too well and he hates that you feel so bad about something that you had no control over. It had been such a good day up until the end. But even so, you’re the only person he wants to go through the highs and lows with.

He strips down and puts both his clothes and yours into the hamper before grabbing the shirt for you. “Arms up,” he says gently, he pulls the sleeve wide to fit over your cast before threading it down your arms and over your head.

Rooster pulls back the covers for you to crawl into bed. He climbs in after you, cradling you against him as he reaches over for the remote to turn on your favorite Christmas movie channel for you to fall asleep too.

Your cast rests heavy on his chest.

The heroine just won the cookie cook-off and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you murmur quietly into the dark room, “This is the second year in a row, Bradley, I really think we should consider skipping Christmas next year. For both of our sake’s.”

“We’ve got too much Christmas spirit for a little pine tree allergy or fractured wrist to keep us down,” he tips your head up so that you’re looking at him, “Give it time, it’ll turn around. I promise, sweetheart.”

He seals that vow with a sweet kiss against your lips and a few minutes later he feels as your breaths even out and you fall asleep tucked against him.

You wake up the next morning feeling more than a little groggy and cotton-headed as everything from yesterday comes rushing back to you.

As does the aching in your right wrist.

You reach out for Rooster, but his side of the bed is already cold. He’s always been an early riser and once he’s awake he doesn’t know how to sit still. You wouldn’t have minded cuddling with him for a little bit, but knowing him he has probably already brewed a pot of coffee for you.

When you finally crack open your eyes, you see that he’s left out a bottle of the prescription strength ibuprofen the doctor had sent home with you on your nightstand and a note written in his slanted script reminding you to take one. Your sweetest boy.

You attempt to splash some cold water on your face with one hand, willing it to depuff your face a little bit and then try to fix up your hair so that you look and feel less bedraggled. It is one thing if Bradley is the one responsible for it, but that wasn’t the case this morning.

Before heading downstairs, you decide on a whim to change out of his shirt and into the cozy cream-colored fuzzy lounge set you’d bought on sale the other week. It takes three times longer to get dressed than it usually did, but getting yourself at least a little more put together made you feel a bit more in control. You knew the extra effort wasn’t necessary, but you felt cute and it was making you feel a little bit better about everything.

The pink and white cast was a bit of a choice looking at it in the morning light filtering through the airy curtains, but you thought you pulled it off well. It was cheerful and fun. And you weren’t going to let it affect you or your Christmas plans with your perfect boyfriend.

There is still some residual guilt you’re trying to shake off, you know it was a fluke of fate, but you’re already thinking about ways to make it up to him all the same.

You gingerly make your way down the stairs making a mental note to look up what other festive things were happening this weekend and call out to Rooster, “Please tell me there’s coffee.”

The raspy laugh that reaches your ears makes you smile for the first time that morning, “I’ve got one ready for you in the living room, sweetheart. It’s ready when you are.”

The painkillers, the coffee. The man is a saint and looks like a god. And he’s all yours.

You take those final few steps a bit faster, ready for the strong dark roast that only he seems to be able to make to just right and to thank him for taking such good care of you.

You lose all words when you walk into the living room.

It’s like you’ve walked into a dreamy pink forest straight out of a fairytale.

Your beloved very large, very fluffy, pink tree covered with all of your memories collected from the past year and Bradley’s mom’s sparkling vintage glass icicles is surrounded by two other very large, very fluffy, pink Christmas trees.

The newest additions to the living room glow with the hundreds of twinkling white lights. It’s ethereal and whimsical the way the light bounces and dapples on the walls and floors.

And there standing in front of them is Bradley, barefoot in his favorite sweatpants in your cozy living room of the home he’s made with you looking like a daydream.

You don’t think it’s the prescription strength pain medication kicking in that makes you feel like you’re floating as you walk towards him. You know it’s all him.

Bradley says your name with such adoration, such love that you swear you feel your heart reshape in your chest with his name on it.

“I envisioned this a bit differently in my mind, but the way I see it, we’re just starting the ‘in sickness and in health’ part a bit early,” he says, taking your right hand and dropping a kiss to your cast. Your eyes well up at the tender gesture.

And then you stop breathing when he sinks down onto one knee in front of you.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. I love your big heart and the way you’re so kind and generous to everyone you meet. I love the way you can light up a room with your smile. The best parts of my days are when I am with you. You’re the only person I want to wake up to, the only person I want to fall asleep with in my arms, and the only person who I want a forever with.” He reaches out and takes your shaky hand in his warm one, “Last year, you let me give you more than a drawer and it has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me. This year, will you let me give you my last name too and marry me?”

You can almost see his heart that he is wearing on his sleeve. His pretty honey brown eyes are tracing over every inch of your face, almost like he is trying to commit every microcosm of your expression to memory.

You had imagined this moment so many times. It was the movie you’d put on in your mind on those nights when sleep felt just out for reach. And like a snowflake, no two dreams had been the same.

But nothing you’d imagined could have ever topped the reality of this moment here and now.

Because there was nothing was better than being surrounded by three pink fluffy trees and looking forward to getting to spend a lifetime with Bradley Bradshaw.

“Well it’s convenient I fractured the right one,” you say with a watery laugh as a few happy tears escape from your eyes.

“I guess that is a lucky break,” he grins.

“Literally.”

You didn’t think it was possible to smile this wide. That you could be this happy.

“You still haven’t given me an answer yet, sweetheart,” he says, slightly squeezing your good hand.

“Haven’t I though?” you tease. There’s no what he doesn’t know what your answer is, not with the way you’re beaming.

“C’mon, let me hear you say it.”

You don’t make him wait for long.

“Yes, Bradley, yes I will marry you. It’ll always be a yes with you.”

You barely get to finish your sentence before he is shooting to his feet, pulling you into his arms and kissing you.

Your Bradley. Your fiancé.

On Christmas morning, after all the presents are unwrapped, you find yourself sitting under your perfectly pink tree surrounded by scraps of ribbons and bits of shiny wrapping paper.

Even your striped pink and white cast looked particularly festive under the gleam of the trees.

Rooster is in the kitchen making another pot of coffee for the two of you to share. You can hear him singing along to one of the vintage crooner Christmas albums you had gotten him.

You’ll be hosting Mav, Penny, and Amelia for dinner tonight. You let yourself enjoy this quiet of the mid-morning before things get chaotic. The two of you had dressed the oval oak dining table yesterday afternoon. The centerpiece you’d ordered from Nat’s now New Year’s Eve date was stunning, there were even a few white dahlias tucked into the arrangement. Thankfully, with no pine needles in sight.

The tall pillar candles had been moved off to the side and a real fire was popping in the hearth of the tiled fireplace. And the sun streaming through the bay windows is bouncing off that sparkly silver garland that you’d gotten Bradley to hang up for you in a way that makes the shiny wooden floors look like they’ve been scattered with specks of confetti.

The swirling, sparkling, shimmering dots on the ceiling, however, were from your own ring as you move and tilt your hand admiring the way the sun illuminates it. You know the matching pair of diamond earrings that Bradley had gotten for you as you Christmas gift are shining just as bright.

He still blushes whenever anyone teases him about forgetting to pull out the engagement ring he had got for you before he’d proposed. But you wouldn’t have changed anything about that moment for the world.

The marquise diamond had belonged to his mom, but he had had it reset in gold with a halo of diamonds around it for you. He’d even bought a pink velvet box to put it in for the occasion. It was easily the prettiest thing you’d ever seen and your heart still fluttered every time you saw it on your finger.

The two new trees are still only dressed with the many strands of lights that they’d arrived with. You learned that Bradley had enlisted Jake and Natasha to help him out with that particular surprise that day a couple weeks ago when he’d taken you on what you affectionately refer to as the 12 Dates of a Christmas Proposal.

