#and at the bitch who said der; you need help

[aro-langblr]

ich sehe nochmal den fucking Nutella-Diskurs und ich

#das #shut up #and at the bitch who said der; you need help #/lh #german langblr #language

[fandomnsfw]

Changes  Epilogue - Scott McCall x Reader

Paring: Scott x Reader

Prompt: Say You Won’t Let Go by James Arthur 

Warning: Labor and stuff... 

And a BIG thank you to my Beta who did this even though she wasn’t feel well! @lets-imagine-fanfics

Last Chapter! I hope youuuu enjoy!!

Pictures for this ending!

*****

It’s been months since you and Scott had complete the bond. Working out how it worked had been a task but you’d finally managed, with the help of Deaton to find out all the perks and downsides. You were currently sat in the school cafeteria with the pack.

The perks of being true mate are, you can speak to each other through thoughts, however, it does require concentration. Another perk is you can channel Scott’s True Alpha power if you need to, though you had only done it once and that was because Liam and Jackson had been fighting and bitching while everyone was trying to train and you’d had just about enough.  

Your eyes had changed colour after the bonding, which you found strange. Once you’d ask Deaton, he’d explained that an Alpha’s mate also known as a Luna, should have similar eyes to omega's except the blue is a lot darker. However, as a true mate, the most submissive wolf of the two gains the ability to channel the stronger wolfs power there for mixing the eye colours together.  

So the result was pinky-purple eyes. Personally, you found it weird but Scott always went on to say that you had unique eyes and that they were beautiful. Derek actually agreed, apparently, he thought to have eyes like yours meant you were special and being special was never a bad thing.  

Your bond with the pack had grown through the past few months. The younger teens of the group now came to you for help or advice despite the fact that you are actually the newest wolf of the group.  

“Liam, get your ass of your brother before I decide you're not too god damn old for time out!” You snapped as you sat down with your glass of orange juice.  

“Sorry, mom!” Liam answered back cheekily, knowing it pissed you off.  

Melissa strolled into the room with a coffee and her work clothes on. She and Scott had recently been talking about moving into the Hale house permanently mainly because bills were too much and Scott wanted his mom not the work so much.

She sat next to you and held out her cup for you. You took it with a grateful smile but as the scent of the coffee hit your nose full force you began gagging. Melissa and Scott frowned as she followed you to the bathroom. She held back your hair as you threw up everything from this morning.

“Honey, are you okay?” She asked softly, stroking your face as you sat up with tears in your eyes.  

“This is the second time this week…” You muttered fearfully the only thought crossing your mind is that you caught some sort of fucked up werewolf disease.

“Y/N! BABY! YOU OKAY? I CAN FEEL YOUR PAIN AND SADNESS!” Scott screamed as he skidded down the hall before backtracking to see you sat there next to the toilet.

“Again?” He asked with concern lacing his voice.  

You shot him a nod as Melissa muttered to wait here before running downstairs. Scott bent down to hold you tightly against his chest as he muttered words of comfort. Melissa ran downstairs to see Chris and Derek were the only ones in sight.  

“You two!” She yelled as she pointed at them both. They looked up in shock before nodding and the same time.

“Go to the store and get loads of pregnancy tests!” She demanded with wide eyes.  

“Melissa don’t tell me yo-”

“Christopher Argent I went through menopause two years ago. Your sperm ain’t that magical.” Melissa sassed, cocking her hip to one side.

“So who?” Derek asked with amusement in his tone.  

“Chris doesn’t have super sperm but turns out my son might! GOOOOO I WANNA KNOW IF I’M GONNA BE A GRANDMA!” She yelled impatiently. Chris and Derek’s eyes widened as they took in what you said before they started scrambling about like getting that test was now their only goal in life.  

“Why is Der spazzing out like he switched places with me?” Stiles asked as he came into the room with Peter.  

“I think Y/N's pregnant.” Melissa puttered before telling them to keep it quiet.  

“OH MY GOD! YES!” Stiles screamed before glancing at Peter. He held out his fist and unexpectedly, Peter gave him a fist bump.

Five minutes later Chris and Derek ran in sweating and panting with two carrier bags. Melissa grabbed a plastic cup from the kitchen before making her way upstairs. She hid the tests in her room before taking the cup the bathroom.

“Sweetie, can you pee in this cup, please? I know it’s gross but I need to run a few tests and this is the easiest way.” You gave her a nod before she and Scott left leaving you to do what she asked. After you’d done she took the sample and walked to her room leaving you and Scott to worry.

Melissa dipped about 20 pregnancy tests in the sample before putting the lids on the end and waiting. She turned her back not wanting to watch but all the same wanting to watch every second. After she looked at her watch for what seemed to be the millionth time she finally deemed it time. She spun around and stared down processing what she was seeing.

There laid 20 pregnancy test and every single one was positive. Melissa tried to contain her excitement as she ran to yours and Scott’s bedroom you now shared. She was panting and had a giant smile on her face as she reached the door.  

“There is nothing wrong. You’re perfectly healthy just like a werewolf should be.” She said as she took a breath to calm down.  

“So why do I keep throwing up?” You asked with a frown.

“It’s nothing bad just you might wanna start eating a little more and coming to see me for check-ups.” Melissa gave you a small smile but her response made you worry even more. If nothing was wrong why would you need to go for check-ups? That’s when it clicked.  

Nothing wrong = This is good news

Eat more = Eating for two

Check-ups = Ultrasounds

“OH. MY. GOD. SCOTT MCCALL, YOU ARE DEAD!” You screamed as you launched at him with glowing pink eyes.  

“WHAT WHY!?” He screamed as he ran out the bedroom with you running after him.

“YOU AND YOUR DICK ARE DEAD!” You screamed as he ran downstairs in the living area where Peter, Derek, Stiles and Chris were sat.  

“WHAT THE HELL DID MY DICK DO!?” He squealed as you tried to hop over the couch to get to him but missed him by a hair.

“Y/N! Be careful!” Melissa scolded causing you to stop and realise, this wasn’t just your body anymore it was a shield that was protecting another life so you had to treat it differently.  

“Why am I being chased?!” Scott panted as he looked at his mom and mate.  

“I’m pregnant, dumbass.” You muttered a blush working its way to your face. Unlike how you imagined this moment to go later in life it was different. You didn’t have time to think about the usual stuff. Would Scott leave you? Would he make you abort? Does he even want kids? because as soon as you said it Scott picked you up with a giant smile.  

“Really?!” He asked as he stared into your wide eyes.

“Y-Yes at least that’s what I figured Melissa meant.” You glanced at her with wide eyes before she gave you a nod.

“Oh my god! I’m gonna be a Dad!” Scott chuckled his face lighting up like you’d never seen.  

“I thought it was the Moms who glowed during pregnancy, not the Dads?” You snorted before glancing at Melissa.

“No actually the Dads are glowing and the Moms always look like zombies. The back pain, the boob pain, the feet swelling, the throwing up, the eating of weird shit. You name it.” Melissa shot you a sinister grin and suddenly you felt the urge to kill your baby daddy.  

After 20 seconds you had Scott on the floor standing on his chest with one foot. When the front door opened you glanced over to see the Sheriff and shot him a sarcastic smile to let him know you were pissed.  

“Why is Scott being punished?” The Sheriff snorted as he stood and glanced down at Scott who sent him a wave.  

“I dunno should I tell him Scott? He is basically my Dad after all!” You growled as you applied for pressure to Scott’s chest earning a wince from him.

“Tell me what?” The Sheriff muttered with a glare quickly making it way to his face as he glanced at Scott.

“Papa if you’d be so kind as to hand me your gun first before I tell you that would be great.” You asked sweetly but he immediately passed his gun to you.  

“I’m pregnant.” Was all you said, before stepping away from Scott, with a smile on your face.

“I’m gonna be a grandad?” You gaped at the man who you classed as your father confused to why he wasn’t killing Scott.

“OH MY GOD! AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO IS HAVING A HARD TIME ACCEPTING THIS?!” You screamed before storming up the stairs, placing your ‘Dads’ gun on the table near the front door before you went.

You stormed into Lydia’s room without knocking which resulted in a naked Aiden falling off the bed and a naked Lydia sighing. They both looked at you and kept their mouths closed before they began getting dress.  

“Honey, what happened?!” Lydia asked as she sat on the bed waving at you to come over. You glanced up at her from the door, tears streaming as you finally spoke up.

“I’m pregnant.” Aiden gasped whereas Lydia opened her arms and you ran into them.  

She held you as you cried never saying congrats or this is good news. She just held you and right now that is what you needed. Aiden moved to close the door before sitting back down and stroking your back.  

“I know its scary baby girl but listen to me when I say this.” She pulled you away and cupped your cheeks.  

“You will be a great mother.” That was the only thing you needed before you broke down completely.  

“You are not like your mother. You are kind and you’re fearless and above all else, you always protect your family. I know you’re scared and I know you want to run baby but right now I need you to think about your child. I know you’re 18 and haven’t even finished high school yet but I also know if anyone can do this…it’s you.” She whispered into your hair as you clung to the other girl. Suddenly Aiden shocked you into sitting up by speaking.

“This child will never go unloved or want for anything. We’re your family and we’re here to help you. No matter what Y/N.” You and Aiden always took the piss out of each other and teased one another but you had a bond that not many others could ever understand. He stared into your eyes, letting you know he was sincere and you gave him a small smile that screamed thank you.  

“I think you should go and talk to Scott.” Lydia stated as she looked at you with a smile. You gave her a nod before drying your eyes and making your way downstairs to find Scott.  

You found him sat in the living room with the other as his teeth worried as his bottom. He looked up before rushing over to you and hugging you so tightly. In that moment you knew you could do this because your family would never leave you and would always believe in you.  

….

“Lydia, I really don’t think we need a designer pram…” You muttered as you strolled through the shops with Derek, Lydia, Peter and Stiles.  

“Maybe, but it’s the first pack baby and if we need to we can put it in the attic for when another pack member has a baby.” Lydia argued as she glanced at Derek.  

“I hate to say it but I actually agree with Lydia.” Derek grunted as he glanced around the prams. You looked around and spotted a pure white pram that stood out to you. You strolled over to it but as you tried to check the price tag Peter grab your wrist and nodded to the Derek. Derek turned to the sales-person with a smile and handing over his card.  

“Peter! I wanna check the price first!” You snapped angrily but he just shook his head and began dragging you out the shop. The next shop was for clothes which you dread because you had yet to tell anyone but Scott, Melissa and your Dad the sex of the baby.  

“Right you’re gonna have to tell us the sex or this is gonna be difficult.” Lydia sighed as she glanced and the expensive multi-designer brand baby shop.

“Girl.” You muttered quietly but you knew she’d heard you when her and Stiles let out a scream before running off.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell her. Now she’s gonna buy so many clothes that are desi-” You looked to your side to see Derek and Peter had disappeared and were now cooing at baby Gucci dresses.

“Seriously!” You huffed before walking over to Derek.

“Do you not think it’s weird for a teen mom to have baby Gucci and baby Chloé?” You muttered as you approached Peter and Derek who was picking up a baby Chloé pink winter coat.  

“Nope, not when she has Hales as uncles.” Peter sassed earning a glare from you.

“I like this Gucci pinafore dress with this white shirt.” Stiles grinned as he approached you with a tartan pinafore dress and a white long sleeved shirt that had a lacy collar.  

“That is so cute!” You squealed as Lydia approached you with wide eyes.

“Christian Louboutin started doing baby shoes!” Lydia gasped as she pointed towards the large shoe section. She knew if there was one brand you couldn’t deny it was Louboutin’s.  

After shopping for a while long your feet started hurting so you decided to get the rest of the stuff online. Derek, Peter and Stiles carried in all the bags containing designer clothes and shoes with proud smiles on their faces.  

Peter had seen a princess hanging canopy that could go above the cot and insisted his little niece needed it even though you tried to deny it Peter bought it anyway. You sat down on the couch where Melissa and Chris were sat, letting out a loud sigh.  

“Oh my god!” Erica screamed as she held up the Gucci floral dungarees and white curved collared shirt.  

“It’s a girl!” She screamed as she fumbled through all the clothes with Melissa and Allison.  

“Welcome back. How are my Queen and Princess doing today?” Scott cooed as he walked into the living area. You chuckled as you stroke your large stomach.  

“Uncle Peter and Uncle Derek spent lots of money on you today didn’t they Princess.” You giggled softly, earning a kick from your little girl.  

“I can see…” Scott sighed as he stared at all the designer bags.

“Hey, stop it.” You scolded as he frowned.  

“I just wish I could buy her all this stuff…” Scott muttered as he looked through the bags.  

“Baby, she doesn’t need Gucci clothes or Louboutin’s from you…She needs your love.” You chuckled softly as you leant down to leave a soft loving kiss on his lips. You pulled back with wide eyes and glanced at Derek.

“How much was this sofa?” You asked Derek with a worried frown.  

“A lot.” He grumbled with a confused frown.

“You could totally afford another one, right?” You chuckled with a blush on your face.

“I mean yeah if I ne-Why?” His eyes narrowed as he scanned over you until he saw the wet patch on the sofa.  

“Did your…” Derek’s eyes widened as he glanced at you in panic.  

“What’s that smell?” Scott asked with a frown as the other wolves sniffed at the air.

“DID YOUR WATER JUST BREAK!?” Derek screamed clearly freaking out.

“MELISSA!!!!” Chris screamed as he started running around and grabbing the birthing bag you’d pack less than a week ago.  

“What!?” Melissa yelled as she ran down the stairs.

“MY WATER JUST BROKE!?” You screamed, watching as her eyes widened.

Everyone was running around calling Deaton, making sure they didn’t forget anything as Scott sat there in shock, holding your hand. You threw your head back and let out a pained filled growl as you felt Scott’s hand breaking under your hold.

Not 10 minutes later, Deaton bust through the door, medical bag in hand and eyebrows raised in urgency. He instructed Scott to carry you to the bed, as he followed quickly. You wished you could go to a hospital but as Deaton had said a few months ago. You are likely to shift if you're in pain, so you couldn’t go to a hospital.

Suddenly Liam ran into the room with his dad following him. You stared at him like he’d gone crazy before Liam’s stepdad stared at you.  

“I’m gonna have questions after this but right now we need to get this baby out safely!” Liam’s dad screamed before turning to Melissa.

“I need hot water and towels.” He ordered quickly before rolling up his sleeves.  

“Scott, I need you to take a deep breath and focus. Deaton do you have the stuff I’d need to do this?” Liam’s dad asked as he nodded to Deaton medical bag.  

“I have gloves and few bits and pieces in case we need to cut. She has supernatural healing and the wolves can take her pain that’s all you’ll need. Epidural won’t work on her.” Deaton stated as he checked your vitals.  

“Got it. Scott and Liam that’s your job.” He instructed earning a serious nod from both boys.  

Melissa ran in with towel while Derek followed in with a large bowl of hot water. Liam’s dad lifted up a pair of scissors and began cutting off your jeans knowing that right now it was urgent. Melissa threw a blanket over your bottom half to cover your dignity before bending your legs up and giving you a smile.

“Scott McCall, this is all your fault!” You screamed as you felt another contraction happening.  

“She’s 9cms already!” Liam’s dad yelled as he glanced at Deaton with wide eyes.

“Her water only broke 25 minutes ago!” Melissa screamed as she dabbed the sweat off your forehead.  

“Well apparently, this baby doesn’t care!” Liam’s dad yelled back as he looked at Scott and Liam with a nod.  

“Derek I need you to take over a minute.” Scott groaned as he collapsed to the floor in pain.  

“What’s wrong with your son, Melissa?” Liam’s dad sighed as he looked at Scott.

“Unlike most men, Doc, he’s actually feeling her pain. It’s a werewolf thing.” Melissa snorted as she let Chris take her son out the way.  

“Derek Hale, this m-might be a bad time to ask and I-I’m not religious b-but I’d be happy if you’d be the godfather.” You stuttered softly as he and Liam took your pain.  

“I’d be honoured Y/N but first let’s get you through this okay?” He muttered gently as he stroked your hair.

“Okay, I need you to push! SCOTT, GET IN HERE!” Liam’s dad yelled with urgency.  

The pain was unreal, causing you to scream but Scott held in his scream of pain and chose to peck your temple. His hand running through your hair softly.

“Come on baby, you can do it.” He whispered, his breathing as heavy as yours.  

“You know you can cut off the pain channelling. You don’t need to feel this too…” You whispered as you got a second to breathe.  

“We’re in this together baby if you have to suffer to birth our baby girl, then so will I.” Scott stated with a dopey lopsided grin.  

“I love you.” You stated before Liam’s dad told you to push again. Suddenly everything else disappeared as you heard a scream. You look up to see the Doctor holding your baby with a smile.  

“Congratulations it’s a baby girl.” He stated before he turned to Melissa and asked her to cut the cord. Everyone crowded around the room and the bed, sniffling and cheering as they all welcomed the newest pack member.  

At that moment you knew there was nothing you’d change your life for.

Part 7 <-

#teen wolf #tw #teen wolf imagine #imagine #reader #reader insert #scott mccall x reader #scott mccall x you #scott x you #scott x reader #fluff #labour #baby

[wilfywarfy]

Hold Me (Eric Derekson drabble)

Summary: Eric just wants someone to care about him for once. Turns out, there's plenty of people that are willing to lend a hand

WARNINGS: Derek Derekson (This bitch deserves his own warning), crying (Mostly from Eric), anxiety, hurt/comfort, Eric Derekson blames himself for his father's hurtful shit

I made this just because I wanted Eric to have some happiness in his life, and I figured the egos could provide

"I-I swear I'm trying my best!" Eric said as his father started to berate him for the millionth time. It was a stressful day, considering that Mark needed merch adverts by the end of the week. They couldn't afford to mess up. Though to Derek, that was all that Eric was doing.

"Oh, you always say that same crap! You realize we got a whole warehouse full of products to sell, right? And my name is plastered all over it! If this shit doesn't sell out, who do you think is gonna get blamed for it? Me! Even though it's you who keeps messing up our damn advertisements! So shut your damn mouth and get on it!" Derek said coldly, using that tone of voice that made Eric have nightmares. It was the tone that flashed red every time he heard it.

"Yes- Sir yes sir!" Eric said, trying to pull himself together once more. No matter how many times he did it, he'd never get used to being in front of the camera.

He heard his father sigh. "Just roll the damn music."

The generic sales music started up, and his father stared daggers into his soul.

"I'm Eric Derekson, here with Eric Der- No, Der- Derek Dereksons Charity Warehouse!"

-

When Eric got back to the manor, it took all his power to not burst into tears as soon as the doors shut behind him. Another God awful day, as always. The only usable takes they'd gotten were ones of his father, though they even had to edit those down due to his habit of repeating motions.

What was worse was that he'd have to go in for the next 3 days to try and film his portion again. If they didn't have Eric, Mark would get suspicious. And if there's one thing about Derek Derekson, it's that he doesn't like people on his trail.

"The Host on his way to the front door sees that Eric has returned home, and greets him warmly."

Eric flinched, snapping out of his own thoughts, seeing that he was no longer alone. Host had managed to stand in front of him while he was spacing out.

"O-Oh, sorry. I'll get out of your way. Sorry... yeah."

"The Host tells Eric that he has nothing to be sorry for." The blind man says with a slight smile on his face.

"Well, I, uh... I guess I'll get going now." Eric said as he tried to hide away from the conversation.

"The Host stops Eric before he leaves, asking him why he sounds so anxious. The Host wonders how Eric is doing after his day at work."

Eric knew that there was barely any use trying to hide anything from Host. Chances are, he'd already known and just wanted to hear it from the source.

"Uhm, well... you know. I know that you know. I know that you know that I know." Eric fidgeted with his comfort towel, twisting it around his fingers.