Your favorite pink tree, the one he had gotten for you last year- the one you’re sitting under now- was also in possession of a new accessory. A shiny new pink ring pop ornament Bradley had gotten to commemorate the occasion of you saying yes and was hanging in a place of honor on the tree right between the little Hawaiian shirt ornament and the dainty, dangling ice skates.

Saying yes was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

Yes to forever. Yes to him.

This season and every season.

You couldn’t wait to see what new ornaments would fill those trees by next year.

And the one after that.

And the next one after that.

Happy Holiday's! It's been almost a year since I've posted my very first story on here. I'm so thankful that a zoom kaboom plane movie has introduced me to so many wonderful people! Thank you for reading my stories and for all the support I've received over this last year! It has meant the world to me!

This story is set in the Oh, Christmas Tree universe. If you missed the fic that started it all, you can read it here!

Many thanks to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for so, so many reasons. I hope you enjoy this, this one's for you!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction

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kaleldobrev · 8 months ago

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Vampergeist (5) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Cursing (6x), Age Gap (15 years), Sexual tension & Vulnerable Reader

Authors Note: Only 2 more parts after this one gang! I hope y'all have been having a great time with this series so far! | It's one of my favorite universes to write for | A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | As always, thoughts are in italics and the "POV's" switch between Dean & Reader | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⬸ Go Back & Read Chapter 4

“Okay, I think I know what we’re dealing with,” Dean said, looking up from one of the case files the coroner had given you less then half an hour ago. He kept a strong grip on the files, his tone and facial expressions serious.

You gave him a slightly questionable look as you sipped your beer and squinted your eyes slightly. Before you had called Sam, you had done some digging and you were sure that it was a poltergeist case, as all signs of one were there at all of the crime scenes. The only couple of things you hadn’t quite nailed yet were who the poltergeist was, and why it seemed to be only targeting medical students. “Yeah, it’s a polter—”

“A Vampergeist,” Dean said at the exact same moment as you, essentially cutting you off.

Your mouth was half open, trying to process what he just said. After the case was over, you made a mental note to ask Sam if his brother said things like this often. You folded your hands, eyeing Dean, trying to keep a straight face. “What in the living fuck is a Vampergeist?”

“It’s a poltergeist that sucks the blood of its victims like a vampire,” Dean explained, his tone with slight humor in it. “Vampergeist,” he repeated, moving his hands in a gesture as if he was somehow imitating Vanna White. The smile on his face was a rather goofy one — similar to that of a toddler who told his mother a new word he had just discovered. But you couldn’t help but smile looking at him. With the short amount of time you’ve been with Dean, he had made you smile more than anyone had in such a long time.

“Vampergeist is definitely a new one,” you said, playing along with his new word. A word that you didn’t want to admit to him that you were actually pretty fond of. “Unfortunately, Vampergeists exist just as much as Bigfoot and Nessie do,” you teased.

“Vampergeists don’t exist,” he mumbled to himself, using a slightly mocking tone. You smirked, giving a quiet chuckle to yourself at his imitation of you.

Dean rubbed his eyes, feeling the eye strain starting to hit him from looking at the case files and the laptop. At this point, neither one of you had a clue who the poltergeist could be, and why it seemed to be specifically targeting medical students of all people. In his long hunting career, and in your numerous poltergeist cases you’ve worked, neither of you had ever seen or heard of one that drained the blood of its victims before; especially one that didn’t even leave marks for entry.

He looked at you, and you were biting your bottom lip; something that you tended to do, he noticed, whenever you were thinking or concentrating hard on something. He wished he was the one biting it. Fuck, I need to get laid, he thought.

You must of felt his stare, as all of a sudden you looked up from the case file and smiled at him. The way you smiled killed him. "Did you find anything?" You asked, placing the case file on the table.

"No," he answered automatically, rubbing his face again. "But what I can tell you is that I have a fuck ton of eye strain. Which means, it's time to take a break," he said, patting the table and getting up.

You weren't against a break, as the more breaks you took, the longer it took to work the case. And the longer it took to work the case, meant the longer amount of time you got to spend with Dean.

As he got up from the table, he went to his side of the bed and plopped onto it, grabbing the remote from the side table and turning on the television. "Watching tv isn't going to help your eye strain you know," you commented. "Might make it worse."

Dean scoffed. "Everything can be solved by watching some TV," he said. "Now come." He patted your side of the bed, and started flipping through the channels trying to find something the two of you could watch together.

As you lied down on the bed next to Dean, your heart started to pound quickly. You were inches away from him, and all you wanted to do was reach out and touch him. You wanted to grab his hand and hold it in yours, rest your head on his shoulder. But the more you thought about all the things you had wanted to do with him, the sadder you got. You were never going to be able to rest your head on his shoulder, or feel his lips on yours. There was no way he would ever look at you in a romantic way.

There was absolutely nothing to watch, which slightly surprised him, because even in shitty motels, there was at least one thing to watch. But the more he channel surfed, the deeper he sighed. “There’s nothing on, not even Scooby-Doo,” he said.

“Is Scooby-Doo your favorite?” You asked, looking at him, and he nodded in response.

“Yeah. Like I said before. Scooby-Doo was one of those things that was always on no matter where me, my dad and Sammy were. It was also one of the few things that I watched where I knew the bad guy was going to lose,” he explained. “Like —”

“Horror movies,” you added. “That’s why I like horror movies so much. You know the bad guy is always going to lose,” you explained. Of course you fucking like horror movies, he thought. Was there something the two of you didn’t have in common?

“Yeah, exactly,” he agreed. “That’s what I tell Sammy all the time. He says our life is pretty much a horror movie, that’s why he doesn’t like them but, at least I know in movies the bad guy loses. In our world well…”

“It’s not a guarantee,” you said, finishing his sentence for him yet again, your tone sounding almost slightly saddened. “Speaking of which,” you began, as you sat on the edge of the bed, “we need to find out who this poltergeist is before anymore students end up dead,” you said, as you walked back over to the table.

“Yahtzee!” Dean randomly called out, throwing his hands up in the air before spinning his laptop to face you. “Read the title of this article I finally found,” he said, with the biggest, impressed smile on his lips.

“David Falko’s medical instruments donated to medical museum at The University of Tulsa,” you read aloud. “What about it?” You asked.

“Keep reading, and look at the date on the bottom of the article,” Dean pointed out.

“July first, twenty-sixteen,” you said.

“And when was the first murder?” Dean asked.

“July third, twenty-sixteen,” both you and Dean at the same time.

“Son of a Bitch,” you mumbled.

“But wait, there’s more,” Dean began, holding up his pointer finger before turning his laptop back to him. “I did a little bit more digging on our pal Falko here, and fifty years ago, he murdered three of his medical students using the exact same instruments that were donated.”

“How do you explain the blood draining with no marks?” You asked.

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “I am so glad you asked.” He grabbed one of the case files that the corner had given you, and opened it, revealing the photographs from the autopsy. “Our coroner friend did miss something. See this right here?” Dean pointed to one of the autopsy photos, which was a close up picture of one of the medical students hairlines by their neck.

“That mark right there?” You asked, pointing to a small circular mark that looked extremely similar to a mole.

“Yep. That’s not a mole like the coroner thought. It’s actually a puncture wound. What Falko did fifty years ago, was he punctured the base of the students skulls close enough to their hair line so it looked like a mole and essentially, went unnoticed,” Dean explained. “Until now anyway,” he winked.

“And because he was their supervisor, that’s why there was no forced entry,” you stated, and Dean nodded. “What about the lack of struggle?”

“All three students offered to make Falko coffee, and when the students weren’t looking, Falko would drug them. So, when the students drank the drugged coffee, they would fall asleep, and that’s when he could do his handiwork,” he explained, and his explanation made your blood run cold. Not only did Falko kill three people, he did it in a cowardly way.

“It would make sense for Falko to be our guy. Do you think, and it’s a stretch here I know that, the reason that there are no drugs in any of the students systems is because he can just knock them out from being a ghost?” You knew how crazy your theory was, but in this line of work, sometimes the craziest of theories were the most logical of ones.

Dean shrugged. “Could be possible. But at the same time, even in death, serial killers don’t really change their M.O. And I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

You chuckled at his comment. “I’m sure it’s not the craziest thing you’ve ever said,” you slightly smirked.

Dean smirked back. “Actually —” but before he could indulge in your comment, you cut him off.

“Please tell me the medical instruments are still at the college, because I’m assuming we can’t just salt and burn this guy,” you said. Both Dean and you have been on plenty of ghost cases, and rarely was it that easy to just salt and burn the remains — there was almost always something else involved.

“You would be correct because our buddy here was cremated,” Dean replied.

“Of course he is,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes. “Alright. Well. Since we have a few hours to kill before dark, I say we take a little nap and fuel up before we steal some historical medical equipment from a prominent university.”

Dean smiled, chuckling to himself. “Couldn’t have said it any better myself.”

The rest of the morning and afternoon with Dean couldn’t have gone any quicker. It felt like the time flew by, and it was time that you desperately wanted to re-live again; which is funny because it was relatively uneventful. The two of you did what you had suggested: take a nap, refuel, and watched some tv. But during those hours with him, you felt safe and comfortable. You felt truly safe with Dean despite barely knowing him a couple of days. He was still relatively a stranger to you and yet, you’d trust him with your life if it ever came down to it.

When it came to your nap, you were the first one to wake, which you were strangely grateful for as you were able to admire the way Dean slept. He looked so peaceful, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You wanted desperately to reach out and touch him, to feel his stubble underneath your fingertips. But you had to resist the urge even though it was getting stronger with each passing second.

When nighttime had finally come, it was time to head to the medical museum at the university, and hopefully put a stop to this once and for all. But based on the information that the two of you had gathered though, you figured that Falko was done with his little murder spree, but you needed to make sure that he would never be able to harm anyone ever again. Three now, and six in total was far too many innocent lives lost.

As you and Dean drove to the university, there remained that comfortable silence that seemed to often appear between the two of you; the only sound to be heard in the truck was The Clash, but the volume was scarily low for you, as you tended to blast your music — not caring who heard. But in this moment, you felt it wasn’t necessary.

Despite the silence that you were enjoying between the two of you, you were the one that broke it. “Before, you asked me how I got into hunting so young,” you began, still keeping your eyes on the road.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Dean reassured you. “It’s not a big deal if I don’t know.”

“I want to. I trust you,” and you meant it when you said that, as trust was something you rarely gave to people since you became a hunter. You removed your hand from the wheel briefly, and touched the dog tags that were hanging in your review mirror. “See these?” You asked, and removed your hand, putting it back on the wheel again. Dean nodded. “He’s the reason I got into hunting.”

Dean looked at you, inches away from touching the precious dog tags you had refused to burn after all this time. “May I?” He asked, and you nodded. He removed the dog tags gently from the rear view and you felt your heart pounding quickly. You never let anyone touch them, and yet, you were letting Dean. “Joseph A. Baxter,” Dean read.

“Joey,” you corrected, partially smiling as you said his name. “He was my best friend and my neighbor. We were…inseparable, attached to the hip. Our parents always wondered when the two of us would start dating but, we…” you sighed deeply. “Never got the chance to.” You hadn’t talked about Joey in such a long time, and it felt almost therapeutic in a way to talk about him, but at the same time, he was someone you rarely talked about because sometimes it was too painful for you to bring up the memories of him, despite the amount of fondness and love you had for him.

You felt tears coming on, and you quickly did your best to bat them away with your eyelashes, but some still managed to escape to your cheeks. “He enlisted, and he left. Said he’d be back in no time,” you took a deep breath again. This was harder than you expected it to be. You wanted to continue, to tell Dean about him, as you felt safe enough to tell him, something you rarely felt with people since Joey died. As you were almost about to give up, you felt Dean place his hand on your thigh. Not in a romantic way, but in a comforting way. But the gesture didn’t last long, as he quickly pulled it away. But that small gesture gave you enough strength to continue.

“When he came back he was…he was dead. We got the news when an army vehicle pulled up in front of his parents house with one of those folded flags with his dog tags on top,” you paused again, but Dean remained silent. “His funeral was a week later. I was just so…angry at him. He promised…he promised he’d come back.” You didn’t fight back any of the tears now, as they were running down your cheeks. You knew you were in no condition to drive now, so you pulled over to the side of the road.

As soon as you did, you couldn’t control yourself anymore. Your body was on autopilot. You turned to Dean and wrapped your arms around him, and without hesitation it seemed, he wrapped his arms around you. He gently rubbed your back the best he could at the angle you were at, and he started humming, as if he was trying to help you calm down. “It’s okay,” he whispered on repeat to you.

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 6

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#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #reader insert #female reader #the 15 year problem

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reigningqueenofwords · 1 year ago

Text

Paintings

Pairing: Castiel x Winchester!Reader Word count: 1,953

Read on AO3

Sitting in the room that your brothers had set up for you, you tilted your head as you looked over the canvas in front of you. You were surrounded by some finished pieces, pieces you’d started and were waiting for new inspiration for, and then some pieces you hated and just never threw away. You were wearing a pair of old jeans and a tank top, not caring about the amount of paint that currently covered you.

There was a knock on the door before it opened. When you looked over your shoulder, you were met with Dean’s face. “Sis, we kill things for a living, so please tell me why you paint like this?” He motioned around as he stepped it.

“Like what?” You raised an eyebrow at him, looking innocent.

He played Vanna White at your current piece. “Like you just ripped a guy’s heart out and decided to paint with it?!” He said simply. “It’s weird.” He shuddered. “It’s like the murder room in here.” He explained.

You blinked. “Huh.” You shrugged. “I never thought of it that way.” You admitted. “Maybe it’s my way of working through things we see? You drink and jack off to Busty Asian Beauties. Sam nerds out. I paint.” That was your best theory. “And spend time with Cas when he can.” You pouted. He’d been somewhat busy lately, leaving you little time with your boyfriend.

“Hopefully he can take you out soon. Get you away from this.” He motioned to your work again. “Can’t you paint something with life?” He asked.

“I could try, but it probably wouldn’t be any good.” You told him.

He rolled his eyes. “You’ve got talent, so stop trying to pretend you don’t. Anyways, dinner is done.” He moved towards the door. “Can you take a break from blood and guts to eat with your older brothers?” He teased you.

“Give me five minutes to put the covers on my pallets and clean my brushes.” You smiled. “And get me a beer?” You asked him, going to work on cleaning up. “And not one of those alcohol free ones you’re hell bent on me drinking.”

“You’re my baby sister, so sue me.”

Stopping what you were doing, you stared at him. “Dean. I turned thirty two months ago .” You laughed. “I’m not a baby!”

“Shuddup.” He muttered before leaving you alone.

“Wash your hands.” Sam told you as he set things out on the table. “I know your hands are covered in paint.”

You chuckled. “Jokes on you. My hands are clean, Sammy.” You showed him when he looked up at you. “Had to clean my brushes.” You explained. “Need any help?” You offered.

He smiled. “Nope. We’re good.” He sat down as Dean brought over three beers. “I actually cooked dinner. No takeout tonight.” He said proudly.

“Oh, impressive. And I was so getting used to the bad Chinese and Taco Bell.” You teased, getting yourself comfortable. “And thank you for the real beer.” You told Dean, lifting it to your lips.

Cas appeared a moment later. “Oh, you’ve already begun dinner.” He sighed. “I was hoping to take Y/N for a date.” He explained. “Perhaps another night.” He noted, sitting down.

Dean nudged you. “Go on.” He told you. “Or he’s going to pout like a puppy who lost his bone.” He teased his best friend. It had been weird as hell when you first started dating him, but over time...he was okay with it. “Besides, that ‘another night’ might not happen for weeks for all we know.” He pointed out.