"The Host supposes that he does. Though he doesn't quite like how Eric decided to go back tomorrow, seeing how miserable he is around his father."

"It's not his fault... i-its been a rough few days." Eric excused his dad for what wasn't the first time.

The Host sighed. "The Host doesn't like how Eric would rather bring himself pain than relieve himself off it." That was the thing about Host. He could see right through you, no matter what you said.

"I'm alright. I'm okay, Host." Eric lied, not even convincing himself.

The two sat in silence for a moment, the air becoming a bit too thick.

After another too quiet moment, Host decided to make his next move.

"The Host decides to cancel his afternoon walk to instead help Eric."

"W-What? N-No, Host, you don't need to do that for me!" Eric said in a panic. He'd already felt like a burden, he didn't need anyone chaging their plans for him just because he couldn't suck it up.

"The Host insists, and The Host doesn't mind." Host said sincerely, offering a hand for Eric to grab.

"I... I can't... I don't- hmph." Eric didn't want to finish the rest of the sentence in case Host would be angry with him.

The bandages on the man's face started to seep with blood. "Eric. Please."

It was the end of a discussion if Host ever used first person. He didn't want to get into an argument. He was pretty sure he'd crumble if he did.

Eric gently took ahold of the other's hand, letting the other lead him deeper into the Ego Manor.

-

The living room was packed, as always.

Google and Bim were cuddled up on the couch, the robot looking at one of his many floating screens while he teased the game show hosts hair. Yancy and Illinois were next to them, the convict ranting about the latest musical he'd watched while the adventurer listened in awe. The Jim's were on either side of Captian Magnum, RJ asking about his life at sea while CJ kept the camera rolling on their interview. Yan, King, and Bing had somehow dragged Doc into their video game challenges.

Eric felt out of place. Everyone was happy, smiling. All Eric could do was fake it.

"The Host has found Eric, and brought him to the rest of the egos." Host announced, making everyone look at the duo.

"Eric!" King said with a smile on his face, which had been stained blue from Wilfords cupcakes.

He smiled back, hoping that it didn't look as fake as it felt. "H-Hey."

"We've been waiting for you to come back all day! We had to shove the Jim's off your cupcakes! Where have you been?" King stood up and went over to Eric, pulling him into a hug.

As he stood in King' hug, Eric heard a variety of "Where've you been?" or "How are you?"

It all hit Eric like a bus. He wasn't sure what snapped inside of him, but the tears that were in his eyes earlier started to fall.

When the others realized what was going on, the room was then echoing words of concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Are you okay?"

"Eric, what happened?"

As King pulled away from the hug and saw the tears falling down Eric's face, the first thing he did was wipe them away. "What happeneD? Did I squeeze too tight? Did I make you uncomfortable?"

The tears only got worse when Eric took in that King was concerned about him, that he thought he could ever hurt him. "N-No, King. I-I'm fine."

"Hmm. Was it one of those days?" The other asked.

"I-It was my fault anyways."

"Hey, no. That bastard is being a dick to youse all over again!" Yancy said, hearing Eric blame himself. He, along with most of the other egos, hated the way that Derek treated his son. Though with Yancy, his anger was multiplied ten-fold considering that he'd killed his own parents for being dicks to him.

"It was a stre-stressful day today. I kept messing up. H-He was right to be mad a-at me. I'm no Merrick."

"Eric, no. No, don't let him do that to you." King saw the look of pain in Eric's eyes when he mentioned his brothers name.

"Eric, c'mere." Yancy gestured over to him, beckoning Eric along with two fingers in the 'coke along' motion.

He went over to the ex-con, standing in front of him until Yancy stood up, letting Eric sit in his place. Illinois put his hand on his back, tubbing circles into it.

"Aight, I want youse to look me in the eyes. Can youse do that for me?" Yancy asked as he crouched down to Eric's level.

Eric looked at Yancy, the others gaze being almost too much for him. He did it anyways.

"There youse go. Listen, Eric, I get it. Youse a familiar type. Youse want ta keep the last blood youse got on ya. But youse got to realize that sometimes, letting go is the best you can do for youse. Not your dad, or us, or anyone else. Youse."

The ex-con watched Eric take in his words, tears still streaming down his face. He saw a lot of himself in Eric. Two guys that were sealed shitty hands. The only difference was that Eric was stuck, and he didn't know how to get out.

"I... I can't just leave him behind." Eric tried to excuse. His father had always warned him about what would happen if he tried to leave him behind. That he'd never make it a day without him. That he needed him.

"I know it's hard. Happened to me toos, with my parents. But sometimes, youse gotta let go to let youseself be happy."

The longer Eric thought about it, the more he tried to find any way to rationalize his father's behavior. But he just couldnt. Yancy was right.

As if he could hear the argument going on in Eric's brain, the former prisoner wrapped his arms around Eric, holding him in a hug. And all the action in his brain ceased.

He landed on one answer. Yancy was right.

He had to leave. For once, he'd do something for himself. For his own happiness.

Eric slowly returned the hug, the tears coming back stronger and harder. Yancy felt his shirt being soaked by tears, though he didn't mind.

"There youse go, kid. Let it all out." He said as he pat Erics back.

"T-Thank you." Eric sobbed into his shoulder.

It wasn't long before Eric felt more people surrounding him. The egos all gathered up around him and Yancy, capturing Eric in a group hug.

Eric smiled.

Maybe he'd be okay. He's got a new family to rely on.

#markiplier #markiplier egos #mark fischbach #eric derekson #markiplier fanfiction #iplier egos #ahwm yancy #king of the squirrels #illinois ahwm #Derek Derekson #markiplier host

[ash-mcj]

Power Moves

“Alright,” Stiles sighed, clapping his hands together as if he were starting the meeting - despite it approaching the third consecutive hour of the pack trying to figure out what to do about the moderately concerning vampire infestation affecting Beacon Hills. “We need to hit those bloodsuckers with, like, the biggest power move ever.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Okay, sit down, Stilinski.”

“What?” Stiles challenged indignantly. “You don't think I can bring out the power moves?”

“Sure you can, hun,” Erica snickered. She reached out to pat his knee, but he swatted her hand away.

“You guys.” Stiles looked around the room at the Hale-McCall pack, searching for any indication that someone believed in him, but even Scott seemed like he was repressing a disbelieving smile. Fucking traitor. “I can be powerful!”

“Says last night’s bottom,” slipped out of Derek’s mouth, and the living room fell silent as they gaped at their usually-private alpha, whose expression quickly went from teasing to something between horrified and constipated.

Once it settled in that he had indeed just said that, everyone devolved into fits of laughter.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted, his voice pitched higher than he had actually thought was possible. He grabbed a pillow from the couch behind him and threw it at his mate across the room, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “I want to be mad that you just outed me like that - but I’m also so proud that that just came out of your mouth. I’m rubbing off on you.”

“I knew you were a bottom,” Jackson said.

Stiles put his fists on his hips and stuck his chin up as he said, “Liking a massive alpha werewolf dick up my ass does not make me a bitch. In fact, I’d say that makes me pretty fucking awesome. I’d like to see one of you take an alpha dick up your virgin ass like a pro - because I did that. Der, didn’t I do that?”

“Ew!” Scott grimaced. Most of the pack looked more or less disgusted - except Lydia, who seemed mildly impressed, which pretty much marked Stiles’ ability to take dick his biggest accomplishment. He probably shouldn't have been as proud as he was, but oh well.

“Jesus, Stiles, shut up,” Derek groaned as he refused to meet anyone’s eye, opting to stare at the ground instead.

Stiles’ eyes flitted over to Isaac beside Derek and noticed that he was staring at Scott almost… oh God. Was that… longing? Did Isaac want Scott’s alpha dick? That was - that was going to make Stiles throw up the pineapple and pepperoni pizza he’d eaten earlier, and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t taste nearly as good coming out as it did going in.

Did Derek know Isaac was into Scott? Was Scott into Isaac? Fuck, Stiles hoped so - those two deserved some happiness. Some happiness that Stiles never, ever, ever wanted to hear about if it was rated more than PG. Ever. 

“But you weren’t a virgin,” Malia argued, confused. “We had sex...like, a lot.”

Derek growled and Stiles shook his head at his stupid, jealous boyfriend fondly. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t put anything up my ass,” Stiles reasoned. "So I was an ass virgin."

One of the many things wrong with that relationship.

Malia paused for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at him. “Did you want me to?”

Stiles opened his mouth to deny it, but then took a moment to think it over. Actually, maybe he would have realized how much he liked ass stuff earlier in life, which would have definitely improved his alone time and -

He was startled out of his thoughts when a pillow smacked into his face and fell to the floor. Derek was glaring at him from across the room and Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Okay, but seriously… Power move. We need one,” Stiles redirected the conversation. “Derek, those are your specialty.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Derek told him, his eyebrows raised, but Stiles recognized the softness in his green eyes that meant he was having just as much fun with this as Stiles was.

“Mmm, is that a promise?”

“Do you guys need a quickie or something before we continue, or can we focus on the vampires?” Jackson asked pointedly.

“Actually, I could go for -”

“Stiles!”

also on AO3

#my ficlets #sterek #scisaac #stalia #i dont know what this is #but it was inspired by that 'liking what i like dont make me a bitch' scene from shameless

[tamagoincident]

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 1/10

link: AO3

Chapter One - A Mutual Enemy

On the evening you first heard of the Van der Linde Gang’s presence in Valentine, you stood at the bar of Smithfield's Saloon disguised in men’s clothing. Not a typical Friday for you, as you tried not to make it a habit of sticking around places where reckless men became more reckless the further they disappeared into their cups. But years ago you’d helped the bartender, a giant man named Ernest, drum up enough money to pay off his debtors, and he held you in the highest of regards ever since. It was the only place you could drink without being disturbed. Ernest made sure of that.

“What’ll it be, the usual?” he winked at you, his large hands already reaching toward the whiskey.

You smiled and nodded.

“I have information you might want to hear,” he continued, pouring the liquor into a glass and sliding it towards you. You caught it easily.

“Oh?”

“There was a young lady here last night. Overheard her talkin’ to some fancy pants New Yorker who kept braggin’ ‘bout the luxury train he’ll be taking back to the North. She seemed awfully intrigued,” Ernest said. “And get this, it weren’t the only instance I’d seen her, neither. Few days ago she’d been traipsin’ around the outskirts of Valentine with a bunch of scary lookin’ out-of-towners.”

“Figure they’re planning on robbing the train?”

Ernest shrugged. “It’s easy pickin’. You know how naïve high society can be.”

Maybe easy enough for a one-person job, if done quickly and with care. You’d only robbed a train once with two people you used to run with. You didn’t run with them anymore. It hurt you to think of it.

You held up your glass for a refill and leaned forward, brimming with interest. “Tell me more about this train.”

—

The train tracks rattled underneath Arthur’s feet.

“Get movin’,” he said to Sean, pointing towards the trees hidden in the darkness. Arthur climbed atop the wagon they’d rode in on and placed in the middle of the tracks, which bore five hundred gallons of oil. He widened his stance for balance and pulled a bandana over his mouth and nose. “Here she comes.”

Arthur squinted against the blinding brightness of the incoming headlight, cocking his rifle as it approached. The train’s horn bellowed into the night.

It saw him. Good.

It came to a hissing and screeching halt. A uniformed man stormed out from the front cab. “What's goin' on here? What's—aw hell,” the engineer wailed, kicking the dirt underneath his feet. “Not again! Gettin’ real tired of this shit.” Behind him, a shadow of blurred movement. Charles, ready to strike him unconscious.

Arthur jumped off the wagon. “Hold it!” he yelled to Charles, who paused his assault and instead restrained the man with a pistol aimed at his head. “What d’you mean, ‘Not again?’”

“If y’all are trying to rob us, we’ve already been hit,” he wheezed.

“You’re bluffin’.”

“You and your boys are more than welcome to board and check. Reckon it’s a waste of time though.”

Arthur swore. “Let him go, Mr. S.”

Charles let go. The engineer stumbled forward, sputtering and coughing. In between heavy breaths he said, “Happened near the Heartlands. Strange feller in a mask robbed us blind and then pointed a shotgun at me, gruntin’ at me to start the engine or he’ll call for his gang to kill everyone on board.”

“Why in God’s name would he do that?” Arthur said.

“Beats me. But now that I think of it, he was probably expecting y’all. Here, he gave me this—” he moved to reach into his coat pocket, but ceased upon the chorus of rifles cocking. Sean and John had appeared to find what the holdup was.

“Don’t move a goddamn muscle,” Arthur growled. “Mr. S., if you could kindly grab whatever’s in that fool’s pocket.”

Charles complied, plucking out a wad of paper. He handed it to Sean, who read aloud:

Don’t want the loot, only your attention.

Have your lady informant go back to the saloon and talk to the bartender.

He’ll tell you where to find me.

Cause any trouble and you won’t see a cent.

Sean laughed bitterly, waving the note in the air. “Got us good, didn't he?”

“Give me that, you idiot.” Arthur snatched the note and tilted the lettering towards the train's headlight. “Goddamn it—”

A bullet whizzed by Arthur’s head. The engineer dove to the ground for safety.

“Get on your horses!” Arthur yelled to the gang and whistled. Once in the saddle, he spurred the horse on and rode hard into the trees, past the storm of bullets, and evaded capture.

He was the last to arrive back at camp, after making sure he hadn’t been followed. He passed Dutch’s closed tent and found Sean blackout drunk near the fire. John sat close by, clearly on the same trajectory as the Irishman, with the amount of empty beer bottles at his feet. Arthur cleared his throat. “Where’s Charles?”

John glanced up, eyes bleary and lined with red. In the firelight he looked small and exhausted. “Asleep.”

“You should be too.”

“Well, I ain’t,” John mumbled tipping the beer to his lips and draining it. He tossed the bottle aside with a crash.

“Need me to tuck you in Marston? How ‘bout a bedtime story?”

“Real funny, Arthur."

Arthur sat down across from John, allowing the sound of crickets and snuffling horses to fill the silence between them. When he spoke, his tone was softer. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this shaken. Not even when you was freezin’ your ass off after them wolves got to you.”

John’s gaze dropped to his lap. “I’m a bit rattled, s’all. I got a bad feelin’, Arthur.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think the law showed up a little too fast?”

“Maybe,” Arthur said. “I’m more curious about the son-of-a-bitch who knew we was gonna rob that train.” He turned, pulling the note he’d stashed into his saddlebag and brandishing it.

“See? You’re worried too. S’not just me.”

“I’m not worried,” Arthur cast the notion aside. No use in admitting to being worried unless there was really something to lose sleep over, especially in front of John, who looked like he was fixing for an excuse to leave again. Arthur didn’t want to be the person to give him one. He would gladly take a bullet before he watched Abigail’s face twist back into sorrow and disappointment on account of John flying the coop.

“We gonna be okay, Arthur?” John asks.

“Can’t tell the future anymore than you can, Marston,” Arthur said, crumpling the note in his fist. “What we can do is find the bastard who pulled the wool over our eyes, and deal with the rest as it comes along. I’ll talk to Mary-Beth tomorrow. Ask her to go back up to the saloon.”

John watched as Arthur tossed the paper into the fire, the edges curling into black.

—

You waited across the tracks from the abandoned trading post in Roanoke Ridge, taking shelter behind a sturdy tree (you’d almost hid behind one crawling with poison ivy vines, what a sight that would have been). The instructions you’d given Ernest to pass on had been clear: Whoever is sent must be on time and arrive alone. You checked your pocket watch. Already a half hour late. Out of desperation you remained a few minutes longer. The sun was almost at its peak in the sky, and you were getting hot with your scarf obscuring the lower half of your face. You cursed yourself for wearing such bulky trousers and long sleeves.

In your mind, the heist had been preferable to wasting away in the heat. With a little theater and luck, you managed to rob the train heading north. You still couldn’t believe your good fortune. Keeping your voice low and husky, the passengers and engineer had mistaken you for some hardened outlaw. You’d threatened them with your non-existent gang that was supposedly trailing close behind. In reality, the only thing riding alongside the train was the horse you’d borrowed from Ernest.

You scanned the landscape with binoculars, on the precipice of calling it a day, when you saw a pair of figures ascend the hill behind the dilapidated structure. The taller of the two was wearing a fading grey shirt that you imagined was once white, which stretched across his broad shoulders. He staked a far contrast to the companion at his left, a leaner man with dark hair that extended past a deep scar on his cheek. Both looked tough and mean. Exactly the type of men you’d hoped for.

Though two against one, the odds weren’t good if things went south.

You dropped the binoculars and reached for your rifle. Steadying yourself, you squinted through the scope, drifting down the length of their bodies until their dusty leather boots came into view. You cocked the gun, exhaled, and took the shot, aiming inches away from them.

“Shit!”

“Thought I’d said to come alone,” you called out. “If one of you gentlemen doesn’t get going, the next two bullets will be right in the forehead.”

“Jesus Christ,” the dark-haired man yelped. “Is that a woman shooting at us?”

“Woman or not, doesn’t change the fact she’s got a goddamn rifle!” the other fired back. “Alright, miss, my friend here is gonna get on his horse and leave. Ain’t that right, Marston?”

“Rode all the way out here for nothin’,'' he complained loudly and whistled. When his horse came around, he placed his foot in the stirrups and swung his leg over the saddle. “If you ain’t back by sundown, I’ll come lookin’ for you, Arthur. Hear that, lady?”

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. You waited until the horse disappeared behind the hills before coming out from the brush. At this distance, you could discern more of his features. The first of which you noticed were bright blue eyes that writers and painters alike had mused over for centuries.

He directed them at you. “There,” he said. “Happy?”

You lowered your rifle. “We’re off to a poor start, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t want no trouble. Just didn’t know what we was walkin’ into,” he said, moving closer, hands up slightly as if to not appear threatening. “You were real vague in that note of yours.”

You reaffirmed your grip on your rifle. “That’s close enough,” you said. Any closer and he’d eclipse you, your neck within snapping distance of those strong hands.

“Then, how about you tell me how this is gonna go?”

In the days leading to this moment, you’d thought of the ways you were going to approach this. Never did you imagine getting this far. “Do you have any idea why I may have invited you here?”

“To gloat, perhaps? About beatin’ us to that train?”

An involuntary upward twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Not quite, sir. I value my time and yours, so I’ll keep it short. I need you.”

Arthur pointed to himself. “You... need me?”

“Yes, you.”

He dipped his head, obscuring whatever expression he was making beneath the brim of his hat. Rubbing his neck, Arthur said, “Can’t imagine why you’d need me, lady. Accountin’ for the fact you don’t even know me.”

“I’ll rephrase. It’s not you I need exactly, it’s somebody like you. And your friend, for that matter.” You paused. “I used to have partners, too. One is dead, the other is in need of rescue. She was kidnapped. I want to hire you to help get her back.”

“Why not go to the sheriff? Seems a hell of a lot easier than getting up to all this trouble.”

“The sheriff?” you scoffed. “You really think he’d risk himself and his men to help me save a working girl from outlaws? Most likely he’d look into my background, and then I’d be arrested before I could even blink.”

“So all we gotta do is save your friend from her kidnappers and what, you’ll pay us?”

“You’ll get the money from the train, and I’ll throw in seventy dollars on top of that,” you said.

“What’s the catch?”

“Pardon me?”

“The catch,” Arthur repeated. “Seems too easy.”

“Didn’t say it’d be easy. Are you familiar with the O’Driscoll Boys?”

A spark of recognition. He was, in fact, familiar. “Yeah, I heard of ‘em. Your friend Emma… them boys captured her?”