“You sure?” You looked between the boys. “You cooked.” You reminded Sam.

He smiled, nodding. “I can easily put the leftovers in the freezer.” He assured you. “Go.”

You got up, moving to hug each of your brothers. “You’re the best. Love you. I promise I’ll work on that ‘life’ painting tomorrow, Dean!” You kissed his cheek, making him chuckle and shake his head. You got to Cas and held out your hand. “All yours!”

Cas’s face lit up as he stood. “I am looking forward to our date. I’ve missed you.” He said sweetly before he kissed you.

Dean made a face. “Dude.” He said jokingly.

“Going!” You laughed, tugging Cas out of the room. “Let me change and then we can go. Did you have someplace in mind?” You asked as you neared your room. “So I know how to dress.”

“You are fine in what you are wearing.” He chuckled. “Although, I would suggest shoes.” He pointed out. “I find I enjoy when you are covered in paint. Means you had a good day in your ‘studio’, which I know makes you happy.” His blue eyes traveled over your body as he spoke.

You blushed and looked at him. “Can I show you my latest work?” You asked shyly, wanting to see if he thought the same thing as Dean.

He beamed. “Of course.” He nodded, letting you tug him in the direction of your little studio. “I always enjoy seeing it.” He had simply watched you work for hours on end before, observing you. It was beautiful.

Opening the door, you let him in and shut it behind him. “Dean doesn’t get my work.” You told him. “Says it looks like I took a guy’s heart and painted with it or something.” You traced your fingers gently over the outside of your new canvas. “Asked me to paint something with ‘life’.” You sighed.

“What is more full of life than blood?” Cas asked. When you looked at him, eyebrow raised, he smiled at you. “Blood truly is life.” He pointed out. “Without it, humans would die, animals would parish.”

You nodded at that. “That is a very good point.” You agreed. “Dean calls it the murder room.” You shrugged. “I dunno, just wanted your opinion. I never noticed it until he said that. I like my work. It speaks to me. Except for those.” You pointed to the corner. “Those are my disowned works.”

He chuckled lightly. “Why do you keep them?” He asked, curious.

“Inspiration to do better?” You guessed, chewing on your lip as you looked around. Slowly, you smiled at him. “I have an idea…” You moved to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “And I need the help of a certain angel.” You flirted.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. “And how may I help you?” He asked, voice low.

Pecking his lips, you grinned. “Strip.” You patted his chest.

“Strip? As in, remove my clothing?” He asked, wanting to clarify things.You nodded as you slowly pulled away, taking off your tank top.

Both of you stripped, eyes never leaving each other as you did so. “Now, pick some paint.” You pointed to where there was a bunch of new bottles. “No more than say six. Don’t want it to get muddy.” You moved things out of the way as he looked over his options, wanting them to be perfect. Once there was enough room, you set up as many canvases as you could fit in the area.

“Are these okay?” He asked, turning with two bottles in each hand- teal, dark blue, emerald green, and a color that reminded you of his eyes.

“Perfect.” You nodded, excited. “Give me two.” You reached out, getting dark blue and emerald green. “Now shoot streaks all over the place. On these canvases.” You told him.

“And this will create ‘life art’?” He asked as he opened his two bottles.

You did the same. “It’s the start.” You explained. “Move around to get some all over.�� You told him, not staying put. Once you felt there was enough, you stopped. “That’s good. Can you put these over there?” You handed him your bottles and motioned to the ones that were opened.

Castiel nodded, taking them. “Of course.” He agreed. “Now...what?” He was curious as you walked across the canvases towards him.

“Now, you’re going to lay me down on these and we’re going to enjoy each other.” You ran your hand over his chest. “We’re going to make a painting with our bodies.” Kissing him softly, you smiled.

His hands gripped your hips. “I will not object to that.” He told you, kissing you lovingly as the pair of you moved to lay down.

Dean was walking by your room when he heard you laughing and paused. He furrowed his brows, moving towards it. “Sis?” He called out before opening the door. “Oh, come on .” He instantly left.

Walking into the kitchen, your hair was wet and you were wearing your bathrobe. Cas wasn’t that far behind, a smile on his face. He was dressed in his own clothes, but his hair was also wet. “Please erase that image from my mind.” Dean down the last of his beer.

“Hey, you asked me to create a life painting.” You smirked.

“I didn’t say ‘make babies in paint’!” He countered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I want to forget that sight.” He groaned.

Cas furrowed his brows. “We were not ‘making babies’.” He told Dean. “I have no wish to lose her to childbirth.”

You giggled as Dean put his head on the table. “I think you’re breaking him.” You told your boyfriend. “Let’s just get my ice cream and go watch a movie.” You said as you got a bowl. “I’m sure it’ll pass, Dean.” You told your older brother. “You’ll be okay.”

He shook his head, not moving it from the table. “I regret telling you to make ‘life paintings’. Please, stick to your murder work.” He turned his head to look at you.

“I might. Depends on if these sell.” You shrugged.

That made him sit up. “Sell?” He asked, curiosity piqued. “What are you talking about? You’ve never mentioned selling your work before.”

You nodded, finishing getting your ice cream and putting it away. “It was Cas’s idea. Said that my talent should be shared, and it might be a good way for us to make some spare cash.” You turned to lean against the counter, bowl in hand. “So, I’m going to ask Sam to help me figure out how to sell some stuff online.” You explained.

Dean smiled at that. “See, told you that you have talent.” He said proudly. “You got a ton of work in there you can sell.”

“Except I requested she keep one of our pieces.” Cas noted.

“Please never mention your ‘pieces’ again.” Dean said over his shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find something to take my mind off...that.” He moved to the fridge to grab another beer before leaving the two of them alone.

Running through the bunker when you heard Dean get home from a supply run. “Dean!” You were nearly jumping with excitement. “Guess what?!” You squealed.

“What?” He laughed, loving seeing you like this.

“Everything. Sold.” You told him. “In just the time that you were gone.” You gushed. “Cas and Sam and helping me get everything wrapped up. The buyer is in the city.” You explained. “All. One. Buyer.”

His eyebrows went up. “One?!” He grinned. “That’s amazing. You sure it’s legit?” He didn’t want you getting screwed over.

You nodded. “He’s sent half the money already.” You told him. “We meet him about dinner time. And, then after, I’d like to take my big brothers out to celebrate.”

“What about Cas?” He asked.

“We’re going away for a few days, leaving Friday.” You told him happily. “Going to Greece. Saving on airfare, thankfully.”

Dean hugged you, happy for you. “You’ll be in a museum one day.” He beamed.

#castiel x reader #cas x reader #castiel oneshot

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problematicraccoon · 2 months ago

Text

idea: we all post playlists of songs that make us think of our dr s/os and/or our relationship dynamics/vibes

this is mine, about Bang Chan <3

Bed Chem - Sabrina Carpenter

I Know Love - Tate McRae

All 4 Nothing (i'm so in love) - Lauv (it literally mentions his birthday in it😭)

Miss Possessive - Tate McRae

Your Love - Jisoo

Connected - Bang Chan

YAD - Vanna Rainelle

Pretty Boy - Isabel Larosa

Eyes Off You - prettymuch

Under the Influence - Chris Brown

Beautiful - Bazzi

Die with a Smile - Lady Gaga & Bruno Mars

Die for You - The Weeknd & Ariana Grande

My Home - the change

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shifting community #shifting reality #shifting blog #anti shifters dni #shifters #shifting realities #shifting stories #shiftinconsciousness #reality shift #shifter #shifting consciousness #shifting antis dni #shifting motivation #shiftingrealities #shifting diary

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infiniteeight8 · 7 months ago

Note

I don't know if you watch White flage from

Dido MV or no, please if you didn't watch it and write an ironstrange but make it crack !

Thanks !

I had not previously seen the music video, although the song was familiar once it started playing.

I, uh, didn’t stick very close to the song. At all. Pretty much pulled one line and ran with it. You said make it crack, so this is what you get. LOL.

“Are you aware that some of your fans are writing fan fiction about you?” the interviewer asked, half smiling like she thought she was about to get some juicy reactions. And she was. Just not the ones she was expecting.

Steve, Sam, and Carol groaned loudly while Bucky and Stephen just shook their heads. Natasha shot Steve an unsympathetic look. “You had to know this would happen eventually.”

“Is it wrong to hope?” Steve said.

Tony, meanwhile, cackled like a madman. “Why, yes, I am,” he replied gleefully. “And while the quality of much of it is impressive, and I’m very gratified by the authors’ evaluation of my sexual prowess—” he winked at the camera, “spot on, good job, keep at it—I have a bone to pick with shippers.”

“The–”

Tony cut the interviewer off mercilessly. “Steve Rogers?” he demanded. “My most popular pairing is with Steve?” He turned briefly toward Steve. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Steve said tiredly.

Tony turned back to the interviewer. “Completely aside from the fact that we’re not remotely compatible,” Tony went on, “his most popular pairing is with Bucky. Which is great! They actually work together. But more importantly, I am not second place!”

The interviewer’s mouth opened and closed for a stunned moment. “Then who–”

“I am so glad you asked,” Tony said, rubbing his hands together and grinning. “It’s got a canonical enemies to lovers arc–”

“‘Enemies’ is a little strong,” Stephen said, amused.

“–it’s got opposites attracting,” Tony went on, “it’s got style, and, most important of all, it’s got excellent facial hair.” Tony waved his hands towards Stephen like Vanna White unveiling a prize.

“To be fair to the authors,” the interviewer rallied, “you and Doctor Strange really haven’t interacted much in the public eye.”

“Why do you think I agreed to this press tour?”

“That’s why you agreed?” Natasha burst out.

Sam covers his face with one hand. “This explains so much.”

“You don’t think that’s going a little too far?” Carol asked, amused.

Tony raised one finger. “I will go down with this ship!”

Stephen patted him on the knee. “And I appreciate that.”

“You realize that’s just going to encourage him, right?” Bucky said.

Stephen smirked.

#IronStrange #ficlet

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phantomarine · 1 year ago

Note

Not an ask, but, in the really terrifying way, Cheline's smile at the start of Monday's page really has something so... strange and morbid in the way the smile is really big that it brings back that- THIS isn't her *actual body*! That's the *CORPSE* of Halea! That Cheline probably manipulated and killed! It really brings the vibe of "This was the body of someone, that was ALIVE once, that is now being used by a being DEFINITELY not human. Its really uncanny when you start to give a thought... when you look back at past pages and watches the way Cheline impersonates Halea's whole live and does it with a *smile* in her face... It's a really amazing element of the comic but also really evil in concept which is also amazing to the characters to react and understand!

Also please tell Vanna to stop...THE BIRD IS GETTING ANGRY! :(

I remember getting a comment about the panel in the beginning of Ch 6 where she turns back to Euphemia and goes 'VILE'

it was basically a skill issue 'eyes don't turn that way' comment

...yeah... yeah they don't 🤓

#phantomarine #ask response

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thestressedsimmer · 3 months ago

Text

April, 1317: Cathedral De Tartosa

One thing that Vanna didn't expect, it would be how difficult it would be to wrestle two screaming infants into church clothes. She supposed that nobody would bat an eye if she christened her daughter and her son wasn't dressed properly, or even if she wasn't, considering what was going on. . .

But she couldn't bring herself to. Even if they weren't stepping inside of the church? It was her thought that they should honor the Watcher by showing Her that they're trying their best. Even if they were thin and gaunt.

After stumbling up the steps, Junipera in the back carrier and Neri in her arms, she placed her son down so she could hold her daughter for her baptism.

She gave the little girl a weak smile. "Now this might be cold, bambina, but you're strong."

Even as she said it, she felt a slight sinking feeling. Her daughter seemed to have a very hard time breathing on a good day. The few times that she washed her off in the sink? She would wail and cough.

But this was for the Watcher. It's the only way to protect her little soul and make sure that if the worst should happen, she'd go to Paradise with her father and the Watcher Herself.

To her mother's surprise, she didn't cry as she was baptized. She seemed to be happy about it, even if she coughed a few times. Instead of crying, she made little gurgling noises.

With pride, she scooped her up into her arms.

"You did so well." She mumbled to her after saying an amen to the attending priest. "I brought a blanket for you, you won't be cold for much longer."

#tw: religion #ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 ultimate decades challenge #ultimate decades challenge #udc #morbid's ultimate decades challenge #the great famine #tartosa #1317 #1317 tartosa #ezzo family

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camercnbishop · 1 month ago

Text

starter for: @vanna-huang location: the spring fling festival time: close to sunset

"So, you remember how we talked about how in Buddhism, they celebrate Vesak Day?" Cam had knelt down so that he could explain to Juliana. She nodded her head enthusiastically, practically vibrating with excitement. He loved her thirst for knowledge, to understand cultures different to her own. "Uh huh." Her response was short and to the point, as if demanding him to hurry up and tell her more. Cam let out a chuckle.

"Well, one of the activities the town is hosting in is lantern releasing, which is part of how Buddhists celebrate Vesak Day. And so I thought, that maybe we could join in. What do you think?" Juliana nodded her head enthusiastically. "Yes please, daddy!" "I thought you might say so, so I asked a good friend of mine if she could maybe explain to us the cultural significance of the lantern release and why Buddhists celebrate Vesak Day. How does that sound?" Juliana cocked her head to the side a bit, far too intuitive for Cam's liking, but hey, that was life with a seven year old. He wondered what she would think about this 'friend' of his. But thankfully, he didn't have to wait too long, just as Juliana readily agreed, Cameron spotted Vanna making her way through the crowd, heading in their direction.

Cameron's face immediately lit up in a smile. He was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to stop it if he had tried. He had been enjoying talking to Vanna a lot. More than he was probably ready to admit. And he was excited for her to finally get to meet J. Excited for J to meet her.

Holding onto Juliana's hand, he lead them towards Vanna. He normally would have gone in for a hug, but with J present he wanted to make sure he took things slowly, gave her the chance to get used to the idea of a new person in his life. "Hey there," he greeted with a grin before looking down at Juliana, "J, this is my good friend, Vanna." Juliana promptly let go of his hand and stuck it out for Vanna to shake. "It's nice to meet you." she said, her voice almost shy, clearly enamored already by the beautiful woman before them. Cameron beamed.

#interaction: vanna #( ft. vanna huáng )#br: spring fling

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takingchences · 4 months ago

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𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 𖤟 prologue

Where Savanna Rios, the reigning queen of Beacon Hills High, learns that while she may be at the top of the social food chain, she's not the only predator prowling the halls.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x siren!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language, dark themes

series masterlist + playlist + other works

*** Friendly reminder that this chapter takes place in season 1 to give you a glimpse of their relationship. The rest of the story will follow season 3 ***

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

How does one describe Savanna Rios? She's like Regina George, but meaner and hotter. Love her or hate her, Vanna commanded respect. She was the only student at Beacon Hills High Coach Finstock couldn't intimidate. The man likened the teen to his younger, female counterpart. He enjoyed watching her terrorize Greenberg and all the other idiots and delinquents that annoyed him.

Stiles Stilinski worshipped the ground she walked on. He'd been head over heels for the girl since she'd moved to town in the first grade. Vanna, Stiles, and a girl named Heather had all been close as kids, but drifted apart as they grew older. Nowadays, the three hardly spoke at all. Vanna socialized with the popular clique, Heather transferred schools, and Stiles was always getting into trouble with his best friend Scott McCall. Speaking of which....