You nodded. “A former client of hers runs with that gang. He found us in a hotel room, shot Henry, and knocked me out. When I came to, Emma was gone, and I was alone.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be glad to help,” he said. “You see, there’s someone I’d need to run this by and he’s already got it out for their leader, Colm O’Driscoll. This’d be the perfect excuse for him to do something goddamn stupid.”

“Please. If you’re familiar with them, you can imagine how awful it must be for her. I’ll even give you half the money upfront,” you said, decocking your rifle and slipping it back over your shoulder by its leather strap.

“Can’t promise nothin’, but I’ll talk it over with some people tonight. Meet me at that saloon in two days, same time. If it goes in your favor, I’ll take you to see the man who makes all the decisions.”

“Are you going to make me wait again?” you asked.

“You’re the one asking for favors, miss.”

“I’m offering a job.”

Arthur’s lips set into a hard line. “A job that might get us into a world of trouble, adding fuel to a fire that’s been burnin’ for a long time now. Frankly, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

And because you didn’t want to push your luck, you fell silent. You watched him call for his horse and mount it.

“I’ll be on time,” he mumbled as an afterthought, and rode off in the direction he came.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 ao3 #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x y/n #reader insert #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan/reader #tlab

[brilliant-poses]

The Night of the Coyotes

When Dutch Van Der Linde first began to expand his gang, a group of bounty hunters rose to stop a lot of gangs from becoming too big and powerful. The bounty hunters were a successful group, but the Van Der Linde’s and the O’Driscoll’s kept avoiding the rope. You are apart of the bounty hunting group, the Coyotes. You and your older sister, Pride, have been in the group since you were children. Now, you’re faced with the challenges of hunting down each member. When things get out of hand, do you stay loyal or decide a different life?

Chapter 1 - Pride and Joy

══════════════════

Her grip your hand tightened, pulling you behind her. Your little feet hit the dirt and your tears made it hard to see anything. The moon wasn’t helping either

“Pride, I’m scared!” You cried in your pitiful little voice, causing her to yank you closer.

“Come on, come on! It’s ok… I’m with you, I’m with you!” She said, hearing the sound of yelling behind you two. She covered your ears, not wanting you to hear the horrible sounds of your father screaming after you. There was the sound of a gun going off, the bullet hitting the tree next to them.

“You bitches keep running! I’ll find you! I’ll find you and put a bullet in ya!” He yelled, still firing more bullets. You let out a yell of fear, noticing how she picked you up this time. She ran faster than you, her legs taking her further. She huffed for air, the sound of your father fading in the distance. Pride’s feet continued to hit the dirt hard, not stopping until she saw the lights of Blackwater come into view. You held onto her tightly, the brown shirt she wore was clutched in your little hands. She panted heavily, still hurrying. She couldn’t stop, even when people tried to stop her and see what’s wrong. She hit someone, holding onto you tighter as she fell back.

“Oh! Oh my, are you two alright?” The woman asked, noticing how you and her both laid on the ground. You looked towards the woman, seeing her nice dress and a feathered hat covering her face from the lights.

“Come on, we’ll get you two to a doctor. Brigit! Help me!” The woman called, gently lifting you up. You stared at Pride, watching as she was lifted up by a red haired woman, who cursed at how heavy she was. You started to feel your vision going black and you pass out.

══════════════════

“Wake up, already!” You feel a slap to your face, causing you to jolt.

“I’m up, I’m up…” You mumbled, glancing up from your bedroll to see Pride smoking a cigarette. She took a deep inhale and exhaled after a moment, the smoke flying towards the sky. You lifted yourself up, exhaling with relief. Just a dream… Well, more of a memory. That was years ago, you and Pride were stronger and more resilient than you had been when you were younger. You were currently eighteen and Pride was twenty-three. Escaping from your family home was thirteen years ago, so you were surprised that those memories were coming back. You rubbed your face, standing after a moment. The opened tent was letting the humid air in, the sun was already in the sky.

“You were yelling in your sleep.” She said, exhaling more smoke. She threw it down and stomped it out. You pushed your hair out of your face and glanced up towards your sister, seeing her adjust her hat. Her long black hair was braided and moved against her back, bouncing against the dark blue shirt as she looked down to roll up her sleeves. You popped your neck and adjusted your own shirt, causing the light green material to shake and let dirt fall off of it.

“Had that dream about pa.” You admitted, which made her scoff.

“Stupid bastard… I’ll find his neck broke by the rope one day.” She said and looked towards you. She was taller than you, her build more muscular due to her being your bounty hunter family’s work horse. She was your brawn, while you were her brains. Pride noticed you beginning to get lost in thought, she hit you over the head, causing you to jolt a bit.

“Let’s go see what Vivian wants. The only reason I’m here is to make sure you actually got up to see her.” She said, putting her hand on the back of your neck and helped moved your towards the large tent. Vivian was the woman who saved you and Pride, keeping you safe within her bounty hunter lifestyle. She’s the one who helped shape who you two are.

“Madam.” You greeted, seeing the woman look over from her spot at her desk. She turned back to her mirror to fix her make up, humming as a greeting. The woman was older, probably in her late fifties. She didn’t seem to let that be a hindrance on her. Her chestnut hair was greying in places, like on her temples, but the large scar over her left eye proved her to be more than just a fragile old woman. The scar started above the edge of her eyebrow and ran down to her cheek. Another smaller one cut across the scar on the bottom, getting close to the top of her lip.She still had sight in the eye, but the intimidation she had with the scar didn’t take away from the fact she could still see.

“My, my… It’s Pride and Joy. Good to see you.” She said, using her nickname for you. You smiled softly, shrugging lightly.

“Are you two interested in going out for a information hunt?” She asked, causing you to look at Pride and get excited. You two hadn’t been out of camp in weeks, having to protect everyone and everything you had. After last month in Arizona, it was better that way. Pride was quick to join in, smiling wide and nodding quickly.

“Hell yeah! What information are we gathering?” You grinned, lightly leaning against the tent pole. Vivian stood, her dark brown eyes staring at you and Pride, watching you two as she left the tent. She began to walk towards the edge of the lake, beginning to light a cigarette. You and Pride followed behind her, Pride crossing her arms while your hands rested on your hips. You watched as she took a long drag of her cigarette before exhaling, allowing the smoke to ease into the air.

“Van Der Linde was spotted.” She said, causing Pride to tense a little before shaking it off to listen.

“Now, I know that his little gang is getting stronger, but that matters not. You two are going to find out where they could be.” She said, looking towards you two. You glanced towards Pride, watching her cross her arms.

“Why can’t we just go yelling at night? That scared ‘em last time.” She said, obviously a bit more reluctant to go now that Van Der Linde’s gang was mentioned. Vivian has been after Dutch Van Der Linde since she first brought you two in. You watched a lot of good sisters die from their sharp shooters, especially by Arthur Morgan. Pride and Morgan were like mortal enemies. They were faithful through and through, both could kill one another just to protect their families. You knew if Van Der Linde had been spotted, Morgan wasn’t far behind. For you, there was no enemy. You had no qualms against a certain one except for Dutch, the one who allowed them to kill your sisters whenever they were just doing what was best for everyone. You could tell Pride’s reluctance, especially with you involved. She didn’t like you being around any type of trouble with them. Sure, you had captured and killed men and women before, but never a Van Der Linde gang member. Pride was once the only one left from an encounter with them, her playing dead as the gang ran off. You all had to bury five sisters, which was a lot considering your small family. The Good Lady Vivian Andrew cursed him and swore to bring him in herself, but she needed her little ones to be her eyes. You could see Vivian getting a bit agitated by Pride’s question and reluctance, but she kept a level head.

“Pride… You of all people know how dangerous they are. If you see them, you leave. You just ask people around town, it won’t be that bad. Blackwater is a good place.” She explained, turning to look at them. Pride still looked unconvinced, shaking her head as she tried to pull together why they should avoid any potential contact. You knew this would only run in circles, so you had to do something.

“We’ll go, Madam.” You said quickly, not allowing Pride to argue more. Pride hissed your name in a sort of irritated manor, but she straightened up when Vivian smiled.

“Good… Now, put on your coats and head out. Blackwater isn’t too far, so I suggest you spend as much time there as possible. The shops will be your best bet, especially the butcher.” She informed, tossing the cigarette onto the ground and stomping it out. She began to walk back towards her tent, but stopped.

“Also, ask the others if they need something.” She turned to tell them before going back into her tent, pulling the tent flaps closed so she’d have some privacy. There was silence before Pride spat onto the ground, obviously irritated.

“Go ask around, my ass… If she wasn’t as strong as she was, I’d swing her with her long ass rat hair.” She scoffed, which made you stifle a laugh. Your sister was so dramatic, she’s been that way ever since you were kids. She looked towards her and couldn’t help the chuckle that fell from her lips. She nudged you and motioned for you to follow.

“Come on, we gotta see what the others want.” She said, causing you to nod. You fixed your hair once more, blowing away a small piece that fell in front of your face and hurried after your sister. Thus began the task of figuring out if you had an information hunt or a shopping list to follow.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 oc #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 oc #reader insert

[rxmanticdevil]

One-shot #2 Magicians for Sport, the Aftermath

Characters: Josiah Trelawny, Dutch Van der Linde, briefly: Susan Grimshaw, Charles Smith Rating: PG/PG-13 Spoilers: Through Ch. 3 Words: ~2336 Trigger warnings: Mentions of torture and injuries Shipping: Yes - minor Vanderlawny Summary: Trelawny has just been rescued from the bounty hunters who kidnapped him. Dutch takes it upon himself to clean up the mess that is Trelawny.  Explanation for this abomination: I wanted hurt/comfort. I wrote myself hurt/comfort. It’s here if you want to read it :D 

 ~*~*~

He knew he should have been paying closer attention to their path if he ever wanted to recreate it later. The ride had been more an easy trot, a slow lope, than anything quick. But his body ached, his mind empty of all save for one, ever present, thought: I’ve been saved.

There was a point in that whole ordeal that he was completely convinced he was going to die on the cold ground, at the mercy of some halfwit bounty hunters. And there would be people in his life who would be none the wiser: one day he was there, the next – he was not.

But for whatever reason, Arthur and Charles had been there. Whether they had been sent by Dutch to find him, or they had happened on the scene, or they had learned of his disappearance. It didn’t really matter why it happened. What did matter was that he was alive. In pain, entirely disheveled – looking like nothing more than a complete disaster – but he was alive.

“We’re here,” the voice brought him out of his head, and he looked out at the camp. People were walking from one point to another. Talking amongst each other. Enjoying their days. Josiah could only inhale sharp in an attempt to hold back his own emotions at a sight he had believed, if just for a moment, that he would never see again.

Oh, but he was being rather dramatic – wasn’t he? Didn’t half the folk here experience such a situation on the daily themselves? Who was he, who lived an all-things-considered blessed life, to bring attention to his situation?

“Mr. Trelawny?” The sharp, admonishing gasp caught his attention, “Whatever happened to you?”

“Just, ah, a spot of bother my dear Miss Grimshaw,” one by one, he noticed those at camp glancing over. At first a casual look, and then a second quick stare. He thought he noticed young Miss Mary-Beth with her hands over her mouth. He’d have to reassure her he was fine. His voice was low and gravelly, everything spent, “Not a worry, not a worry.”

“Some bounty hunters got a hold of him,” Charles had already dismounted his steed and come around to help Trelawny off his horse. It might be a bit embarrassing, accepting help off one’s horse. But it would be more embarrassing to fall on the ground, and with how weak he felt he was convinced a fall from the horse would certainly kill him. “Wanted him to talk. About Dutch. About us.”

“Did you?” and Trelawny found himself meeting the eyes of Mr. Dutch Van der Linde. The reason he had bit his tongue when his life was on the line.

“No,” he was able to answer with honesty, for once.

“They’re dead now anyway,” Charles was by Trelawny’s side, gingerly handing him and his care over to Susan. The woman giving him her own shoulder to lean on.

“You’re a good friend, Josiah,” Dutch looked over his face, and Trelawny could feel Dutch taking in each injury. The cuts on his nose and under his eye. The bruises on his cheeks. Dark eyes focused on the blood on his shirt and the markings on his neck where he was nearly strangled more than once. “Miss Grimshaw, can you escort Mr. Trelawny to my tent? I don’t want him sleeping on the ground like this. I’ll be by once I talk to Charles about a few things.”

“Of course, this way,” she steered him through the camp and for the first time since he had been in the Van der Linde gang, he avoided the eyes of the other people. Whether it be due to the shame for his appearance, feeling vulnerable being seen in such a state, or uncomfortable about the attention unintentionally bought upon himself, he found moving through camp to be a task in itself.

It was also a bit of a task physically, his legs still wobbly from the abuse and from being bound together for so long. It didn’t take long though until he was in the tent, being laid gently on a bed.

“I’ll be right back, Josiah. I just need to fetch some supplies,” she adjusted him so he was fully on the bed and removed his shoes for his comfort.

“Thank you, my dear,” he felt his body finally relaxing into the sheets on the small bed. His guard dropped – he was safe. However embarrassed he was for how he appeared; Dutch’s camp was a safe place. No one here was going to harm him. Hurt him. Demand answers. His eyelids felt so heavy, and in the next moment, they closed.

“Still with us, Josiah?”

He wasn’t sure how long he had been out when a voice and the sound of a chair being pulled up beside him brought him out of his slumber. He cracked his eyes open, realizing that the tent itself had been closed off from the outside. There was only one person inside with him, “Despite their best efforts, it seems I am, Dutch.”

A cool, wet cloth was pressed against the cut on his cheek, tenderly cleaning the wound. “It seems like they did quite a number on you. Charles said you’re planning on staying with us?” Another cloth was brought to his face as Dutch wiped away the dirt, the grime, the blood that had stained his skin. “I think that’s a good idea. I sent Charles back to your caravan to get your things. Until then….”

The wet cloth went onto to the small end table at the head of the bed, next to a small bowl that contained a couple of more clean rags and water. Dutch reached over to yet another small table and held up a pristine white nightgown, “Hosea volunteered one of his nightshirts. A man like yourself can’t be comfortable in, well, that.”

It was a blunt reminder of his disheveled and dirty clothes. His opulent vest once vibrant and unparalleled in beauty now dulled with dirt, stained with his blood, “No… I can’t say I am.”

“Can you sit up?” Dutch’s motions were similar to Arthur’s – large, careful hands decorated with rings made of valuable metals and jewels guided him up from where he laid. Josiah’s body screamed in pain as he helped to lift himself into a sitting position, and though he tried to hide it, Dutch’s eyes on him told him the man read him like one of Evelyn Miller’s books. “Those sons of bitches are lucky they’re dead.”

The comment caught him off-guard. There was a low anger rolling in Dutch’s voice. It was almost as though he was taking the harm that had befallen Josiah personally. “It appears they may be.”

Josiah could feel the rage in Dutch’s silence as the outlaw leader reached for Josiah’s forearm, picking it up with calculated calm. Dutch was using another wet cloth to wipe the blood and grime away in measured motions, looking over each bruise and remnant of the torture Josiah had endured. It was as though he were caught in a trance, placing one forearm down in exchange for the other.

The gang leader’s hand slid down Josiah’s arm, carefully supporting his wrist as his other hand went to hold his fingers. Dutch’s gaze went to the red chafing from the rope, the red knuckles from his attempts to fight back. Each mark, Josiah realized, was telling Dutch more of the story. His hand left Josiah’s in favor of taking the cloth over the wounded knuckles as he returned to ridding the body of filth. It was almost a marvel in itself. The hands that had ended so many lives were now treating his own life as though it were made of porcelain.

Fingertips brushed against Josiah’s collarbone as his filthy shirt was pulled away to expose more bruising. More cuts. More injuries. Another clean cloth was brought to his skin causing a small shiver.

“Dutch,” Josiah spoke and Dutch stopped his motions, as though awakened from deep meditation. His hand and the cloth were still resting on Josiah’s chest. “You’ve got more important things to tend to, I can handle this.”

“Nonsense. You protected me. I owe you at least this.” Once again, Trelawny found himself stunned into silence. It almost as though Dutch was taking responsibility for everything. Like he felt the cause of the entire ordeal fell on his shoulders. Sure, the bounty hunters had wanted Dutch. But it was Trelawny who spoke so vibrantly of the outlaw, had been so careless in his own poking around that provided the link between himself and the Dutch Van der Linde.

Before Trelawny could question him or alleviate the man’s concerns, however, Dutch stood up, guiding him to do the same. “You can’t lift your arms to get your shirt off, can you?”

Even though he knew the answer, he tried anyway. His arms made it half-way before refusing to move any further – and Josiah found himself looking away in what he could only describe as that same shame from earlier. The one that kept him from looking at those in camp.

“I thought so,” Dutch’s hands went to the opened placket on Trelawny’s ruined white shirt, “Forgive me, for my… uncouth,” his voice pitched up in its signature cracking, "behavior.” And in the next instant, he pulled the shirt apart – ripping down from where the last button had been undone to the bottom of the shirt. The fabric hung limp on Trelawny’s body, leaving him feeling more exposed and vulnerable than he would have had the shirt been removed in its traditional, rightful manner.

But this meant the shirt and the vest could slip right off. And despite the sudden ripping of what was left of his top, Dutch was treating him so carefully. It was though he saw Josiah as some fragile glass that would shatter should he move too quickly. The nightgown came on, fitting him decently and falling well below his knees. Dutch averted his gaze as Trelawny removed the last of his filthy clothes from under the gown.

Was it so obvious how uncomfortable Josiah was at this moment? Being so weak. So unable to perform a trick and vanish as he normally would. He had no control anymore over where he was – being at the mercy of those around him. He wasn’t even sure if it made things better or worse, how tenderly the leader of the Van der Linde gang was caring for him.

At least he felt clean now. The filth from the ordeal scrubbed from his body for the most part, his tattered clothes in a heap on the ground to be disposed of. Dutch’s attention was on him once more, helping to lower him onto the bed, laying him down while Dutch sat in the chair next to him.

“I’m very lucky,” Trelawny finally spoke after his long silence.

But Dutch was distracted again. This time by the bright red marking on Trelawny’s throat. The man’s calloused fingers went to Josiah’s jaw, holding it firm but with care, pushing his chin up with his thumb to get a better look. It was impossible to know what Dutch was thinking, the man’s poker face almost near as good as Josiah’s (when he hadn’t been near beaten to death earlier in the day).

He hadn’t realized how close Dutch’s face had gotten to his own. Almost tantalizing. The hand on his jaw moved to his neck. An act that hours ago had brought fear, but now the touch brought an inexplicable comfort. Perhaps he was foolish, trusting a man like Dutch so completely. Not perhaps. Josiah was plenty a fool. But not when it came to where he put his trust. Dutch’s thumb brushed over the part of his neck that was raw and red. The damaged skin bristled at the touch but Trelawny didn’t want to show that on his face.

And in the next moment he felt lips on his. The wanted man’s body leaned over the fallen magician, the kiss itself firm. Protective. Dominating. And for just this time in their charade together, Josiah let himself accept without competing. He was far too tired to offer anything more than a return of the kiss with approval and light appreciation.

Dutch pulled away in the next moment, “Thank you.”

Josiah wasn’t sure what he was being thanked for. For accepting the kiss? That hardly needed a ‘thank you.’ They had gone back and forth with their trysts before. For not revealing information about him to the bounty hunters? Perhaps. But Dutch should know, the man might not have Josiah’s honesty – but he had his loyalty.  

“Get some rest. There will be time for more later,” Dutch’s hand made a last trip up Trelawny’s neck, cupping his injured cheek before moving on to some light grooming of Trelawny’s hair – fixing stray strands that had drifted too far from their rightful place.

He then stood and made his way to the front of his tent.

“Dutch?”

The outlaw worth far more than Trelawny could even imagine stopped in his tracks, giving his full attention to Josiah.

“Please, let sweet Miss Mary-Beth know I will be right as rain in just a day or so. The dear seemed quite concerned. I’d hate for anyone to lose sleep over a fool like me.”

“I’ll let her and everyone know you’ll be okay,” and he reached for the flap at the tent’s entrance, “Glad you’re safe, Josiah. We’d miss you. I’d miss you.”

With that, he slipped out of the tent and Trelawny let himself breathe in deep once again. The breath caused his body to ache but it only served to prove what he had been telling himself since he had gotten to camp: everything may hurt, but he was alive.

His eyes shut and in barely a moment’s time, the cunning magician hobbled by the greed and desires of others had fallen into a deep sleep. As Dutch had said, there would be plenty time for more later.

#{my writing} #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #josiah trelawny #dutch van der linde #vanderlawny #long post #{one-shots} #{rebloggable} #((One day I will stop writing Trelawny trash #but today is not that day #tomorrow doesn't look good either)) #((up next on the drabble list: let's traumatize that poor sonofabitch again)) #((maybe. depends)) #{queue}

[exquisitley-obsessed]

I’m (right) here

This is technically a part two: you can read part one HERE

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Arthur lost sight of y/n on a hunting trip and it turns out the Pinkertons have hold of her and are doing everything they can to beat information about Dutch out of her. Arthur’s only goal is to get her back but he’s beginning to realise that if he does, nothing will be the same.

Word Count: 5568

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Warnings: Torture, murder, bruises, scars, cuts!!

A/N: Currently playing RDR2 so please no spoilers <3 Literally took five minutes for me to fall in love with this damn fool and so felt like I needed to write something angsty for him. 

REQUESTS OPEN <3

MASTERLIST

That had to be a broken rib.

Y/n gasped as she tried to roll away from the steel capped boot that had just gutted her; the chubby, squat old man at the other end of the boot was the more aggressive of her two captures - Steven was his name, or something like that. 

It was his plump, well-rounded face that she had woken up to sometime ago, sneering down at her with this sickening gleeful look. It was understandable, by his terms he had struck gold by capturing y/n l/n, proud member of the Van Der Linde gang.

“You still don’t want to talk?” He husked out, hands on his portly hips. Y/n simply spat in response, a mixture of saliva and blood. Days had passed. Weeks maybe, it was difficult to tell when stuffed in a cage in a windowless room.

They came and they went, her captures. Steven and Tony were their names, or at least, that’s what they called each other. So far all they had revealed was that they were Pinkertons, and desperate for information on Dutch Van Der Linde. The beatings were consistent, another day without information, another beating – more painful than the last.

But y/n already knew that nothing could break her vow of silence. She had been dragged into this cage loyal to Dutch and she sure as hell would find a way out of it still being loyal – they’d have to kill her otherwise. It appeared that would be the direction of things anyway.

They were getting tiresome, annoyed, frustrated. Constantly checking their watches and disappearing for long lengths of time, leaving her aching and alone on the concrete floor watching the free flies mock her as they crawled the walls before flying away. It was easiest when she was asleep, it didn’t hurt so much then, like small shelter in a hurricane.

They’re coming. She had rhythmically repeated the mantra to herself a thousand times by now, a prayer. Dutch and Arthur, those she who she was currently dying to protect – they would come. They had to.

 ***

“We’ll find her Arthur.” Dutch said for what felt like the thousandth time. Arthur was sitting glumly inside his camp, ignoring his company as his eyes bore into his map, spotted with pins and small notes.

“I know.” He huffed back without much thought, his mind somewhere else. It felt like so much time had already been wasted, and Arthur has resorted to spending every waking moment tracking y/n, at least it kept his mind occupied.

Pinkertons weren’t necessarily nasty men, he’d sure as hell met worse, but they were by no means men to be trusted. Honour among thieves didn’t apply to them.

Sighing heavily his eyes drifted from the map above his bed to his collection of photos pinned nearby; him, Hosea and Dutch, his mother, an old newspaper clipping and the most recent edition was the printed photo of y/n that he had taken on a hunting trip.

He put it up there after getting it printed, a few days after her disappearance. Somewhere in his mind he validated the action through it only being a reminder of his task. 

He liked the photo. She looked the same as ever, same braid, same work pants, John’s old shirt – her eyes were crinkled slightly as she smiled at the camera her jaw slack as if she were about to start laughing. Actually, she wasn’t looking at the camera, she was looking behind it – at Arthur.

It was strange to see the way someone looked at you, those moments which you normally don’t get to see at all, and yet he had it captured in time and hanging above his bed. Something about this whole situation had awoken something he thought he had buried a long time ago, but that’s always the way with old feelings, they don’t really go away you just start convincing yourself that they’re not there anymore as you suddenly become busy with someone else. But now he had no distraction, and with all this time, this torturous time without her – he was remembering.

“God’s sake,” He muttered under his breath, collapsing in his chair and flicking through his journal for the hundredth time. It was escapism really, reading old passages and admiring old drawings from a few weeks ago; pretending as if he were back then with nothing to fear.

He hadn’t realised how much he drew her. It seemed obvious now, flicking through the creased papers where loose sketches of y/n seemed to dot every other page. He had never questioned it before, just always thought that he could remember her figure a lot easier than others – the shape she took when she was hunched on her horse, how she always sat in the same crumpled poor-excuse of a chair every morning when he brought her a coffee. When the gang had had a small party, out of everyone it was her he remembered when sitting around the fireplace, lips parted slightly as she half-sang.

Everything was different now, even he couldn’t deny it. But God, he hated it.

What would this mean? When they got her back, if they got her back, what would happen then? Another cycle of burying his feelings, he could see himself already back at Mary’s beck-and-call, desperate for a distraction. Maybe there was a part of himself that didn’t want to see her again, that just wanted to see her safe and then disappear – could he seriously continue to live an elaborate lie he had formulated years ago, when he was only a boy? Who was that fair to?

He cussed again low under his breath. The past few days all he’s wanted to do is escape his mind, calm his rushing thoughts, tame them into something he could tolerate. Hazily, he noticed somewhat raised panicked voices out in the main camp. He could do this; he had done it before, burying feelings. The voices sounded excited. Maybe he was simply destined to live a life of half-loves. Footsteps were now moving toward his tent.

“Arthur!” But he had already picked up his gun and was headed through the folds of his camp. He had survived his feelings for y/n once before, of course he could again.

***

“Your own family left, y/n…” She cringed at how sympathetic Tony’s voice was, as if he were on her side. “They’re gone…there’s been no sign of them for weeks now. They’re not coming.”

This was apparently their plan for the time being. Whispering false truths to her about Dutch, how he was spotted on the other side of West Elizabeth, three days ride from, well wherever the hell she was.

“No,” Y/n gasped, her ribs grinding against the ground, bone and concrete. The lashes on her back felt like they were writhing as the leather whip in Steven’s hand dripped her slick blood.

“Stop!” Steven exploded, y/n was hazily aware of the whip being catapulted across the room, “Stop protecting them y/n! We’re here to help you, for God sake they-”

“Help me?” She hissed. He didn’t hear.

“don’t care about you! Look-” Steven grunted, hauling a chair from the desk to the front of her cell and throwing himself in it, “Life has been nothing but unkind to you y/n, we can see that,” Y/n squeezed her eyes shut as another dull, aching throb radiated from her back, “We’re at a point now where we can forgive you for all of your past crimes…you could walk away from this a free woman…marry a good man, whatever the hell you want…we just need something in return.”

She couldn’t meet his eye. Couldn’t begin to accept what he was telling her about her family but, the reality was, where were they? Weeks he said, weeks waiting in agony for the moment they’d come for her only to be left day in, day out, entirely and utterly alone. 

Y/n felt herself being lulled in to a numb state, all she could pitifully think of was that she wanted to go home: she wanted fresh clean clothes, Pearson’s warm soup, a story from Hosea, a hug from Dutch – when was the last time someone had touched her in an affectionate way?

“Please…” She wheezed through her shattered lungs as her eyes rolled, “Just leave me alone.”

This apparently wasn’t the right answer. Steven, in one fluid motion, swung the chair out from underneath him, hurling it at the cell. Colliding against the steel bars, the wood promptly splintered like fragile bones.

“You stupid bitch!” He exploded, “You can’t see help when it’s fucking standing in front of you! You refuse it like a fucking idiot!” He was gasping for breath as he bellowed, his podgy skin flushing scarlet, “No wonder you’ve ended up like this...all alone…” He was spitting at her, stalking across the front of her bars like a predator homing in on its prey. Y/n felt dull tears dribble down her cheeks as she began to drown in how utterly helpless she was. Crumpled on the floor, unable to move, unable to breathe. “This...” He stopped stalking, his pulsating eyes glaring down at her over his rounded cheeks, “This…” He repeated, lowering himself to her level, “is why deep down…you’ll always be an orphan.”

Y/n watched him curiously, he hadn’t acted like this before. He had always had control. She then focused on Tony behind him whose eyes were avidly watching a pocket watch as his flicked it back and forth between his fingers nimbly.

“We best get going.” Tony finally spoke into the silence, swinging his coat on before checking the bullets in his pistol.

“Not yet,” Y/n’s heart dropped as Steven turned back to her, “They aint getting you back.” He spat at her, his voice low, almost as if he was laughing at her. Y/n watched in silent trepidation as he pushed his key into her cell door and slung it open, “At least…” Y/n moved her eyes back to Tony, pleading for him to do something, “They aint getting you back alive.”

Lying there, face down, unable to move, y/n found herself desperately coming to terms with her own mortality as she heard the click of the gun; summoning all her strength she tried to raise her head to look at him but his steel capped boot struck her clean across the cheek. Choking out a feeble cry she then tried to use the momentum of the kick to roll away from him, but it was futile. With her body broken beneath her there was nothing she could do, and all too soon she felt the cold, lifeless tip of the gun’s barrel pushed against the back of her head. This was it. Her pathetic, ruthless, pain-filled life – this was the climax, the pièce de résistance. The final click sounded followed by a short explosion before finally, darkness.

****

“I told you to only blow the god-damn doors off!” Arthur hollered at Sean who merely gave him a meek look and a shrug of the shoulder. Irish idiot, Arthur thought. The explosion was only supposed to take out the chains and bolts encasing the front doors, but the underestimation of the TNT had caused a shudder through house’s frame, resulting in the roof crumbling in on itself.

“Okay boys!” Dutch commanded, getting off from his horse and assessing the damage, “They know we’re here now which is fine…there’s more of us than ‘em I can promise you that.” He turned back to the gang, patrolling across the front of them like an army captain, “One objective: get in there and find y/n…you see any Pinkertons…gun ‘em down. They messed with us…with our family.” Slowly and in unison, the Van der Linde gang pulled on their masks. “Aint nobody messes with the our family and survives…nobody.” They moved in.

Arthur turned left with Charles, moving swiftly through the large, white manor house they had tracked the Pinkertons to – and God what a job that was. Weeks had passed of tracking and losing sight of the Pinkertons, putting everyone’s necks on the line trying to find the whereabouts of y/n. At first, they had been so sure she was in this old, abandoned farmhouse. They planned meticulously their attack for a week before attempting, only to discover it was some O’Discrolls cooped up in there – y/n nowhere in sight. 

Realising how much time had been wasted, they quickly went back to work, until Micah’s loudmouth made things blow up in the local town. Time and effort were then directed to moving camp somewhere safe, no one allowed to go after y/n during that time – it was also during this time that Dutch and Arthur had a rather explosive argument. 

But they were finally here, finally had tracked her to this bulky manor house out west, and if she weren’t here… well, Arthur couldn’t think about that.

“In here,” Charles’ voice rumbled as they moved past some double doors. Sharing a quick glance with Charles, Arthur jolted forward, the doors snapping back out of his way as he moved into the room. Looking around, he noticed how it looked like it was crumpled in on itself, planks of wood, an old piano, a large cabinet that had been picked clean years ago. All signs of life felt distant and foreign, as if someone hadn’t lived there for years – still, Arthur couldn’t lose hope. He turned back to Charles shook his head and they moved on.

****

Y/n blinked for what felt like forever, her heart racing as a high-pitched whine completely dominated her hearing. She hadn’t expected to still be conscious so it took her a minute to gather her bearings. Slowly, fuzzy outlines hardened into shapes and then, objects. Something had exploded, something was happening. Y/n moved and her whole body burned but it didn’t matter anymore – something was happening.

Fumbling for a second, she dragged herself up, her legs threatening to give way underneath her as she clung onto a fallen beam for support. Looking around she saw Steven rolling around near her, his face contorted into that of agony as one of his legs sat stuck under a pile of rubble and brick, a low gurgling, gasping noise whining from his throat. Sweeping low, y/n swiftly plucked up his gun and felt adrenaline start to pump through her – she had the power now.

“I can help,” Her ears still ringing as she coyly smiled at the chubby, little man at her feet. “Make the pain stop…I mean…”

Y/n, without thinking, raised the gun to his head and shot. Blood splattered across the room. Letting out a long deep sigh, y/n felt herself snapping back into her body, her arms and legs now feeling a little more like her own. Looking over she saw Tony collapsed; maybe passed out, maybe dead. It didn’t matter.

Panic rose quickly inside her, she needed to get out. She didn’t know what was happening or what had sparked the explosion, but this could be her only chance to escape - she needed to get out now. Swinging herself clumsily around the corner she opened the door and peered out, her eyes greedily racing across all the new sights and imagery. She tried to move as light as she could across the creaking floor tiles, her legs limping and stumbling over one another beneath her. Maybe there were other people in the house, maybe she was just being overcautious. She didn’t much care. She just needed to get out.

Successfully reaching a flight of stairs, she began to pick her way down, half hanging over the barista, the world spinning around her. Then, she heard a noise, heavy thumps and distant voices – she wasn’t alone. Panic rose like bile and suddenly, she was racing down the stairs, another flight followed by the next – out, out, out. The next flight, almost there, keep the gun in hand. God it’s so heavy. The world spinning around her, the adrenaline not slowing down until she scrambled down that last flight of stairs until there in front of her were the doors, opening out in a grassy barren knoll ahead.

She didn’t care about the pain anymore, or the fact that all this movement had cracked open all her cuts and lashings – she ran. She ran faster than it felt like she had ever run before, racing forth into the greenery and the open night sky. The stars gleaming down on her as she sprinted through the tall grass, feeling the wind move through her, an explosion of smells - the world alive around her. Then, a figure arose from her right. Instinctively, she stumbled down into a crouch, hiding herself in the shrubbery.

“Any sign of her?” Someone called out, fear latched onto her heart, she already knew she was the ‘her’. She tried to make out the voice, but it felt like the whole world was swimming in her head.

“No…I think John found some dead bodies in the attic. He said they were real fresh though.” Another voice, a different accent. Why wouldn’t her head unscramble itself? She felt her stomach lurch at the name – she knew a John.

“But I thought…” She heard her own voice softly choke out as she rose to her knees, swaying back and forth as the Earth moved underneath her.

“So…she aint here?”

“Doesn’t look like it…there are signs she might’ve been…they’re going to burn down the house down though.”

Looking up over the spikey tops of the greenery, y/n tried to make out the dark silhouettes barely visible against the inky night sky.

“What the hell are we going to do?”

“They won’t give up…not when it comes to her…”

“Not when it comes to anyone, Javier. We’re family. No one gets left behind.” Y/n felt a sob explode out of her – it was them. Hosea and Javier, talking about her, looking for her – saving her. In the same second another explosion erupted, this time, it was to begin the fire. Bright and beautiful, greedily eating up the dry wood of the abandoned home and exploding light into the universe. The bright and beautiful universe in which her family were here, her family that had come for her.

“Hosea!” She tried to shout but it came out as a wheeze, her voice stuck somewhere in her broken throat as she dragged herself to her feet, stumbling forward towards the figures. “Javier!” She tried again, but no noise. Nothing. Something desperate arose in her, what if they couldn’t see her? What if they left her without realising they had found her, she was here, and she was safe now. She went to shout again, her feet stumbling beneath her.

Her hair was completely loose, her clothes torn, her body broken. The heat of the fire warming her skin and yet, her skin wasn’t warm, it was burning. Fresh blood dribbling down her body as her wounds split. She wanted to scream again but something stopped her.

“Y/n…” All he said was her name. Looking up all she could see was Arthur. He was walking between Hosea and Javier, away from the house, looking at her. He could see her.

“Arthur-” She tried to say his name, but a sob shattered her lungs. She silently begged him to come to her, to touch her as she began to crumble. And, almost as if he heard her, he jolted forwards, his face enigmatic as he reached out for her but just as he was about to reach out for her – she jumped back, as if he had shocked her.

She had this God-awful look in her eyes then, all glossy and confused, like she didn’t quite recognise him. Like she was questioning him, staring at him as if she couldn’t quite make her mind up about something.

“How long’s it been.” God her voice was quiet, barely audible over the sound of the fire, the shouts of Hosea and Javier as they called for the others.

“Since what?” Arthur heard his own voice softly rumble, all he wanted was to soothe her, touch her, keep her safe.

“Since I went missing Arthur?” She looked numb; her were eyes wide, her mouth half open, a salty mixture of tears, dirt and blood dribbling down her cheeks. Arthur had not realised a single question could make him feel so guilty.

“Um…maybe a few weeks…”

“Maybe?” She let out a shaky breath. He felt like a small stone settle at the bottom of his gut – guilt.

“Four weeks yesterday…that’s when you went missing.”

And there it was. Y/n’s mind felt like it was crumpling in on itself, beginning to choke on the feeling of betrayal. Four weeks. Four weeks they had left her there, maybe searching, maybe not. She had lay in that poor excuse for a jailcell for a month, she had been dragged past her breaking point, she had faced pain like she could never had imagined waiting every second, every minute for her family to do what a family does, to protect her and yet, where were they?

“Y/n, girl, there you-” Dutch’s gruff voice swam into her mind as she twisted away from Arthur. The blazing red of the fire and the inky blue of the night sky, all of it blurring into a complete and utter mess.

“Four weeks….” She was surprised at how meek her own voice sounded, she hated it venomously. How was it that she had become so weak? How had she gotten here, to this moment? “Where were you?” She turned back to where Arthur stood, his head bowed like a scolded runt and Dutch, his hand half outstretched towards her, his euphoric face crumbling. “How could you let…”

“Y/n we were looking for you…I promise we were looking…” Dutch began, already stumbling into his defensive tone. Y/n wanted to believe him, but then she blinked and suddenly she was back in her cell, the ominous faces of men she was savagely scared of hovering above her, sneering at her as they told her how her family had disappeared, left her behind, just like her parents did. She blinked once more, and they were gone.

“You were supposed to protect me-” Suddenly, she exploded, “We’re family! What kind of a family does that to one another…you left me there…you left me there with those men…”

“I know baby-” Dutch began again.

“No!” She was gasping now, unable to breathe – the smoke and the sobbing choking her, “You don’t know…if only you did…if only you knew what they did to me Dutch….” Her cheeks throbbed as she tried to resist a guttural sob, “I thought I was your daughter.”

“You are-”

“No…I aint.” Her legs were shaking now, the fire and sky crashing together once again, “You don’t do that to your daughter, you left me…you left me behind.” Suddenly the grass felt so soft, “You left me...” The grass was so gentle compared to the concrete of her cell, the soil softened, responded to her touch, moved with her – earth and flesh, “You left me just like they did…”

Resting back, she dug her fingers deep into the earth and looked up. The sky was hot, the soil cold. Her world being torn open around her, exploding and rearranging into something new.

Nothing would be the same.

*****

“Oh…you scared me.” Arthur murmured, his eyes flickering up to the ghostly figure at the mouth of his tent.