"Oh, God. Look at them," one of her cheerleaders, Mallory, nudged Vanna's side. She snickered, pointing at the two dark haired boys talking animatedly. Scott quickly lowered his shirt after Stiles reached out to touch the bandage around his waist, glancing around nervously.

"So lame, right?" Harley from her other side joined in. Vanna ignored them. The girls were more like followers than friends. They trailed after her like ducklings that imprinted on the first thing they saw. With no free will or opinions of their own, they only said what they thought the ravenette wanted to hear. Just like everyone else.

"That is freakin' awesome," they overheard Stiles Stilinski saying. "I mean, this is seriously going to be the best thing that's happened to this town since Vanna Rios moved-"

"Stiles," his friend Scott McCall sighed, spotting the Devil herself in her uniform walking towards them with two other cheerleaders by her side. Stiles noticed her too, brushing a hand over his buzzed hair. "She doesn't even know your name."

"She knows my name, okay?" Stiles argued, straightening his shirt. "Hey, Vanna!" The boy called out, holding his hand up with a goofy grin. "You look... like you're gonna ignore me." He continued, his voice growing quieter as she strutted by without a glance.

Vanna stopped at the bottom of the steps and turned, looking straight at them. "Bilinski!" The ravenette called out, her straight, chest-length hair blowing softly in the breeze. Stiles and Scott froze, their eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Vanna snapped her fingers and pointed down at her spotless white cheer shoe, where one of the laces had come loose.

"On it!" The pale boy tripped over himself from how quickly he ran over to help her. He crouched down and retied her shoelace as she braced her right foot against his knee. Her two minions giggled above him, exchanging smirks. Vanna smiled down at the boy condescendingly with her arms crossed.

"Thanks, Biles." The head cheerleader walked away with her two shadows as they laughed and shook their heads in pity.

Stiles returned to Scott's side with a sigh, refusing to acknowledge the look of see what I mean? on Scott's face. "See? Just like I said. She knows most of my name." The pale boy finally admitted, his hazel eyes locked on Vanna's figure.

"Uh-huh." Scott quietly agreed, the two climbing the steps and entering the school. "I don't get it. Why do let her walk all over you like that?" Scott asked as they headed for their lockers.

"I don't know what to tell you, Scott. Alright? Pretty privilege is real." Stiles gestured wildly with his hands. "She could back over me with her car and I'd pay for any damages my body may have caused her paint job." The boy stared off into the distance, where Vanna could be seen giggling with Danny Mahealani. Vanny and Danny. The two, like Scott and Stiles, had developed a deep, sibling-like bond over the years and were rarely seen without the other.

"And why 'Biles,' anyway?" The tan boy shook his head with a confused look.

"Because," Stiles rolled his eyes, putting in his combination code. "When we were kids we went on a field trip to the zoo and she dared me to eat one of the food pellets. I did it—like an idiot—and barfed in front of the entire class."

The shaggy haired male snorted. "Why the hell did you agree to that?"

Stiles pursed his lips, pulling out his textbooks for first and second period. "She's very persuasive."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

Beacon Hills was always a little out of the ordinary compared to Vanna's memories of San Diego. But lately things in the small California town were getting too strange to turn a blind eye.

Firstly, half of a girl's dead body was found naked in the woods. There weren't any leads to go off of just yet, but the police believed the Jane Doe to be a victim of an animal attack. Secondly, benchwarmer Scott McCall was suddenly a lacrosse god. Word has it that he actually flipped over his teammates to score a goal at tryouts. Then, days later, a half-dead man was found mauled in the back of a bus at the school. Yeah, things were definitely getting hairy in Beacon Hills.

"We'll figure it out-" Stiles tried to reassure a panicked Scott. Suddenly, they were joined by a third person.

"Figure what out?" Lydia sat down, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing with every movement. The two boys stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes, dumbstruck by her arrival.

"Uh-" Scott glanced frantically between Stiles and Lydia. "Just, uh... homework."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed lamely. He leaned across the table. "Why is she sitting with us?" He whispered to the werewolf, who shook his head in bewilderment.

Allison and Greenberg sat down next. "Hey," Allison greeted the table with a bright grin.

Danny appeared a moment later, noticing all the available seats were by Stiles. The lacrosse goalie sighed heavily and sat down, purposefully leaving a chair between them as he avoided eye contact with the pale boy. Stiles nearly choked on air as he realized what was happening. Because if Danny was sitting with them then-

"Why the hell are you sitting over here?" Vanna stopped at Danny's side with a grimace, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "We don't like these people."

"Play nice, Vanny." He pulled the chair next to him out from the table with a small smile. "Sit down." The cheerleader rolled her eyes but obeyed. She pulled a box of Reese's Pieces out of her bag and tore the tab open.

"Oh," Danny's expression grew smug. "Chocolate and peanut butter. I see your secret admirer is back." He held out a hand and she poured some into his palm.

"Duh." Vanna tossed her long, glossy hair over her shoulder with a perfectly manicured hand, a genuine smile on her face as she spoke with her best friend. "I'm the hottest piece of ass at this school."

Stiles made a noise of agreement, his cheeks turning red as he continued to stare at his dream girl sitting inches away from him with a hand over his mouth. "S-secret admirer?" His voice was a few octaves higher than usual. He cleared his throat, fidgeting in the hard plastic chair.

"Oh, yeah!" Allison gasped. "Lydia mentioned something about that. Somebody puts candy in your locker on Wednesdays, right?"

Vanna nodded, crossing her legs. The movement caused her skirt to ride up her thigh. Stiles forced himself to avert his eyes. "Get up," Jackson stormed over, glaring down at Greenberg.

"Why do you never ask Danny to get up?"

"Because I don't stare at his girlfriend's coin slot or up his ex's skirt." The goalie sassed.

Vanna groaned with a grimace, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "God, did you have to remind me about that dark time in my life?" Greenberg reluctantly moved and Jackson claimed the spot at the head of the table. "It was a two week fling in middle school. Do I have to carry that shame with me for the rest of my life?"

"Yes." Stiles answered aloud. She narrowed her eyes threateningly at the buzz-haired boy. He chuckled awkwardly, making finger guns.

"So, I hear they're saying it was some kind of animal attack." Danny bit into his apple.

Allison frowned. "Another one?"

The boy shrugged. "It's probably a cougar."

"I heard mountain lion," Jackson argued.

"A cougar is a mountain lion."

"A cougar is a mountain lion, dumbass."

The table went silent.

Lydia and Vanna shared a look before the redhead backtracked. "Isn't it?" The Latina rolled her eyes before tossing a candy into her mouth. Was there a better combination than velvety milk chocolate and creamy peanut butter?

"Who cares? The guy's probably just some homeless tweaker looking to die anyway." The lacrosse king said dismissively.

Stiles sat up, looking at his his phone. "Hey, I just found out who it is. Check it out." The group all leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the video playing on his phone. Stiles stopped breathing as he felt Vanna's hair brush against his cheek. Having the scent of coconut and peaches so close made him blush furiously.

Any other day, Scott would've laughed at how fast the poor boy's heart was racing from such a small interaction, but he had other things on his mind at the moment.

"I-I know that guy." He explained how he knew the victim, looking understandably freaked out. After hearing more details of the alleged animal attack, the mood was pretty bleak. It was only made worse as Lydia suggested a double date. Vanna watched, amused, as Stiles made hilarious faces during the couples' conversation. He looked physically pained the longer it dragged on. She giggled quietly.

"... you know what else sounds fun? Stabbing myself in the face with this fork," Jackson deadpanned.

"Do we all get a turn?" The lacrosse captain flipped off the ravenette.

"Vanny, Danny" Lydia pipped up, batting her eyes innocently. "Do you want-"

"No way," she denied. "I'd choose death by mountain lion before going on a group date with you losers." Her best friend nodded in agreement.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

Another animal attack. Another dead body. This time, Lydia and Jackson were witnesses.

Now, Vanna wasn't exactly close with either of them. Jackson and her butted heads more times than not, which forced poor Danny into the roll of peacemaker. Lydia could be nice when she wanted to be. Some days the two girls got along fine, while others they were at each other's throats. There wasn't any personal beef (contrary to popular belief). The two girls simply didn't know how to get along. They were pit against each other so often, constantly compared to the other that it drove them both crazy. It wasn't a competition. They could both be beautiful, intelligent women. Having one there didn't take away from the other's value.

Then, as if things couldn't get any more fucked up, Vanna was then trapped inside the school with Stiles, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson. Oh, not to mention a psycho killer was also in the building, hunting them down.

Despite the late hour, Vanna had still been at the school. The cheerleaders had been tasked with helping make decorations for the winter formal. Most of the squad had stayed after practice to help, but Vanna eventually sent them all home while she swept up the glitter on Coach's floor and laid the posters they'd painted out to dry.

She'd run into Scott and Stiles after going to investigate the strange sounds coming through the intercom. She'd floored the young werewolf with a strong uppercut, mistaking him for a burglar in the dark hallway.

After scrambling to find an excuse for breaking in, Scott left to find Allison after receiving a text while Stiles guided Vanna back to the lobby. All night, even while they were running and hiding from whatever it was that was chasing them—because it sure as Hell wasn't human—Stiles kept her within reach, constantly adjusting so that he was placed slightly in front of her.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Vanna didn't try to bite back her smart comments. It was obvious that Scott and Stiles were lying through their teeth about the killer's identity and why he was now targeting them. The only pieces of their story that rang true were the parts about the janitor being dead and someone being after them. There was real shock and fear there. It was obvious when they'd screamed at the sight of her in the hallway earlier that they'd been fleeing something or someone.

"What are we gonna do? Throw acid at him?" Stiles had joked once they'd taken shelter in a chemistry classroom on the second floor.

"No, like a fire bomb. In there is everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail." Lydia corrected him, moving towards the locked cabinet.

"Self-igniting...?" Stiles frowned.

"Molotov cocktail." The group stared at Lydia in confusion. "What?" She fidgeted. "I read it somewhere."

Stiles sighed, gesturing towards the cabinet. "We don't have a key for that either..."

He was cut off by the sound of glass shattering. Vanna set down the barstool she'd used to bust out the glass and reached into the empty panels in the cabinet door to remove the chemicals they would need. She shrugged. "I found a key." Her expression dared someone to say something. The teens wisely chose to remain silent.

Jackson snorted, stepping over the broken glass to help her grab the needed materials. The rest shook off their dazed expressions and got to work measuring out whatever chemicals Lydia instructed them to use. "Jackson, hand me the sulfuric acid." Lydia held a hand out. Her boyfriend hesitated before grabbing the bottle next to the one he'd originally reached for. Vanna narrowed her eyes from beside Stiles. Lydia mixed it all together before handing the weapon off to Scott.

"No," Allison blocked his path as he moved to leave. "No, this is insane. You can't do this. You can't go out there, Scott."

"We can't just sit here waiting for Stiles' dad to check his messages," the shaggy-haired boy argued.

"You could die," she stressed tearfully. "Don't you get that? He's already killed three people."

"And we're next," he reminded her, gently nudging her aside. "Somebody has to do something."

"Scott, just stop!" The brunnette panicked. "Do you remember... do you remember when you told me you knew whether I was lying or not? That I had a tell? Well, so do you. You're a horrible liar and you've been lying all night." She's not as oblivious as I thought, Vanna observed the scene from where she was perched on the edge of her usual desk.

"Just, please, please don't go. Please don't leave us," Allison pleaded. "Please?"

Scott stared at her for a moment before looking at Stiles. "Lock it behind me." His girlfriend pulled him into a desperate kiss, making the cheerleader roll her eyes in disgust. Scott left the classroom in total silence.

"So... we're just not going to talk about how painfully awkward that was to watch?" Lydia bobbed her head, swaying from side to side. "Okay."

Vanna picked at her chipped nails. Tonight's harrowing events had destroyed her manicure. She'd have to get them redone before winter formal. "I mean, I almost volunteered to take his place just to get away from your whiny as-"

"Van." Stiles shot her a look that she understood to mean behave. Her nose crinkled in annoyance.

Allison didn't react, far too busy pacing the room. "I don't get this. I don't get why he'd go out there and leave us. And I can't-" she dropped her hands from where they'd been fiddling with her hair to stare at them. "I can't stop my hands from shaking," she whimpered. Jackson moved to comfort the girl, under the watchful eyes of Lydia and Savanna. The redhead quickly turned away with a pained expression.

Jackson Whittemore had ruined Lydia Martin. He'd taken a strong, smart, confident girl and broken her down emotionally. She was forced to hide parts of herself that he didn't like or appreciate in order to receive the same affection he'd given the new girl for free. Savanna tore people down because they mostly deserved it. Jackson made people miserable for the hell of it. And now, he'd set his sights on someone that was already taken with zero regard for the girl whose heart he owned completely.

At least Lydia looked as fed up with the situation and Allison as Savanna herself felt. It wasn't often that the two agreed on something, but this was one of those rare moments where they could come together and support each other. Coffee brown eyes met green and the two girls shared a look of understanding.

Stiles was scared shitless. His best friend was out there, alone, risking his life. The Alpha was lurking somewhere in the shadows waiting for him. His dad could check his phone and arrive any minute. He was currently trapped in a classroom with the biggest douchebag he's ever met, an emotional wreck, the secret genius of Beacon Hills High, and his tormentor/crush.

"Hey," he slid into the spot next to her on the desk. Vanna side eyed him but chose not to comment on his proximity. "I just, uh... I want you to know that there's nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried." She lifted her brow pointedly. "I can handle myself."

"Oh, yeah," he chuckled. "I saw the way you took down that cabinet door." She bit her lip to contain her smile, but the boy still noticed. "And that right hook you threw at Scott earlier?" He nudged her arm with his elbow. "Badass." It completely took them by surprise how the petite girl had knocked a werewolf flat on his ass with one blow.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. It wasn't her usual cruel or smug smile, either. This one was genuine.

"Turns out you have a pretty nasty right hook yourself." She jerked her chin in Jackson's direction. His jaw was already starting to bruise.

"Ah-yeah, that." Stiles blushed, flexing his stiff knuckles. He'd definitely have to ice them if they ever got out of here. "It actually felt pretty good."

"It's not Derek that's after us, is it?" Savanna whispered, not wanting to be heard by the others. Stiles stiffened, his hazel eyes going wide.

"Wha-what?" He stuttered, avoiding eye contact. He shook his head with a look of disbelief. "Scott said-"

"I know what Scott said." Stiles felt trapped by her intense stare. "But as we've already established tonight, you're both terrible liars. So who's really out there? The Alpha?"

"How-" he gaped, looking at the others warily before leaning closer. "How do you know about that?" He whispered.

"I heard you and Scott talking in the cafeteria."

The two teens were locked in a battle of wills. Stiles crumbled under her knowing gaze. "You can't tell anybody." He stressed, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

"Who would I tell? I don't even know what we're talking about." She rolled her eyes. "But it sounds gang related. So, who is this guy?"

Stiles exhaled through his nose, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't know."

Savanna always thought of herself as superior, but it wasn't because of a complex or anything. She really was different from everyone around her. Her senses and reflexes were far better than your average person. She could smell things others couldn't, like the pack of mint mojito gum Stiles always carried on him. She could hear things, too... and this was the first time all night she hadn't heard his heartbeat spike.

Stiles was telling her the truth.

The seven students were now scattered across the parking lot of the high school. Stiles' dad had shown up just in time with reinforcements after Scott had locked them in from the outside, sealing them inside with no chance of escape. Vanna finished giving her statement to the kind officer and headed towards her car. She'd just tossed her cheer bag in the backseat when Stiles appeared. "Hey," he smiled breathlessly, having run all the way over to talk to her. "About earlier..." he started, leaning awkwardly against her car.