“Sorry I-” Y/n stood awkwardly between the folds of cloth, dressed in only her night things with her hair loose down her back. She looked young, a little like how she did when they had first met. Arthur also noticed then how delicate she looked; it had been like that for a few weeks now.

Dutch had basically carried her back to camp, leaving her with Ms Grimshaw so her wounds could be tended to. Arthur had checked in on her regularly during the first few days, he liked it most when she was asleep, it gave him time to watch over her without feeling as though he was intruding.

“No, it’s okay,” A sloping grin melted into his cheeks, “Stay...please…I got, uh, oatcakes and beer.”

“Wow…my lucky treat,” Arthur watched with concealed warmth as a smile pattered across her cheeks. It had felt like forever since he had seen her smile. “Sorry for intruding, guess I just wanted to be close to someone for a ‘lil bit. Can’t sleep, y’know,” Moving into his camp, she curled herself up on Arthur’s fur rug, resting her back against his side table; it was her position, whenever she had snuck into his tent she had always somehow folded herself into that specific corner and he had never dared question it for she would always aggressively insist she was comfortable.

“Yeah, I understand. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel like that most of the time.”

“To be honest, it wasn’t made very clear when I signed up to this gang…” Y/n grinned at him, “Maybe then I would’ve rethought my application.” Arthur chuckled.

“True…they don’t exactly give you a run down before you start living a life of crime.” Moments like these were more regular the past few days. Moments where he found himself relaxing into the familiar rhythmic conversations with y/n that he had always had, it was comforting, a reminder that the pain was temporary. “How you holding up?”

“Fine,” She smiled at him, a real smile, “Ms Grimshaw works a miracle.”

“That she does,” He shuffled slightly to rest his back against the wagon next to his bed.

“Nothing really bad happened to me physically…I mean, nothing I can’t recover from.”

“And you will, with time, you always do.” She smiled at him again, but this time her eyes lowered after meeting his – was she nervous?

“I guess the only problem is…Dutch aint shifting outta protective mode any time soon.”

“He’ll get over it…” Arthur chuckled, “I think he’s just mad at himself y’know. You know how much you mean to him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” She nodded sleepily. “I know Morgan.” God, it killed him when she called him that. Suddenly, y/n’s face twisted up in a grimace and she jolted up, her hands stretching toward her back.

“Y’okay?” He asked nervously after a moment.

“Fine…fine…” She winced, rubbing at her shoulders, “Just not quite 100% yet, y’know.” He eyed her for a moment as she pushed her hair out of her face, trying to massage the spot in her shoulder that was causing her pain.

“Here,” He surprised himself by saying, “Let me do your hair.” She eyed him; an eyebrow half raised her lips slightly parted. It seems neither of them had expected him to raise that offer. “Oh c’mon, remember how I used to braid your hair before shooting lessons with Dutch?”

“Feels like a lifetime ago…” She murmured; a faint smile painted on her lips as her eyes clouded with a distant memory

“I ain’t forgotten how to,” He smiled at her and she smiled back, shyly. A pause. “Please y/n. I know I can’t do much to help you right now…I’m no good doctor, I’m a god damn idiot when it comes to words and, y’know, comforting people. So, please…let me do this.” He watched as her lips parted slightly into a distant smile, her eyes lighting up.

“Okay Morgan…if you really want to braid my hair I guess I’ll have to allow it. Just do a good job of it okay.”

“Who you trying to look good for?”

“Oh, you know me Morgan…everybody and nobody.” Arthur chuckled to himself. She plodded herself down on the floor next to his cot and, shifting over, he planted his legs like trunks either side of her, creating a small cove in which she could tuck herself.

He went to move her hair to the back when he noticed his hands shaking ever so slightly, his heart rate jumping too. Arthur tried to calm himself then and there but couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the feeling of her, the warmth along the inside of his claves as she curled into him, resting her head lightly against his right knee. Desperately trying not to hurt her, he scooped up her hair and used his fingers to softly comb behind her ears and down her neck, ensuring he had caught every soft wisp.

Silently, he cursed his fingers for being so calloused, spitefully thinking of how his fingers might be grazing her soft skin. Sweeping all her hair to the back, he watched as it loosely tumbled down before softly combing his fingers through it. He promptly forgot about how much he hated his hands, forgot his hatred of how he had always been so large and gruff, unsubtle and mean. Instead his mind became full of thoughts of her.

How different her hair colour looked in the orange candlelight compared to daylight. How long her hair tumbled down her back when loose and how he hadn’t noticed considering she always had it tied back. How he could see the skin of her neck peeking at him as her hair began to sway when he braided it. How that skin sloped down into the loose collar of her night shirt. The way her shoulders and back moved with her steady breath and, if he listened carefully, how he could hear it. Steady, strong, safe. It seemed all too quickly the braid twisted to a finish in his fingers.

“You got a tie?”

“Course,” She sleepily murmured. God that killed him. The way her eyes drooped, the way she moved without being conscious of what she was doing to him. She placed the tie in his outstretched palm and seemed to not realise that her delicate hands had brushed so softly against his rough ones.

“I’m scared,” She piped up as his fingers returned to her hair, her voice ever so slightly dreamy.

“That they’ll come take you again?” Now done, Arthur relaxed back into his cot a little but refused to move his legs, desperate to not disturb her.

“No…well yes but…” She melted deeper into the cove of his legs without thinking, “I’m scared that what they did to me, what happened in those weeks…I’m scared it’s going to be with me for the rest of my life, affect me for the rest of my life, I mean.”

“But-”

“Sorry, I know it sounds silly-”

“No…it doesn’t,” Arthur leaned forward, catching her eye, “There aint anything silly about what you went through, but…I know for a fact that it won’t affect you forever.” A beat.

“How?”

“Because you’re so much more than what happened to you in those four weeks. You’ve lived through hell; we all know it, and yet at the end the day – you’re more than any of the people who have hurt you.” He watched her looking at him, trying to figure out the enigmatic feeling written on her face, but the conversation moved swiftly on.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened in those weeks?” She whispered, not blinking, “Where you all were?”

“We were looking for you y/n, and that’s the God honest truth,”

“But-”

“But nothing y/n. For a while uh…things got complicated. We lost track for a bit and you paid for it, I’m sorry.” He looked down, wondering how far he could take this, “Y’know, I thought that you were dead, just for a moment…I was destroyed.” Her face remained enigmatic, “Now I’m scared to turn away from you for one second, I’m afraid I’ll lose you again.” It felt like he was crossing into unmarked territory.

“You’ll never lose me,” She breathed, “Not really.” A knot tied itself into existence in his gut.

Their eye contact never broke. It felt like it never would. Looking at her then, he felt like there were a million things he wanted to say to her, like there was so much of himself he had yet to reveal to her. The parts of himself which, in all honesty, cared for her more than he ever realised. Sitting there, with her tucked against his right knee, he couldn’t help himself.

Almost as if he were in a trance, he began to trace his fingers along the hair behind her left ear before scooping up her braid and shifting it to the side, how comforting it was to know that she was right there, under his fingertips. His left hand moved to her shoulder were he gently shifted the white cotton of her dress so that it slipped down, exposing her black and beaten shoulder. Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, he brought his lips down and pressed them against her colourful skin. She shivered into his touch as his beard grazed her bare flesh, but she never looked away. He kissed her again, moving up closer to her neck, his eyes fluttering shut. He was so close that she could feel his breath fluttering across her exposed neck. She relaxed into him, almost daring him to go further until she noticed something – he was crying.

Soft beads rolled down his cheeks as he kissed her again, and again, and again. Softly, y/n started to hear his whispers warm into the silence.

“I’m sorry…”

“I can protect you…”

“They won’t ever hurt you again…”

“I’m here now…”

“I’m sorry…”

“I’m here…”

 Maybe y/n was right, maybe nothing would be the same. But change didn’t seem so scary anymore.

requests open <3

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Merry Christmas, hazelestelle!

For @hazelestelle <3

Read On AO3

*****

It's Always Something, Even at Christmas

Chapter 1

“I need you to be my date.”

Stiles turned so quickly he fell out of his chair and cursed as he hit the floor and landed directly on his elbow. He glared up at Derek from the floor and gave him a look as he rolled his eyes and said, “Could you at least try to come in through the front door like a normal person?” while Derek stood there just inside his window, hands inside his leather coat, looking entirely undisturbed at the fact that he’d scared the crap out of his emissary.

“I need you to be my date,” he repeated, looking thoroughly annoyed, but Stiles, being far too attuned to the Alpha’s moods, noticed the slight hint of desperation in his tone. “The stupid firm I’m working for is having a Christmas party and if I don’t come with a date, specifically you, then that woman who works across from me is going to jump me.”

Stiles snorted as he got to his feet, rubbing his elbow, tossing the man a look as he went back to his laptop and said, “You could just not go to the party, you know that, right?”

Derek let out an exasperated sigh and threw himself onto Stiles’ bed and uncharacteristically rubbed his hands over his face and said, “God, I wish it were that easy. This stupid architecture degree was supposed to make my job easier, not harder,” he complained, and then said, “The thing is, I just finished helping the partners with a big project and they personally invited me to their private Christmas party. At their house,” he explained. “If I say no, I’ll look like the world’s biggest asshole…”

“As opposed to…?”

Derek shot him a bitch face and Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Seriously, dude. I still don’t know how you convinced them that you were a nice guy,” he commented, turning his attention back to the research that he’d been doing before Derek had so rudely interrupted him.

Something had been hunting the local pets in the area and Stiles had narrowed it down to a few supernatural beings. Being the Hale pack’s emissary wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The pack still had him pulling all nighters to help them out, on top of his normal job, which was working out of the new local FBI offices. When he’d finally finished his training, he’d put in a request and they had gladly let him set up a new office just outside of Beacon Hills. Anything for the new wunderkid agent who was making the agents back in D.C. look bad.

When he’d finally gotten back home, however, he discovered that Derek had returned back, as well, and with a degree in architecture, which was downright baffling to him because he had assumed that when the man had disappeared back in the Mexican desert that he’d gone off to do werewolf stuff…apparently, not so much. From what he had gleaned through secondhand information, Derek had gone off to New York and settled in and gotten his degree at NYU.

To think that they had both been on the east coast at the same time, only an hour and a half train ride away from each other for nearly five years…Stiles sometimes wondered if Derek had known that he was in D.C. but hadn’t cared enough to do anything about it.

And then Stiles had found out that the man was an alpha again. That had thrown him for a loop.

When he’d gotten back, he’d found out that Deaton was planning on leaving, so Stiles had used up all of his spare time picking his brain about what it meant to be an emissary, and suddenly found himself with a second job when Derek had asked him in the most formal way possible if he was willing to be the pack’s emissary.

He’d said yes.

And then Erica and Boyd had rolled back into town after hearing that Derek was back and an alpha, yet again, despite having left back in junior year when things had gone to hell in a handbasket around Beacon Hills. And Derek had himself a little pack consisting of those two, Isaac, and a new kid named Liam, who Isaac was incredibly protective over.

So now Stiles was living back at home in his old room with his dad, just like in high school, and Derek was still breaking in through his window.

Considering that they were both adults, it was more than a little bit weird. But, at the same time, it was familiar and safe, so he kind of enjoyed it. Despite being twenty-four years old and still living at home, his dad let him keep whatever hours he wanted and he and came and went as he pleased…and Derek still couldn’t use the front door.

“Look,” Derek said, sounding tired, “They said I could bring a date and I told them that I would bring you, and they all…”

When his voice suddenly dropped off, Stiles looked over at him, trying to figure out why the heck Derek looked guilty as hell. He was now looking at the floor and had shoved his hands so deep into his pockets that Stiles was certain that they were about to rip at the seams.

“They what, Derek?” he prompted him.

He finally looked back up at him.

“They’ve apparently all assumed that you’re my boyfriend because I’ve talked about you so much.” Stiles’ eyebrow shot up and he opened his mouth to say something, but then Derek cut him off with an eyeroll and said, “Look, I talk about you because you’re our pack’s emissary, but I can’t tell them that, so they get a highly edited version of my weekend events and your name comes up a lot, and they all just assumed, and please don’t make this any harder than this is for me.”

He was sorely tempted to make fun of him, but he instead withheld the impulse and licked his lips and said, “If I say yes, what will I be expected to do at this party?”

Derek huffed, but then answered, “I don’t know…act…boyfriend-like. Do whatever it is couples do, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders and Stiles took some perverse pleasure at seeing how uncomfortable he was, but also felt a faint twinge of regret. “Hold hands, kisses on the cheek, pet names…stuff like that.”

The picture he gave him was one that Stiles had secretly wanted for years. He’d fallen for him back in high school but had known that someone as gorgeous and amazing as Derek was way out of his league, even more so considering his werewolf status and all of his abilities. He consistently attracted older women to him and so Stiles knew that he would never have a chance, but it was nice to know that Derek had talked about him enough at work and in such a way that his coworkers thought that Stiles was his boyfriend.

He thought about torturing him a bit longer, but instead capitulated and said, “Sure, why not. When and where is it?”

Derek’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Next weekend. I’ll pick you up Saturday night, don’t worry about it.”

“Dress code?”

Derek gave him another look.

“Uh…don’t know. I’ll find out. Just…thank you, Stiles,” he said, and the emissary nodded, keeping his emotions in check, even though he kinda wanted to shout from the rooftops that he was going on a date with Derek Hale. So, what if it was a fake date, it was better than nothing.

Derek moved to leave through the window, and Stiles couldn’t help but say, “Does that mean I can call you Der Bear?”

He heard him growl as he dropped to the ground and he laughed.

Yeah, this was gonna be fun.

--

“So, I hear you and Derek are going out on a date,” said Erica as she sprawled out on his office couch, kicking her legs out behind her as she lay on her stomach, staring intently at her nails as Stiles finished up a report for the head office, thoroughly entrenched in getting through it before he called it quits and went to lunch, which was the reason why she was there.

“It’s not a real date, it’s just to keep his coworkers off his back,” he said, still staring at his screen as he typed.

She let out a snort, rolled over to her back and shot him a look.

“Yeah, fake, right. You do know that Mr. Grumpycat has been pining after you for years, now, right?” she shot back at him and Stiles shook his head, knowing better than to take anything of what she said as serious. “He’s been all broody and serious ever since you came back to Beacon Hills,” she complained.

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“So, no different than usual, then?” he couldn’t help but retort, flipping a page on the papers that he was referencing as he wrote his report.

But at that, Erica sat back up, her hair spilling around her shoulders in that effortless way that most models would kill for and gave him a look and said, “Actually, before you showed up, he seemed to have really changed. He was wearing more normal clothes, like sweaters and stuff, not a leather jacket to be seen. He was even smiling more, acting like a person, you know?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “It was like seeing the human side of him for once. But then you showed up and he becomes all Broody McBrooderson again…”

Stiles sighed, though slightly amused at her description of the alpha, but ignored her just long enough so that he could finish his report, and then stood up, reached over and grabbed his coat and said, “Can we just go to lunch?”

She rolled her eyes at him a second time, but then smiled.

“Fine. Lunch it is.”

And with that they walked out arm in arm from his office, and Stiles smirked when he saw a few of the other agents sneak glances at her, most of them unaware of the fact that she was taken. He was fairly certain that quite a few of them thought that Erica was his girlfriend, but he didn’t really care.

She wore her skinny jeans, thigh high black boots, and her usual too-tight low-cut top with a leather jacket thrown over it for good measure. Stiles looked like a worn-out door to door salesman next to her in his rumpled suit, but he didn’t mind. Ever since he had come back, the two of them had bonded in a way that Stiles had always wished they had and now she was like the best friend that he’d never had…she had even beat out his old best friend, Scott. Scott had left Beacon Hills to go to vet school and, according to his mom, he wasn’t coming back.

He still kept in touch with him, but it was sort of an unspoken understanding between the two of them that Scott wanted nothing more to do with the goings-on of Beacon Hills and the supernatural drama that came with it. Stiles was fine with that, and still kept in close contact with Melissa…who had been spending a suspicious amount of time with his dad, recently.

He didn’t want to think about it too much, so he turned his attention to Erica as they sat down in the booth at the diner and ordered their usual. As soon as their food arrived, he changed the subject.

“So…how’s Boyd doing?”

At the question, she lit up and Stiles smiled as she began to jabber away.

“Oh my god, he’s doing so good. Ever since he found that job at the hospital as an orderly, he’s been doing so good. He really loves helping people, you know?” she said with a bright smile, dipping one of her fries into her milkshake and taking a bite. “I’m still working on trying to finish my GED, which is a serious pain in the ass, but as soon as I get it, I’m looking into becoming a volunteer counselor at the youth center,” she admitted, sounding a bit shy as she did, and Stiles smiled.

She was amazing with teenagers, especially the girls, and Stiles thought it was a perfect fit for her.

“I’m happy for the two of you,” he said, completely sincere. He didn’t have any romantic prospects, male or female, but he was okay with it. He was just happy to see his friends finally happy.

Erica gave him another blinding smile…but then it turned devious as she said, “So…this ‘fake’ date that you and Derek are having. I hear it’s for the private Christmas party that he was invited to, right?” Stiles groaned, but she didn’t let up. “I bet there’s gonna be mistletoe there. I don’t care what it takes, you need to drag that boy under it and get it on with him already!”

He threw a french fry at her, but she caught it between her teeth and continued to grin at him.

Finally, he said, “I’m not dragging him anywhere, let alone towards something that could potentially kill him. Look, I know you think that he likes me, too, but trust me when I say that it’s barely concealed annoyance. At best.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious! I mean, when he asked me to be emissary, of course I said yes, but that’s all I am to him. I am a tool that helps keep the pack safe and that’s it, Erica. That’s all it’s ever going to be. And I’m fine with that, seriously. I love being someone that can help the pack, the person that you guys can turn to when the going gets rough. Hell, that’s why I joined the FBI,” he added, eating one of his own fries.

She arched an eyebrow at him, and he could see the look all over her face.

“Stiles. He likes you. As in, he likes likes you.”

He gave her a look right back and said, “Oh, so we’re reverting to middle school terms, now? What next? You gonna hand me note from him that says, ‘do you like me? Check yes or no’?”

She rolled her eyes and practically pouted as she said, “Look, he’s my alpha and I can tell when he’s not acting right and ever since you came back his scent gets all weird whenever you’re around or any time that he’s thought that you might be in trouble, and Isaac and Liam have both been worried about him, too,” she admitted, and Stiles was taken off guard by the naked honesty in her tone.

He licked his lips, put down the burger that he was about to take a bite of and said, “You…you’re serious?”

She nodded.

“Yeah. So…don’t fuck this up, okay? He may act like you’re just doing him a favor, going to the Christmas party and all, but I know that this means a lot to him,” she muttered, picking at the edge of the table, chipping off a piece of the flaking formica with one perfectly manicured fingernail. “He acts all tough around you, and only you, and I may not know why…but I know that he has feelings for you, Stiles. So, don’t fuck this up.”

He took a deep breath…but then nodded. At that, she seemed to relax, and they went back to their lunch, him talking about his research on the creature that was going after the local pets (most likely a lamia, though he had no idea how it had made its way to Beacon Hills), and Erica chiming it about the online college classes that both Isaac and Liam were taking, and how the additions onto the Hale house were coming. According to Erica, both of the boys wanted their own rooms, but Derek was insisting that they share because he was not adding two bedrooms.

By the time they were done, and Erica was walking him back to his office, he was feeling a bit better.

She lightly squeezed his waist before she left and whispered into his ear right before lightly pecking his cheek, “Don’t fuck it up.”

He snorted and hugged her right back and returned the gesture.

“I’ll try not to,” he replied with a fake put-upon look, and she gave him a wry smile in return before turning around and heading back down the street.

--

It was the day before the Christmas party, and Stiles was running through the backyard of Mrs. Newton’s house in the middle of the night, trying his hardest to not get caught by the nosy old lady who had a tendency to spy on her neighbors through her back windows. He had found the lamia. Which wasn’t a lamia. Instead, it was a rogue were-coyote, and Stiles was looking like an idiot with dirt-stained jeans with the left leg completely soaked through. He had almost cornered it a few houses down, near a bird bath in someone else’s backyard, but then it had bolted at the last second and he now had a ruined pair of pants.

He panted, trying to catch his breath. Sure, he was fitter than he used to be, but he’d been chasing it for over an hour at that point.

Bent over at the waist, still catching his breath, Stiles begrudgingly pulled out his small pouch of mountain ash, hating that he had to use it, but knowing that it was necessary.

“Okay, you little fucker,” he muttered, pulling out the smallest amount needed because he hated wasting it. “I’m going to track you properly and find your goddamn den if it’s the last thing I do, because you are seriously ruining my night.”

He closed his eyes, concentrated, and then let out a trickle of it from between his first finger and thumb…and let out a sigh of relief as it glowed slightly and drifted in a straight line back through the backyards until it headed for the woods. He followed it, letting out small amounts each time he ran out of glowing ash to follow, and was grateful that he’d decided to wear his boots as he ended up going deep into the woods just beyond the Hale property.

He followed it to a small den where he found a young boy, no more than ten, curled up back in the corner of his roughshod den. He was wearing only a small pair of blue shorts, the rest of his body covered in dirt and grime, and small bones littered the ground around him; what was left of the pets.

He seemed to be shaking, so Stiles gently reached out with one hand and said, “Hey, kid, I’m not here to hurt you…are you just hungry?” he asked and was taken aback when bright gold eyes snapped up to meet his.

The boy then nodded.

Making a quick decision, Stiles helped him out of his den and put his own jacket around the boy’s shoulders and walked him back to his house.

As soon as he’d settled him down, gotten him into some clean clothes and gotten him some food, he started to feel less anxious. However, just as the kid (Lance, he had told him in a voice barely above a whisper) was finally settled, he heard the front door open, so he quickly went to cut off whoever it was…and his eyes went wide when he saw that it was Derek.

“Where is he?” the alpha growled, his eyes flashing red, and Stiles stopped him with a hand on his chest, and said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, big guy! It’s not what you think! It’s a kid!” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder, trying to keep his voice down, unsure of how much the young were-coyote could hear. “His name’s Lance and he’s only around ten and he was only going after people’s pets because it was easier for him to hunt and get food…I think he’s been abandoned…”

Stiles watched as Derek went from full-metal-alpha to suddenly looking worried, his brow furrowed and his eyes glancing back towards where he could obviously smell the kid was, back in the kitchen.

“Abandoned? Who would do that to a kid?”

“Some pretty shitty people, that’s who,” Stiles replied, noticing how Derek’s entire body language had shifted from attack-mode to protective-alpha mode.

He went silent and watched as Derek seemed to be listening in on the kid and then couldn’t help but ask, “So…sense anything wrong with him?” and Derek shook his head and answered, “No, just…he smells like anxiety. I think he’s been alone a long time. But he only just got here. He doesn’t smell like the preserve,” he commented. “More like…diesel.”

At that, Stiles nodded and said, “Probably sneaking onto long-distance hauling trucks. Easy to hide on and gets you plenty of miles away from a previous hunting ground. Smart kid.”

Derek nodded as well, and they stood there for a moment in the front foyer, Stiles’ hand still on Derek’s chest. He seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled it back, rubbing it on the thighs of his jeans, and then Derek looked at him, gave him a once over, and he snorted.

“What happened to you?”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I was chasing after a were-coyote in the middle of the night and a birdbath accosted me, that’s what happened,” he quipped, just remembering the clinging wetness of the left side of his jeans. He absently tugged at it and said, “Gotta say, that kid is fast. Faster than you, that’s for sure,” he added, knowing it would irritate the alpha.

True to form, Derek gave him a look, his equivalent of a bitch-face, and Stiles smirked, but then asked him on a more serious note, “Hey, can you watch after him? I’ll introduce you two, but I need to go upstairs and change because this is starting to seriously chafe…”

Derek nodded, and Stiles walked back into the kitchen with the alpha right behind his shoulder and cautiously approached the table, silently grateful that his dad was on the night shift.

“Hey, Lance…this is Derek. He’s a werewolf, he’s an alpha, and he’s my friend,” he softly explained, putting his hand carefully in front of the bowl of cereal that he was eating. “I don’t want to leave you alone, just yet, so would it be okay if he spends some time with you while I go and change out of these wet and dirty clothes?”

Lance looked back up at him with his now hazel eyes, his gaze slightly confused, and nodded.

“Okay, then.”

He motioned for Derek to sit down across from him and went upstairs and quickly stripped out of his ruined clothes and hopped into the shower. He cleaned out the grime, rinsed off as best he could, and as soon as he was out of the shower, before he had even put on any clothes, he threw a towel around his waist and went and checked the missing persons database on his work laptop, putting in the first name Lance and looking for kids around his age. He couldn’t have come from nowhere.

While it searched, he threw on sweats, an academy shirt, and ran his fingers through his hair, drying it as best he could, ignoring the fact that his stomach had flipped when he’d seen Derek look at the kid with such soft affection that it had made his heart ache.

God, he’d be a great dad.

His computer dinged, and he hopped over on one foot, pulling a sock over the other one, and squinted as he looked at the information that had popped up onto the screen.

Lance Santiago. Thirteen years old, missing for the last nine months ago from Ogunquit, Maine. Parents murdered in a home invasion, no other living relatives.

Swallowing around the knot that had formed in his throat, Stiles pulled up the police report from the home invasion and closed his eyes for a brief second at what he saw on the screen in front of him…and then opened them again and made himself look at the crime scene photos in the way that the academy had trained him to.

Each of their necks had been viciously ripped open, and the coroner’s report had said that the intruders had used several different tools to make the marks, but he knew what they really were: they were from the claws of a werewolf. And the kid had apparently witnessed the whole thing, but then had inexplicably escaped from the foster home that they had put him in. They had tried to find him for the first three months, but then had given up, and now he was here, in Beacon Hills.

He let out a long sigh and headed back downstairs and stilled in the doorway to the kitchen…

Derek was flicking pieces of cereal in Lance’s face and Lance was smiling and laughing and throwing cereal right back at him while Lance was talking in rapid-fire Spanish and Stiles was baffled when Derek was speaking fluently right back at him, grinning almost the entire time. The alpha had taken off his jacket and thrown it over the back of his chair and sat there in just a dark red sweater with the sleeves rolled up, eyes sparkling, lips effortlessly wrapping around the foreign syllables, while Sam chattered excitedly right back at him.

It was like something out of a movie.

He watched them for a moment longer and then said, “Hey, you two, quit making a mess,” and Lance looked up, wide-eyed, but Derek just shook his head and said, “It’s no worse than what you do.”

The kid still seemed scared for a moment, but then Derek reached out his hand and put it on his shoulder and said, “Está bien, Lance. Está bien.”

He then stood up and walked over to Stiles and said in a low voice as they both moved closer to the fridge, away from the table, “He knows some English, but not much. I can speak with him, fine, and he seems to trust me. So, if it’s easier for you and your dad, he can stay with me and the pack, if you’d like.”

Okay, so maybe Stiles just fell a little bit more in love with the man.

He nodded.

“It’s a good idea but be careful. I found him on file, and he’s gone through a pretty bad trauma. If anyone can help, though, it’d be you guys,” he conceded, though a little wary to have him out of his sight for too long, the kid’s dark brown hair flopping into his eyes and reminding Stiles of just how young and vulnerable he was.

He then looked at Derek and said, “Uh, when did you learn Spanish, by the way?”

Derek ducked his eyes, not quite meeting them, and said, “Uh, I, uh…I started to learn as a kid. Mom and dad insisted. I kept up with it over the years, mainly because of the other packs down south, but…yeah. It comes in handy a lot.”

He seemed thoroughly embarrassed at being put on the spot, so Stiles dragged his eyes away from him, looked back over at Lance who was finally finishing his cereal, and asked, “Think the pack will like him?”

The alpha smiled.

“When we were talking, I found out he loves Star Wars. I think he and Isaac and Liam will get along really well. Boyd is more of a Trekkie, but they’ll get along,” he said, looking at the kid with a soft, almost find look. “It seems we’ve got another mouth to feed for Christmas.” As he said that, however, his eyes went wide and he said, “Oh, shit. The party. Tomorrow night.”

“Well, tonight, really,” Stiles supplied, looking at the time on the microwave. Two-thirty-six in the morning.

Derek rolled his head on his neck and said, “I don’t want the kid to have his first night with the pack all alone, I shouldn’t do that to him. I can call Erik and tell him that I can’t come to the--”

“Hold up there, big guy,” Stiles interjected, putting a hand to his shoulder. “You have to go to that thing, and you know it. They personally invited you, and, as much as even I hate to say it, you need to make good with these guys so that they can see just how valuable you are. You’ve got a pack to feed, buddy, and even if you do already have a shit ton of money, I know you care about this job, and I think Lance can handle one night alone with the pack. It’s a Friday night, right? They can order in a few pizzas, watch some movies…he’ll probably feel more comfortable around some weres closer to his own age, anyway,” he added, trying to make Derek see sense.

Derek looked at the kid and then back at Stiles. And then back at the kid, who was now looking at the two of them with those wide, hazel eyes of his, his brow slightly furrowed as if he was trying to understand what they were saying about him. Derek looked at Stiles one last time.

He then walked over to Lance and said something in Spanish that Stiles didn’t catch, Lance said something back to him, and then they both smiled.

Derek grabbed his jacket from where he left it and then said, “Okay, that settles it. I’m taking him back to the house for the night, he’s going to spend the day with the pack…and then I am coming over to pick you up at seven, Stiles.”

He then threw him a smile and said, “By the way, it’s dressy casual…but don’t wear the reindeer tie, please, I beg of you,” and Stiles grinned.

“But it goes with everything, Derek!”

He rolled his eyes and lightly tugged on Lance’s shoulder, who followed him to the front door. Stiles gave the kid’s shoulder one last squeeze and then watched as the two of them walked down the road, heading off in the direction of the Hale house. It was a good fit for him, Stiles thought to himself, wondering how he was going to deal with the fact that Derek was obviously already attached to the kid. Lance needed to not have anyone looking for him…and Stiles might have a solution for that.

Chapter 2

After getting four hours of sleep, Stiles was back down in the kitchen rifling through the cabinets, this time with his dad giving him judgmental looks over the edge of his newspaper.

“You’re telling me you went after a were-coyote on your own last night?” he said in a tone that Stiles was all too familiar with.

“Yes, but I wasn’t in any danger, pops,” he griped, finally finding the pop-tarts, ignoring the second judgmental look that he got as he pulled one out of the foil and took a bite out of it. “This kid is thirteen years old and no danger to people, he was just hungry, alright? The pets were easy hunting.”

The sheriff put down the paper, reached for his coffee and asked, “You say he’s been missing for nine months?”

Stiles nodded as he dropped into the chair across from him.

“Yeah. No family to speak of, just…a lot of horrible trauma.” His dad nodded. “I’m just glad that we found him first before anyone else did. Derek and his pack are a good fit for him, right now,” he thought out loud. “If anyone’s going to be able to help Lance figure out how to deal with it all, it’ll be those four and Derek.”

His dad nodded, took a long sip of his coffee and then said, “So, he’s staying with Derek and the pack. That’s good, I guess, but it’s not a permanent solution, you know that, right?”

Stiles gave his dad a look and reached across and stole a sip of his dad’s coffee, ignoring the glare that he gave him as he did.

“Yeah, I know it’s not a solution, but don’t worry about it, I’m already looking into what I can do,” he explained, handing his father’s coffee back to him, pushing it across the table. “I looked into the criminal file of what happened to his parents and it looks like they never even had any suspects for the murders, and if I let him go back, he’ll just end up with a foster family who doesn’t know about the supernatural and I can’t do that to the kid. I figure both of his parents were just like he is, and so the attack was most likely something personal, which means that there’s a werewolf out there looking to hunt this kid down and kill him. Lance most likely only got away because of how fast he is. I don’t think even Derek could keep up with him, even if he wanted to,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling worn out and wishing he could figure out how to help him.

They shared a look, both of them aware of just how hard it was going to be for the kid unless they could make sure that he was safe. So, Stiles came to decision that he would warn the pack that someone might be tracking the kid, even with everything that he’d done to get away from the werewolf that had killed his parents.

Stiles pulled another pop-tart out of the packet and took a bite, and then said, with his mouth full, “By the way, going to a Christmas party with Derek tonight, so don’t wait up,” and at that, his dad’s brow shot up and he threw him a smirk.

“You and Derek, huh?” he drawled, taking another sip of his coffee, and Stiles rolled his eyes and stood back up, saying, “Oh, don’t you start, pops. It’s not like that. Derek’s coworkers are convinced that I’m his boyfriend because he’s always talking about me because of the time we spend together on the weekends with my emissary duties. Complaining, mostly. He can’t exactly tell them the truth, so he’s been dragged into taking me to the party as his date. It’s not real, it’s just to keep the higher ups happy.”

His dad nodded, not saying anything more, but Stiles could see the faint humor that still lingered on the corner of his lips and he knew that his dad was probably going to be laughing about the situation for a long time, getting a kick out of his seeing his son like this.

He shrugged it off and went and got dressed and headed off to the office.

As soon as walked inside, Agent Katherine Richards greeted him with a coffee and a cheery, “Morning, Agent Stilinski!”

“For the last time, Katie, if you don’t start calling me Stiles, I’m going to put you on filing duty for the next two weeks,” he playfully griped, grabbing the coffee that she gave to him every single morning without fail. He then yawned as he asked, “Now, did you get me a copy of that file that I e-mailed you about this morning?”

She gave him a look and said, “You mean that e-mail that you sent me at five am? Yeah, I did, and you’re welcome,” she said with an arch tone, tossing it onto his desk as they both walked into his office. “Let’s just say that the local authorities in Maine don’t like it when someone from the FBI wants their files for a case that they couldn’t solve. Something about it making them look bad, I guess,” she mused, leaning her hip against his desk and throwing him a knowing grin. “Why’d you want it?”

Knowing he could trust her, he said, “I found the kid.”

Her eyes went wide.

“You mean the kid who saw who killed his parents? He’s the only witness, Stiles! Where did you find him?”

He trusted her, but not that much, so he avoided answering by instead saying, “That’s not important, what’s important is that he’s safe and secured and we don’t have to worry about him right now. Now, I need to make sure that I am out of here by five today, because I have to go and be a fake boyfriend for a friend of mine,” he explained and was amused when Katie’s eyes lit up.

“Fake boyfriend?” she repeated, her tone sounding all too eager. “Oooh, is it for that girl that you have lunch with a couple of times a week? The stunning blonde with legs for days that looks like she should be walking a Victoria’s Secret runway?”

Stiles chuckled at that apt description of Erica, knowing she would love it, but shook his head.

“No, no, not her. She’s already got a boyfriend,” he quickly said. “This is for my friend, Derek. He got dragged into it and so I’m trying to help make it a little easier on him,” he explained, already turning his attention to the file that she’d given him.

Katie gave him a look…and then said in a carefully measured tone, “Is this the Derek that you mentioned before?”

Stiles glared up at her, annoyed with himself for forgetting that he’d mentioned the alpha more than a few times to his own coworkers, and said, “Yes, it’s that Derek. No, we’re not actually dating, and no, it’s not anything serious. I’m just covering his ass for his bosses,” to which she retorted, “Yeah, I bet you’re covering his ass.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed and the patted the file that she put on his desk and said, “As fun as this conversation has been, don’t think you’ve distracted me from this, Stiles. While I am incredibly curious about this Derek guy, I am not forgetting that you just found the key witness in a brutal murder that has yet to be solved. You’ll bring me in if you need help, right?” she asked, looking and sounding genuinely concerned, and Stiles nodded and patted her hand.

“I promise, Agent Richards.”

With that, she left the room, and Stiles went back to his work. He dug through the file to figure out exactly who to contact and how to keep everything intact so that they wouldn’t find out…while also keeping a close eye on the time, making sure that he didn’t work too hard. He needed to be able to leave by five so that he would be ready to go by seven.

Of course, things didn’t go as planned. He shot off a quick message to the pack, did some paperwork, and then the next thing he knew, he was looking at the clock and it said six thirty and he was twenty minutes from home.

Shit.

Slipping the file into his bag, he ran out of the building, shouting a quick, “See you tomorrow!” over his shoulder as he did, and probably broke a couple of laws as he raced home, trying to figure out how many he could get away with breaking to make sure that he had enough time to shower.

He ran into his house as quickly as he could, grateful that his dad had already left for his night shift about an hour before, and then scrambled up the stairs and threw his bag onto his desk and looked into his closet helplessly, trying to figure just what the hell dressy casual was.

However, before he could even look in his closet, let alone get a shower like he’d originally planned, he heard a knock at the front door.

Shit.

He turned and ran back down the stairs and as he swung the door open, the first words out of his mouth were, “Please, please, please don’t be mad, but I am not dressed, yet, I only just got home, and…why are you looking at me like that?”

Derek was staring at him, mouth slightly open, looking like he was struggling to catch his breath. Stiles looked down at himself, trying to see what was wrong, wondering if he had dropped food or coffee on himself earlier in the day without noticing, but only saw his usual work clothes: a white dress shirt, the top couple of buttons undone, his rumpled black pants and jacket, military issued FBI boots, along with his shoulder holster, which was slightly askew because he’d already removed his weapon, and he was baffled as to why Derek was staring at him.

“Uh, Derek?” he said, snapping his fingers, and the alpha shook his head and said, “Yeah, I’m…you’re fine. What you’re wearing is just fine.”

Stiles looked back down at himself a second time, baffled, and then looked at what Derek was wearing and couldn’t help but smile and say as he noticed his outfit, “And you are looking like a dad going to a PTA meeting, oh my god, are you wearing loafers?” he exclaimed, unable to stifle a giggle as he saw the black leather on the man’s feet. Derek rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Stiles kept going.

“Not only loafers, but you’re wearing a belt that matches them, and is that a tailored sport coat that doesn’t quite match your pants with a pink shirt? Dude,” he put his hand on his shoulder, “I thought someone like you with a ton of money would be wearing Armani or something. But this…?”

He gestured up and down at his outfit and Derek glared at him, no longer staring at Stiles’ clothes and bit out, “I’m not Peter, I don’t care about expensive clothes. Now, get your ass in my car so we can go already. Like I said, what you’re wearing is fine. Though you might want to lose the shoulder holster,” he added, looking at his shoulder distractedly.

Stiles glanced down and shrugged, stepped back into the hallway to take off the holster and grab his phone and house keys, and then followed Derek out to his car. He still had the Camaro.

As soon as they had pulled out onto the main road, he asked, “So…Erik’s your boss, right?”

Derek nodded, eyes focused on the road.

“Yep. Good man, great architect. His partner’s name is Geoff, and they’ve been running the architecture firm for over fifteen years now. And they’re looking to take on a third partner,” he added lightly, and Stiles knew exactly what he meant.

“So, tonight is about showing off how amazing you are?” he said, trying to ease the tension that he could feel coming from him, but then saw his hands tighten on the wheel, so he quickly backpedaled with, “I’m not going to make fun of you tonight, Derek, I promise. I mean, I knew this was kind of serious, but I had no idea that you were trying to make partner. Now that I know, I will make sure to be on my best behavior, no matter what. Only good things, I promise.”