"I didn't say anything to the police, if that's what you came to ask." She crossed her arms.

Stiles blinked, mouth gaping like a fish for a moment. "No, that's... I didn't-"

"Then we have nothing to talk about. Good night," she interrupted, dipping under his arm to slip into the driver's seat. The pale boy watched with sad eyes as she drove off. He'd really thought they'd gotten somewhere tonight. She hadn't made fun of him or insulted him all night. In fact, she'd called him by his name and had actually smiled at things he'd said.

Sheriff Stilinski pulled up next to him in his squad car and rolled down the passenger window. "Get in." His son climbed into the car and settled back into the seat with a sigh. Noah looked over at his son, noticing his disappointment. "Girl trouble?" He asked.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Well, I am a cop," Noah pulled the car into the driveway and parked, though neither of them made an attempt to exit the vehicle. "And believe it or not, I was your age once."

"I just thought after everything that happened tonight," Stiles squeezed his eye shut, dragging a hand down his face. "I dunno."

Noah reached across the console to squeeze his son's shoulder. "Son, girls like that eat guys like you for breakfast. You're better off."

Stiles disagreed.

He wasn't in love with the idea of her like so many others—this gorgeous, seemingly-perfect girl. She was so much more than the stereotypical mean girl. They only looked at the surface level. Sure, she'd called him Biles Bilinski as a joke since grade school. And yes, she was the one who broke into his locker last year and covered his stuff with whipped cream... but she was also the same girl he'd befriended as a kid. The one who'd given him a piggyback ride home after scraping his knee on the playground. The one who'd dressed up as Belle for a month and a half straight because she was her favorite Disney princess. Stiles knew her before she was the girl she is today. He'd seen sides of her that she keeps hidden away from others and herself.

Everyone made fun of him for chasing after a girl he could never have, including his best friend. Even his own father encouraged him to stop wasting his time on Savanna Rios. But Stiles Stilinski is stubborn and persistent. There was always a chance that things between them could change. If he'd learned anything in the weeks following Scott's transformation, it was that in Beacon Hills, nothing is impossible.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

"Are you not freaking out?" Stiles and Scott walked out of the locker room after Coach announced the new co-captains. "I'm freaking out."

"What's the point? It's just a stupid title." Scott was still moping. Stiles had taken him out the night before to drink and help him get over Allison dumping him. Unfortunately, they learned that werewolves can't get drunk and Scott had ended up babysitting his wasted best friend. The full moon was coming and not even the announcement of his new position as co-captain could get him out of his funk. "I could practically smell the jealousy in there."

"Wait," Stiles threw an arm out, stopping Scott in the middle of the hallway. "You can smell jealousy?"

"Yeah, the full moon is turning everything up to 10."

"So you can pick up on stuff like," the pale stared down the hall at a group of cheerleaders talking. "I don't know, desire?"

Scott gave him a small, knowing smirk. "Desire?"

"Like, sexual desire." Stiles elaborated.

"Sexual desire?" Scott repeated with high brows.

His friend was growing impatient. "Yes, Scott, sexual desire. Lust, passion, arousal." He rolled the "r" with his tongue. The werewolf spotted a familiar face among the group of girls.

"You mean Savanna."

"No," Stiles immediately denied. "In a general, broad sense. Can you determine sexual desire?"

"From Vanna to you?"

"Fine, yes." Stiles clenched his teeth. "From Vanna to me. Look, I need to know if I have a chance with this girl. Okay? I've been obsessing over her since we were freakin' seven."

"Why don't you just ask her?" Scott suggested.

"To save myself the utterly crushing humiliation, thank you very much." The paler boy said in an obvious tone. "So can you please just go up and ask her if she likes me? See if her heartbeat rises or pheromones come out," he waved his hand around his head.

"Alright," Scott gave in, unhappily walking towards the group of cheerleaders.

Stiles watched him in disbelief. "I love you," he called after his friend in excitement. "I love you. You're my best friend in the whole world."

The group fell quiet as Scott approached, the girls eyeing him up in down in confusion and curiosity. "Can we, uh, talk for a second?" He asked the ravenette. Vanna frowned but agreed, walking with him over to coach's office. Vanna leaned her hip against the edge of the desk.

"Is this about the other night?"

"Do you know if Allison still likes me?" He asked with those sad, puppy dog eyes. Vanna scoffed, crossing her arms with a sneer.

"How the hell would I know? We're not friends."

"You hang out in the same circle." He shrugged, moving closer. "I thought you might've heard something."

"Well, I didn't. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you, so..." she tried to move around him to get to the door but was blocked.

"I was trying to protect you," he stated in a low voice, taking another step towards her. Vanna refused to retreat and held her chin up confidently, even when her instincts were telling her that something was wrong. This was not the Scott McCall she was used to. "All of you. Why can't you see that?"

"McCall-" she placed a hand on his chest to keep some distance between them.

He inched closer, inhaling deeply. "You smell... good." His nose brushed the skin of her neck as he leaned in to sniff her once more. His strong hands gripped her hips painfully, rooting her in place. Vanna fisted a handful of his long, curly hair and yanked, forcing his head back and away from her.

"Do not touch me." She hissed, her pupil's dilated as they made eye contact. She threw him to the side and stormed out of the office with a slam of the door.

Turns out, after Scott had made an aggressive pass at her, he'd turned around and made out with Lydia Martin. Then, as if he was trying to incur the infamous wrath of Rios, he injured Danny during lacrosse practice. Everyone stopped what they were doing to rush to the boy's side.

The ravenette shoved people out of the way to kneel next to him. "Danny? Are you okay?" Her hands hovered over him, not wanting to injure him further. Jackson joined her a second later. "Where does it hurt, Dan?"

The goalie laid flat on his back, blinking slowly in confusion.

"Dude!" Stiles walked over to Scott and removed his helmet. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What?" Scott snapped back. "He's twice the size of me."

"But everybody likes Danny." Coach moved to the side to allow the sports medic through. Vanna and Jackson stayed by their hurt friend. "Now everybody's gonna hate you."

"I don't care." He stormed off.

Vanna squeezed her best friend's hand in reassurance and comfort as the medic tested Danny for a head injury. The cheerleader and Jackson each took an arm and propped Danny between them, walking him to the locker room to be examined further.

"Control your dog, Stilinski." She spat as they passed him.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

"I brought you some water," Stiles walked into Scott's dark bedroom. The boy in question was lying on the floor chained to the radiator. Stiles held up a bottle of water and a dog bowl with his friend's name written on it in sharpie. He poured the bottle out and set the bowl on the ground a little ways from Scott.

The werewolf threw the full bowl at Stiles' back as he made to leave. "I'm gonna kill you!" He growled.

"You ruined it, Scott." Stiles whipped around, pretty pissed off himself. "Okay? Van told everyone what you did. That's my... like, the one girl that I..." he struggled to voice his concerns as so many thoughts and emotions flowed through him. "And you know, the past three hours I've been thinking, 'it's probably just the full moon,' you know? 'He probably doesn't even know what he's doing. Tomorrow he'll be back to normal and he probably won't even remember what a complete dumbass he's been. A son of a bitch, a freakin' unbelievable piece of crap friend-"

"She came onto me."

"What?" Stiles breathed.

"She was all over me," Scott smirked darkly up at him. "She wanted me, man, and she smelled amazing." Stiles left, sliding down the wall just outside the bedroom. He shook his head, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth as Scott continued to spew bullshit. Stiles had waited for the girl outside the locker rooms and begged her to tell him what happened. She'd cursed both boys in Spanish before telling him how Scott had practically forced himself on her. "I've never smelled anything like that before."

#teen wolf #scott mccall #lydia martin #allison argent #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf stiles #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #noah stilinski #jackson whittemore #danny mahealani

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