Derek’s fingers released their death grip on the wheel and Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief. Now that he knew just how serious he was about the evening, he quickly put aside any thoughts that he had of telling some of the man’s more embarrassing stories, instead focused on how he could show his bosses just how amazing he was.

When they pulled up the driveway to the house, Stiles let out a low whistle.

“Holy shit, they got money,” he said, slightly awed at the large, A-frame cabin that stretched out into one of those cabin McMansions that he’d only ever seen on Hallmark movies.

Derek nodded, pulled up behind a black Rolls Royce, and put the Camaro in park and then let out a long, nervous breath, glancing up at the windows of the house apprehensively. From where they sat, Stiles could hear the faint strains of holiday music on piano and could see the glimmer of Christmas lights in the windows. He watched as Derek swallowed, looking more nervous than he’d ever seen him before, so Stiles reached out and put his hand over his, trying to calm him down.

Derek’s eyes suddenly dropped to where Stiles had his fingers wrapped around his…and then took another breath and lightly squeezed his hand.

“Okay. I can do this,” he said, still sounding nervous, and Stiles corrected him, “We can do this, Der. Trust me. I’m going to be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

At that, the tension was broken and the alpha chuckled and shook his head and said, “Yeah, well you better, or else I’m gonna make your life a living hell. Now,” he squeezed his hand a second time, “How about we go on inside? Honey.”

Stiles let out a sound that was close to a laugh and gave him a fake, sweet look and said, “Of course, Der Bear.”

Derek groaned and Stiles grinned.

They pulled apart long enough to get out of the car, and then Stiles plastered himself to Derek’s side, tucking his right arm through Derek’s left and leaned into him as much as he could, enjoying every single second of being able to touch Derek as much as he’d always wanted to.

Just before they walked through the front door, though, Derek turned his head just enough to look Stiles in the eye and said, “You ready to be affectionate with me? ‘Cause as soon as we walk in there, they are going to be expecting us to act like a couple. So…you going to be okay with that?” and Stiles scoffed, arched an eyebrow at him and said, “Dude, listen to my heartbeat as I say these words: this is the best idea that you’ve ever come up and I can’t wait to pretend to be your boyfriend.”

He watched in amusement as Derek’s eyes widened at hearing the honesty and Stiles grinned and said, “Now take me inside, honeybuns.”

Derek laughed and pulled the door open, moving out of Stiles’ grip so that he could put his hand on his lower back to usher him through the door ahead of him, and Stiles preened under the intimate touch, wishing with all of his heart that it was real.

Erica’s words echoed in his head… I know he has feelings for you, Stiles. So, don’t fuck this up.

He swallowed, feeling his first twinge of nervousness.

He could do this.

The foyer alone was intimidating. The ceilings were, of course, vaulted, and swept up nearly twenty feet. He let Derek move him to the main room, where a whole lot of people in dressy clothes mingled. Before Stiles could take it all in, however, a man in a dark blue sport coat with a nicely trimmed beard walked over to them and said in a loud, friendly voice, “Hale! So glad you made it!” and then reached out and pulled Derek into a half hug.

Stiles watched in amusement as Derek tried to return it, though it was obvious to him that he was uncomfortable with it, patting him on the shoulder and saying, “Thanks for inviting me, Erik.”

Suddenly, Erik pulled back and said, “Oh, right, I forgot…no hugs. Sorry about that, just caught up in the holiday cheer. Is this the boyfriend we’ve heard so much about?” he asked, pointing at Stiles with the glass in his hand, looking curious.

Before Derek could say a word, Stiles stepped forward and said, “Stiles Stilinski, pleased to meet you.”

Erik gave him a solid handshake, looked him up and down and then looked back over at Derek and said, “You have good taste, Hale. Also,” he turned his attention back to Stiles, “Pleased to meet you. Feel free to tell us as many embarrassing stories about this man as possible. He’s so closed-lipped around the office, it’s a miracle that we even knew that he had a boyfriend. Of course,” he said giving a short chuckle, “That wasn’t too hard to figure out considering how much he talked about you.”

He lifted his glass to him in acknowledgement and Stiles couldn’t help but share a smile and say, “Yeah, well, not too surprised. I am a big part of his life, after all,” and gave Derek a shit-eating grin.

Derek just shook his head and reached over and gently tugged at his hand and Stiles found it remarkably easy to fall in next to him and let him lead him into the rest of the room, where he was introduced to at least twenty different people in under ten minutes, and he was pretty proud of the fact that he could remember all of their names.

Part of his training as an FBI agent was to be able to hold onto a lot of information in a short amount of time, and it was finally coming in handy.

Eventually, he let himself be split off from Derek and watched with a fond smile as Erik and Geoff flanked him on either side and started to talk with him in hushed tones, both of them smiling, while Derek attempted to smile, though he still looked like he had just been thrown into the lion’s den.

Stiles stifled a laugh at the sight, took a sip of the apple cider in his hand, and was taken off guard when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You must be Stiles, the boyfriend,” a feminine voice said, turning him around, and he found himself levelling his eyes at a lovely woman wearing a dark violet dress, and thick blonde hair spilled over shapely shoulders, showing off her stunning warm complexion and blue eyes. “I’m Jane Caruso, I work in Interior Design at the firm. My desk is right across from Derek’s,” she said, and Stiles could see the way that she was assessing him, a sharp glint in her eye as she looked him up and down.

He took another sip of his drink, making her wait for his response, putting her on the defensive (using his FBI training, yet again) and saw her shift uncomfortably as she waited for him to speak.

Finally, he said, “Yeah, I’m the boyfriend,” and extended his hand and gave her a polite handshake.

Not missing a beat, she held his hand for a moment longer than necessary and then leaned in and, glancing at him and then shooting a look over at Derek as she asked conspiratorially, “So, how the hell did someone like you snag a specimen like him?”

Without hesitation, he pulled his hand back and replied, “Oh, we’ve known each other since high school,” and then looked down at his drink, smirked, and the looked back up at her and said, as if he was embarrassed (though far from it), “Actually, I was the one in high school. I was sixteen, he was twenty…things really didn’t start until after I graduated, of course, but…you know how these things go,” he finished, taking another sip of the cider, enjoying the way her eyes widened and she leaned slightly away from him.

He had to withhold a laugh when Jane then said, sounding completely off-balance, “Oh, that’s…so you two have known each other a long time, then.”

He nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, when we first met, we hated each other. I even got him arrested for something he didn’t do,” he said, laughing, looking over at Derek, knowing that the werewolf could hear every word of his conversation, and could see his jaw twitch, even from a distance, and he bit his lip, wondering how much he could get away with.

“You got him arrested?”

Stiles chuckled and then quickly amended, “Yeah, but I didn’t mean to. My dad can tell you what happened better than I can, anyway,” he said, knowing exactly what she was going to ask next.

“Your dad?” she asked predictably, and Stiles answered, “Yeah, the Sheriff. Noah Stilinski.” He threw her an easy smile, once more pleased at seeing her even more wary of him.

She then took a sip of her own cider and bit her lip…and after a moment she asked, “Son of the sheriff. That sounds like you had a lot of pressure on you growing up in Beacon Hills,” and he nodded, and then she said, obviously trying to throw him off balance once more, “What career path did you follow? Are you a deputy, on your way to follow in your dad’s footsteps?”

Jane then gave him a smug look and Stiles saw her once more eyeing Derek discreetly from the corner of her eye, and he withheld his idiotic grin and managed to maintain an almost bored tone as he answered, “Oh, no, local law enforcement wasn’t for me.” She smirked, looking like she’d won…and then he knocked her down with, “I’m a special agent for the FBI. We just started a new office right outside of Beacon Hills, and I run it with a few select agents. We cover mostly federal cases, but we help out the local law enforcement when they need it.”

He swore she went three shades paler and saw her almost choke on her sip and he shot a glance in his fake boyfriend’s direction and saw him roll his eyes up towards the ceiling, and Stiles knew that Derek was on the edge of coming over and pulling him away from her.

She managed to recover and then say, “You seem rather young for an FBI agent, let alone a special agent.”

He nodded, understanding, and explained, “I got into a training program right out of high school, so I did my schooling and training out at Quantico. Lot of work, but Derek was only a couple of hours away by train at NYU, so we made it work.”

He knew that Derek was still listening and felt a bit bad about saying it, but also thought it was a good reminder to the werewolf that he could have visited him and let him know he was alive.

Sure, it was petty, but ever since Stiles had found out, he’d felt like Derek had deliberately chosen to not contact him and it hurt.

He turned all of his attention to Jane, and gave her a smile as he said, “He’s kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know? I feel really lucky that we found each other when we did. I don’t think I would have gone into the FBI if I’d never met him,” he admitted, knowing that even from that distance, Derek could hear his heartbeat and how steady it was. “After getting him into so much trouble when I was in high school, like, so many times, I realized that I wanted to help innocent people stay out of trouble, so…I became a bit ambitious.”

At that, Jane seemed to soften a bit, giving him a hint of a smile, and then she commented, tapping her finger on the edge of her glass, “He does seem to bring the best out in people.”

Stiles nodded and smiled widely and said, unable to keep the pride from his tone, “He’s a hell of a great guy, and one of the best men I’ve ever known in my life.”

From where he stood, he could see Derek go a bit pink, and he smiled. Jane gave him one last look, said a polite goodbye, and then walked away back into the crowd, leaving Stiles to mingle with everyone else. He felt that he’d done a good job at keeping her at bay, so he turned up his charm as he mingled with the rest of Derek’s coworkers, finding out that a few of them knew Danny through a tech firm that the architects worked with.

Soon, he wasn’t even putting on any airs and was joking back and forth with a guy named Adam who worked security at the building, finding out that they were both die hard fans of DC and Marvel.

Right while they were in the middle of a discussion over the chemistry of Henry Cavill and Ben Affleck (which they both agreed was more than just platonic), Derek was right up behind him slipping an arm around his waist as if he’d done it a thousand times before, saying, “Please don’t tell me you’re talking about how Superman and Batman are gay for each other, again,” and Stiles grinned.

“Oh, we totally were, and we agree that Superman is definitely a bottom,” he admitted, and shared a laughing smile with Adam, who politely tipped his cup towards him and nodded in agreement.

Derek groaned and shook his head.

Stiles then asked, before he forgot, “So, how was it talking with Erik and Geoff?” and Derek let out a long sigh and Adam gave them both a knowing look, nodded and said, “Yeah, those two are intense. Amazingly brilliant, but intense. I’ll leave you two lovebirds, alone. See you at D&D night next Wednesday?” Adam asked as he stepped away, and Stiles nodded.

“Count on it, man!”

Derek shot him a look.

“D&D night? Do I want to know?”

Stiles gently nudged him with is elbow and said, “Dungeons and dragons, you plebe. Found out that they have a group that meets every week on Wednesdays, from seven to ten in the evening, and Danny is a part of it, too, so they invited me. It sounded like fun, so I said yes. Is, uh…is that a bad thing? Me making friends with people at your work?”

Derek opened his mouth as if to say something…but then he closed it.

And then he said, “No, not at all.”

There was a long moment of silence and then Stiles observed, “Uh, you still have your arm around my waist, Der…”

Derek’s eyes went wide, and it seemed that he was about to move, but then he just lightly squeezed Stiles’ hip and muttered, looking down at the cider in his hand, “Yeah, well…people are still here. Watching,” he added unnecessarily, unconsciously moving Stiles closer to him. He bit his lip, making sure not to point out what Derek was doing as he really didn’t want to stop it and wanted to savor the closeness for as long as he could, basking in the physical affection, even if it was fake.

Derek then said, “I noticed that you dealt with Jane. You handled that pretty well,” he said with a grin teasing at the corner of his lips.

Stiles chuckled.

“I totally got your back, Derek. She won’t be bothering you, anymore. Promise.”

He looked across the room, easily spotting her blonde hair and violet dress in the crowd…and made a sound of disbelief in the back of his throat as he saw her flirting with a pretty brunette in a blue dress. He nudged Derek a second time and discreetly pointed her out and snorted at the expression on Derek’s face.

And then he said, “Well…looks like I don’t have to worry about her, after all.”

Stiles laughed and let himself a little bit closer into Derek’s side, knowing that it wasn’t going to last forever. He saw several looks sent in their direction, but all of them were approving, as if they all liked Derek’s choice of boyfriend, and that made Stiles feel warm in his chest and wish even more that it was all real. Even though it wasn’t.

Still, as the evening progressed he became more and more comfortable with the way that he was allowed to reach out and touch the usually taciturn alpha, and he got to see Derek actually smile, and the first few times it was completely disorienting, but then he started to get used to it and was now determined to make sure that he was the one who was always making Derek smile, even if it was only as a friend, because it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

It was really nice to see that most of the people that Derek worked with all seemed to like him, and they all seemed to like Stiles along with him, and it was rather refreshing to not have the usual side-eye that Stiles had seen in the past from people who looked down on ‘alternative’ lifestyles.

Eventually, the evening started to wind down and Stiles was grateful that Erik and Geoff had kept the gathering non-alcoholic, which meant that no one was stumbling outside, and everyone was safe to drive home.

He and Derek were the last two to leave, as it was nearly thirteen thirty, Erik and Geoff leading them to the front door, thanking them both for coming. When Geoff pulled the door open for them, however, Stiles was surprised to see that it was snowing, and that a good inch was already on the ground.

Derek didn’t seem the least bit phased and so Stiles quickly deduced that he’d been aware of it because of his werewolf senses.

“Oh, wow, it’s really coming down out there, isn’t it?” said Geoff, the tall, burly man leaning out the front door and looking up at the snow as it heavily fell, some of it landing on his head. He ducked back in, brushed it off his salt and pepper hair, and then remarked, sounding concerned, “Maybe it’s not all that safe to drive back. Derek, you have a Camaro, right?”

Stiles smiled when Derek nodded and then said politely, “Yes, but don’t worry, I have the snow tires on. I checked the weather before I came over tonight and knew what to expect.”

He then turned to Stiles and leaned in and pressed his lips to his temple and his left hand skated over Stiles’ hip, his thumb absently tracing the inside of his hipbone, an intimate gesture if he’d ever felt one, Stiles thought to himself.

“I’ll go get the car, you wait here,” Derek muttered, giving him a soft smile, and then he disappeared out into the snow-covered blackness, leaving Stiles to wait in the foyer with his two bosses, feeling even more off-kilter than before, butterflies suddenly flapping hard against the inside of his ribs.

Geoff chuckled at him and said, “Oh, I know that look. Totally besotted, am I right?”

Stiles shook his head, ducked his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, and then responded with, “Oh, you know…can’t get enough of him, right?”

Erik smiled and said, “Considering you guys have been together for a while, it’s rather refreshing to see that the spark still seems to be there. Hale’s a great guy, and I can easily see him becoming a more important part of the company down the road.” Stiles heard what he was implying, and he couldn’t help but feel excited for Derek. Erik then added, “He really came through on our last project. He thinks outside of the box and we need that kind of mindset to keep us from getting too stagnant in our work.”

Stiles couldn’t help but comment, “Yeah, that’s Derek, alright. He’s good at seeing new perspectives.”

They both nodded back at him.

Before anything else could be said, Derek had pulled up to the front door and Stiles couldn’t help but grin as he bolted out of the car and jogged up the steps to where Stiles stood and offered him his arm. Stiles felt his cheeks warm, and so he quickly followed after him, relieved when he settled warm and only slightly damp into the passenger’s seat.

Derek shifted the car into gear and as he navigated the roads that were just starting to get slippery, Stiles said, “Hey, so, Erik and Geoff pretty much told me without telling me that they’re definitely going to make you a partner at some point,” and was confused when Derek just simply hummed, “Oh, that’s nice,” his gaze still focused on the snow dusted road in front of him, and Stiles did a double take at his reaction, wondering what was going on with him.

What the heck? The whole point of Stiles going with him was to make sure that they made a good impression on the partners, and Derek was acting like he didn’t care.

Trying to get his attention, he reached out and squeezed Derek’s knee, and was amused when all Derek did was take one hand off the wheel to reach down and link his fingers with Stiles’.

He tried to brush it off like it was nothing, even though his heartrate had just jumped up to twice its normal speed, and said, “Not that the hand-holding isn’t great, Der, but…you do realize that we’re not back at the party anymore, right?” and it was rather amusing to see Derek glance down at his leg and then suddenly try to decide whether or not he should let go, and then finally say as he unlinked his fingers and patted Stiles on the back of the hand, “Sorry, just…habit already, I guess.”

At that, Stiles chuckled and couldn’t help but quip, “Aww, only one night and you’re addicted to me? Not that I blame you,” he drawled. “I was an amazing boyfriend, tonight. In fact, according to most of the people I talked to at the party, I am certifiably the best boyfriend ever,” he added, discreetly drawing his hand back over to his side.

Derek rolled his eyes and looked annoyed, but Stiles saw the smile at the corner of his mouth.

Deciding to push it a little bit further, he said, “Doug, the guy who helped with the electrical on your last project, said that you talked about me just a few days ago, saying something about my amazing test scores at the Academy?”

The alpha immediately countered with, “Hey, no, I was talking about how it was a freakin’ miracle that you even got into the Academy! Let’s clarify that,” he added, pointing a finger in the air.

Stiles just shook his head.

“Nah, you like me too much to complain about me,” and Derek bantered back, “Correction: you annoy me enough that I complain about you enough at work that they all think that I’m dating you.”

He laughed a second time and knocked his knee into his door and said, “They probably just think that you sound like an irritated boyfriend. Like, you complain all the time about me, but the way that you complain implies that you actually still really like me…”

His voice drifted, and then Derek said after a long moment, “I was ready to kill you tonight when I heard you tell Jane that you once got me arrested.” Stiles quickly went to defend himself, but then Derek cut him off with, “If I wasn’t so scared of her, I would have walked over there and dragged you out by the back your neck and tossed you out into the snow.”

Stiles snorted.

“I’m sorry, but I just find it hilarious that you, mister werewolf alpha, someone who has stared down an alpha pack and just about all of the scariest creatures that have ever gone bump in the night…are scared of a woman.”

Derek gave him a look, but turned his attention back to the road as he said, “You met Jane, right? She’s worse than an alpha pack all on her own,” and Stiles made a noise of agreement and said, “Okay, okay, no argument there. She was pretty terrifying…but I think I handled her pretty well, if I do say so myself.”

Derek nodded.

“Sure did. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Stiles waved his hand and said, “Ah, don’t mention it. It was kinda fun, actually. Never seen someone go pale so fast in my life, and I’ve intimidated wanted criminals in holding cells. This was definitely more fun,” he said with a grin.

He leaned further back in his seat and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence as Derek drove the rest of the way to his house. Stiles, though still a little bit worried about the snow, found his thoughts drifting to the young were-coyote staying with Derek’s pack, and wondered what they were going to be doing for Christmas, since it was only two days away. He thought about asking, but one glance at Derek’s profile had him questioning himself, so he said nothing.

The Camaro pulled up in front of the house and Stiles glanced at his phone and couldn’t help but say, “Hey, you even got me home before midnight. Such a gentleman.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but the effect was ruined by the way his lips twisted up into a fond smile as he did.

Stiles grinned, feeling smug, but then Derek reached across the seat, his shoulder and upper back pressed firmly into Stiles’ chest as he opened his door for him, and said, “Get out before I toss you and your glass slippers out into the snow, Stilinski.”

Once he felt his heartbeat pick back up (because he was positive that it had stopped when Derek was pressed up against him), he nodded and got out of the car. Before he closed the door, however, he braced his hands against and leaned down and said, “In all honesty, I had a great time tonight, Derek. I’ll gladly be your fake boyfriend anytime you need it, man. Just give me at least a few days’ notice and I’ll be the best fake boyfriend ever.”

Derek gave him a look, using just his eyebrows, and Stiles quickly pulled back.

“Alright, alright! I’m going! Drive safe!”

He slammed the door and then jogged up the front walk and sighed in equal parts relief and disappointment when he closed the front door behind him, leaning against it as soon as he stepped inside.

It had been both the best and worst night of his life. He had been surrounded by Derek’s scent the entire evening, as well as his touch, and the memories of those soft, intimate touches would linger with him for a long time afterwards…but at the same time, it had been a living hell, knowing that the alpha was only doing it because he had made a promise to his bosses.

“God, you royally fucked up this time, didn’t you, Stiles?” he muttered to himself, dragging himself up the stairs to his room.

Just as he stepped inside, however, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Who the hell was texting him at midnight?

He looked at his glowing screen and groaned.

Erica.

He swiped the screen and looked at her message and smiled, despite his annoyance, when he read, did u kiss him under the mistletoe? if u didn’t, I will totally kill u and blame it on Liam. bdubs, the new kid, Lance, is a total sweetheart, but super scared of me…, and in a second text, he likes everyone else, tho, and Stiles’ finger hovered over the screen as he thought about how to answer her.

Finally, he texted back, didn’t kiss him, but there was groping of a sort. glad Lance is getting along with everyone. give him time, he’ll love you, too, I’m sure of it.

He then put his phone down long enough for him to strip down and then flopped on top of his covers in his boxers and the undershirt that he’d worn under his dress shirt all day and that entire evening, settling in for at least a half hour of texting. He could have showered, and probably should have, but he didn’t want to remove the smell of Derek’s cologne, just yet, and he knew that made him come across as weird and possibly slightly creepy, but he didn’t care. He lifted part of the shirt to his face and took a deep breath.

It smelled like pine and woodsmoke, with just a faint hint of spearmint and apple cider. The scent was permanently etched into his memory.

A minute or so later, Erica texted back.

how could u not kiss him??? r u mentally ill?? he dressed up for u!!! he even wore nice smelling stuff, and Stiles snorted at the way she texted. She was a year older than him, and still texted like a thirteen-year-old girl and he found it simultaneously annoying yet endearing.

He waited a moment, trying to figure out what to say, and then typed back, can you just not push it? he was a total gentleman and I helped with a couple of problems. but he doesn’t see me that way, woman, my life is not a hallmark christmas movie, and he smiled at his witty response. He made himself more comfortable on the bed and started to flip through a couple of other apps as he waited for her reply, knowing she would probably blow up at him in spectacular fashion, as she usually did when he pushed her buttons like that.

So, he wasn’t all too surprised when she texted back a few minutes later with, but it *could* be a hallmark christmas movie! just a little nudge and u 2 could be fucking like bunnies in ur childhood bedroom on christmas morning!

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, Erica?” he muttered to himself as he finished off the conversation with, thank you so much for that disturbing image of my childhood bed, with that, i am going to bed. night.

His phoned dinged one more time.

Coward.

He rolled his eyes again, but then turned off his phone and settled in to go to sleep. He didn’t have work in the morning, and so he was going to sleep in as late he wanted to.

Chapter 3

He slogged down to breakfast at nearly eleven and his dad shot him an amused look as he poured him a cup of coffee, and then said as he handed it to him, “Late night?”

Stiles heard the tone in his voice and rolled his eyes and said, “For your information, I was back by midnight, and I went to bed shortly after. There was no drinking, just a lot of socializing,” he explained, and then yelped as his dad suddenly took the mug away from him.

“What the hell was that for?” he said, his voice far too high-pitched for his liking, and his dad shot him yet another look and replied, “I only gave it to you because I thought that you were hungover. Since you’re not, you can pour your own coffee,” and then went and sat down at the table with a plate loaded with food that he definitely shouldn’t be eating, but Stiles couldn’t find the energy within himself to argue about it, so he decided to simply ignore it and get on with what was left of his morning.

Just as he was finishing breakfast, his dad asked, “Have you figured out what to do with the kid?”

Stiles let out an aggrieved sigh.

“More or less, yeah.”

He pushed his mug to the side and explained what he had gotten done the day before.

“Instead of trying to go through official channels, I dug through the werewolf leads and think I found who the werewolf was that killed Lance’s parents,” he said, and he saw his dad’s eyes widen in shock that he’d found it out so quickly. Stiles really didn’t want to explain the dirty details, so he waved a hand and said, “Yeah, I know, it’s freaky that I found it out so quick, but let’s just say that emissaries keep track of that sort of thing, and there aren’t that many packs left east of the Rockies, so it wasn’t all that hard to find out.”

He rolled his head on his neck and added, “Ever since Deaton left, he left me a list of emissaries around the country that I could contact should the need arise, and I managed to find out that there isn’t a pack in the northeast…but that there is one just over the border in Canada. So, I did a little bit of searching and think I found the rogue werewolf. His name’s Reynault.”

His dad simply gave him a long look and then said, sounding nervous, “Please don’t tell me you’re going after him yourself,” and Stiles quickly shook his head.

“Oh, hell no. Don’t worry about me, pops. He’s already being tracked by the pack in Tennessee. Talked to Heather, their emissary,” he said, picking at the edge of the table with his thumb, “And she said that they’re closing in on him. Apparently, Reynault is a rogue from a Canadian pack that used to have land that went down into the northeastern part of the U.S. and he is determined to keep it as part of the original land, though no one else from his previous pack approved of it.”

His dad then leaned forward, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug, and said, “Aren’t territory disputes meant for emissaries? Like, what you’re supposed to be doing? I mean, why go after a couple and their kid? They weren’t even werewolves. What’s the logic behind that?”

Stiles let out a long sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Werecoyotes’ territory constantly shifts from place to place, unlike werewolves, who settle and put down roots.” He began to motion with his hands, and said, “Usually the packs ignore them because they’re so transitory, nomadic, and tolerate them being on their land without any issues…but Reynault has it in his head that they were infringing on land that belonged to his pack. Apparently, the Quebec pack found out what he did and kicked him out. He didn’t care.”

The silence that stretched between them was tense, and Stiles knew that his dad was about to say something about staying safe.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“Kid, I know that you’re an agent in the FBI and an emissary and all that amazing stuff that makes me incredibly proud to be your father, but this…this sounds really, really dangerous.”

Without missing a beat, Stiles said, “That’s why I’m handing it off to the Tennessee pack. Heather, their emissary, is going to help them take care of it. She’s an old hand at this sort of thing, and I trust that she can catch him and put him in his place. They have a good alpha, too. Rachel Heartwood. They’ll find him.”

His dad nodded, and then stood and moved to walk out of the kitchen, but then paused and stood next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and then squeezed it tightly.

“You’re doing good, kid,” he murmured, and then walked out, leaving Stiles with a faint smile on his lips.

They weren’t huge on affection, but Stiles knew how his father showed how much he loved him and that was more than enough. He smiled to himself and then got up and put together a plate from the leftovers of what his dad had already cooked. It was nearly noon, so he considered it a brunch, so he purposely decided to finish off the rest of the bacon so that there was nothing left for his dad. He didn’t need to clog his arteries anymore and Stiles wasn’t going to let him put himself in an early grave.

Just as he was finishing up his food, his mind still flashing back to the night before, remembering every touch on his skin…his phone buzzed.

He checked the screen.

Erica.

Oh, boy, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy for her on the Eve before Christmas…but he answered it, anyway, immediately regretting saying hello when the first words out of her mouth were, “Stiles! You have everything you need to make cookies, right?” Dear god, what was it now? “Oh, who am I talking to, of course you have cookie mix. Right, well, Derek, Lance, and I are coming over! See you in a few minutes!” she rambled out before he could get in a word edgewise.

Just as he was about to reply, she hung up and Stiles groaned.

He leaned back in his chair and yelled up to his dad, who had gone upstairs, “Yo, pops! Erica and Derek are coming over, along with the kid, and, apparently, we’re baking cookies. You don’t mind us taking over the kitchen for a few hours, right?”

“As long as you clean up after yourselves and save me a few!” he yelled back down to him, and Stiles nodded.

Fair enough.

He ambled back into the kitchen and checked the pantry and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that they had everything they needed to make cookies from scratch. Rubbing a hand over his face, he started to pull it all out and had only just started to set it up when he heard the front door open and close, and couldn’t help but yell out, “Erica, you have to learn how to knock!”

She appeared in the kitchen doorway, hanging off the frame with a shit-eating grin on her face and said, “Aw, but what would be the fun in that? Oooh, is that the stuff for the cookies?”

Lance was right behind her, sticking close to Derek’s side and he gave the kid a reassuring smile before looking up at Derek and giving him a smile, as well. The alpha returned his look and patted Lance on the shoulder as they shuffled into the kitchen, Derek then saying, “I apologize for her. But it’s not like I really have any control over her,” he said sounding genuinely frustrated, giving her a slight glare, to which she replied with sticking her tongue out at him and Lance giggled at her.

Stiles smiled at seeing the kid already relaxing and then showed him where the baking sheets were and had him help with making the cookie dough.

As they started pulling everything out for the cookies, Stiles couldn’t help but ask, “Is there a reason why you aren’t doing this back at the house?”

Derek and Erica shared a look over Lance’s head, and then Derek explained, irritation in his voice, “Well, we would have, but it seems that Isaac and Liam got into the frozen cookie dough in the freezer two nights ago and ate it all. So, we had nothing left to make the Christmas cookies with, and I didn’t have the ingredients to make them from scratch. When we went out for ingredients, we found that most of the grocery stores are closed already, so Erica suggested that we call you. Next thing I know,” he added, sounding thoroughly annoyed, “She’s making me drive over to your house.”

He then shrugged and apologized.

“Sorry for crashing in on you like this,” and Stiles quickly brushed it off and said, “Hey, don’t worry ‘bout it, sourwolf.”

He then looked back down at Lance, who had finished mixing the ingredients and was looking up at Stiles questioningly, as if asking him what he was supposed to do next. With a smile, Stiles showed him how to roll out the dough and then cut out the different shapes with the cookie cutters.

Pretty soon, Erica and Derek were helping the kid, as well, and Stiles pulled back slightly so that the three of them could spend more time bonding with the young werecoyote.

He found it amusing that every time that Lance said something, or Erica did, Derek was translating for each of them, and Stiles tried very hard to tamp down on his reaction to hearing him speak Spanish so fluently. He never knew he had a thing for other languages. Or maybe it wasn’t languages, but Derek. Watching the alpha gently reprimand Erica as she tried to steal a bite from the batter and then gently say something to Lance in Spanish…well, it was definitely doing something to him, somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

His dad poked his head in at once point to tell him he was going to do a couple of hours of paperwork back at the station, and Stiles nodded him off.

By that point, they had the first batch in the oven and had already started making the next batch. They had to make enough for the entire pack, of course, so Stiles estimated that they would be making at least three more batches, because he knew what the wolves’ appetites were like.

He eventually pulled out a couple of phrases he remembered from a Spanish class that he had taken way back in his freshman year of high school and laughed when Lance had to correct his pronunciation.

At some point while they were making cookies, Stiles ended up between Derek at Lance at the kitchen island, while Erica stood on the other side of Lance, getting Spanish lessons.

“Una galleta,” Lance said, pointing at one of the cookies on the tray and Stiles chuckled when he heard Erica try to repeat the word, not even coming close to rolling the double L sound correctly, and Lance laughed, and then Erica said, “Cookie.”

They were surprised when Lance smiled, picked it up and looked at her and said, “Good cookie?”

She smiled and nodded.

Without thinking about it, Stiles leaned slightly into Derek’s shoulder, forgetting that the closeness that they had shared last night at the party wasn’t allowed anymore, and he was just about to apologize and pull back, but then Derek’s hand reached up and stroked his lower back, so he took a risk and stayed where he was. Derek didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss, so Stiles said nothing, just soaking it in as much as he could until the alpha came to his senses.

And then Erica looked over at them and shot a smirk in Stiles’ direction. He felt his cheeks heat up, and so he ducked his eyes and quickly pulled away from the casual embrace under the guise of going to the fridge to get something to drink, and then offered everyone else something as well in order to keep himself occupied.

Eventually, they had done five batches in total. Stiles threw them all into two large tupperware containers (with a few set aside for him and his dad), with the promise that they would be returned to him.

Just as they left, Stiles held Derek back for a moment and asked, “Is he doing okay? I mean, is the pack treating him right?”

Derek nodded.

“Yeah, they really seem to like him. Apparently last night was a huge success because when I got home, I found them all sprawled over the couch in a massive pile, Lance right in the middle, watching the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. He seems to like Liam the most,” he added with a soft smile. “I’m just glad he feels safe with us.”

Stiles nodded back at him and then lightly punched him on the shoulder and said, “Now get out of here and go celebrate the holiday with your pack. I’ll bring by your present sometime tomorrow, after dad and I open up our own presents, okay?”

Derek nodded and then quickly headed back to the Camaro, where Stiles could hear Erica and Lance arguing, Lance going off in rapid Spanish while she just shook her head and yelled back at him in English.

Yeah, he was going to be just fine.

--

Stiles had thought about telling Derek about what he’d found out but had then decided that it could wait until after Christmas. Besides, he wanted to get a confirmation from Heather before telling him what he knew, because he knew that if he told the alpha about Reynault then he wouldn’t care whether or not it was Christmas, he would leave to go and hunt him down himself, and Stiles didn’t want to take away from their well-deserved holiday cheer.

Instead, he finished putting the last couple of presents for his dad under the tree, and then made up a batch of eggnog that would appeal to both of them.

At around four, his dad was back home, and Stiles managed to convince him to sit down for a while to relax and have some eggnog and a couple of cookies.

When the sheriff coughed at the first sip, he smirked, knowing that he’d made it just right.

They then did their usual tradition and ordered a meat lovers pizza and put Die Hard into the blu-ray player, which they both firmly believed was definitely a Christmas movie. It had become a tradition back when Stiles was only twelve, and it was something that they enjoyed doing together every single Christmas Eve. Their biggest meal of the holiday, though, was always lunch on Christmas day.

They always piled up with heavy foods and it was the one time of year where Stiles didn’t get on his dad’s case about his diet. Instead, he let him indulge, and though they had never invited anyone to their exclusive Christmas lunch, Stiles had the faint inkling that this year his dad wanted to invite Melissa over. He knew that it should bother him a little bit, but the truth was that he was thrilled that his dad had found someone special in his life, and he couldn’t think of anyone better than Melissa. She had practically been a second mother to him over the years, after all.

Just as they had completely settled and were more than halfway through the movie, Bruce Willis giving his famous line from the vents, Stiles phone buzzed insistently in his pocket, and he looked at the number and recognized the Tennessee area code and quickly stood up and said, “Dad, I have to take this.”

He quickly ducked into the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Stiles, this is Heather. I thought about e-mailing or texting you, but I then I realized that a phone call would be best. We’ve got him.”

Suddenly his shoulders dropped, and tension that Stiles didn’t even realized he was holding fell from him almost instantly and he let out a sigh of relief and slumped against the fridge, resting his forehead on the cool metal, and breathed out, “Oh, thank god. You have him contained?” he couldn’t help but ask.

She quickly answered, “Inside a room made from mountain ash, inside of a mountain ash circle, with mistletoe vines in the ground. Reynault isn’t going anywhere, Emissary Stiles,” she added with a smile in her tone, and he chuckled at the way she so formally addressed him, and he smiled and replied, “You have no idea how good this makes me feel. Knowing that he’s locked up and not getting out is the best Christmas present you could have given me. By the way, did you contact--?”

“Yes, we contacted him. He says he’s taking care of everything back in Maine and in D.C., and that it should all be taken care of before tomorrow morning.”

Stiles let out another sigh of relief and slowly stood back up, lightly tapping the palm of his hand to the counter, and then he said, “I’ll tell Derek and Lance tomorrow. They’ll be so relieved. I mean, he only just got here, but I think Derek really likes this kid. And he really likes Derek, too.”

He could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “Well, like I said. It’ll all be taken care of. Have a Merry Christmas, Emissary Stiles.”

“Please, call me Stiles. You keep calling me by my title and it’ll go straight to my head, just ask my fellow FBI agents,” and at that, she laughed and politely replied, “Fine, then. Stiles. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

And with that, they hung up, and Stiles felt a lightness that he hadn’t felt in a couple of days…except perhaps at the party the night before. He couldn’t wait to tell Derek, but he didn’t want to ruin their pack Christmas, so he would wait until he dropped by later tomorrow with his presents. They deserved to at least have a little bit more time together. He wasn’t sure how Lance would react to hearing the Reynault was no longer a problem, so he decided to play it safe for now.

He walked back into the living room and was surprised to see that his dad had paused the movie. He looked up at him curiously when he walked back in and asked, “Who was that? Sounded serious.”

Stiles nodded and then sat back down.

“Yeah, that was Heather, the emissary for that Tennessee pack I told you about. They, uh…they caught him. They have Reynault completely secure and he will face charges properly in werewolf style law,” he answered, knowing that that most likely meant that he was either going to be killed or permanently contained, though it all depended on him.

The sheriff arched an eyebrow, but instead of saying anything about it, he nodded and started the movie back up. Traditions had to be upheld, after all.

--

Stiles was startled out of his sleep at three am on Christmas morning, his phone buzzing insistently on the nightstand, and he blearily reached for it, silently praying that it wasn’t Erica calling. He could probably deal with anyone but Erica at that point. He loved her, but she was a menace.

“’lo?” he said, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes, rolling back over to his back.

“Hey, Stilinski. Have some good news for you.”

Oh, he knew that voice.

He blinked a couple of times, and then said, “Agent Davis? Is that you?”

“Yeah, sorry for waking you up at…oh, god, three am, I’m sorry, I totally forgot how early it is back in California,” his friend back at Quantico said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “But I took care of handling the information about Reynault. According to the FBI, he no longer exists and the attack on the parents was an animal attack, and the child has been declared dead. How does Lance Hale, sound?”

At that, Stiles shot up in his bed and stared straight ahead in shock, not quite sure that he had heard what he’d just heard. He knew that Agent Connor Davis was good, but this was far above and beyond what he had expected.

He gaped for a moment, and then finally got out, “Oh my god, Connor, I don’t know how the hell you did this, but this…this is freakin’ amazing, man! He’s, he’s…he’s already connecting with Derek and the pack and now he has a place if he wants it, and…seriously! How the hell did you pull this off so fast?” he asked a second time, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his emissary friend at the FBI had just pulled off the biggest Christmas miracle of all time.

Connor answered, “Well, let’s just say that I friends that owe me quite a few favors and I cashed them in because this seemed like a good time for it. Lance deserves to have someplace where he can feel safe. No one deserves to go through that kind of trauma…”

His voiced drifted and Stiles couldn’t help but say, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

The line went quiet for a moment, taking it all in, and suddenly he felt like he needed to tell Derek at that very moment…but it was still just after three in the morning, and he had the feeling that the werewolf wouldn’t appreciate being woken up in the dead of night right before Christmas morning. He bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth, trying to figure out just what to do.

Before he could get too worked up about it, however, Connor said, “I’m sure that he’s exactly where he needs to be, Stiles. I know you and I trust your judgment. Besides,” he drawled, sounding far too smug, “From what I’ve heard about the Hale pack and from what you’ve told me about Derek, I bet Lance is making friends quickly. As are you.”

He heard the intonation in his voice and groaned and wondered if nearly everyone he knew was aware of the fact that he had a crush on Derek Hale.

Finally, he said, “Okay, look, yes, I like Derek but it’s not like that. I don’t know how many times I’ve told people this, but he doesn’t like me that way, so if you could just--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stilinski, just chill. I just think that you’re a little bit close minded and that it might not all just be on your side, you know? I keep in touch with other packs and other leaders, and quite a few of them have met Derek and have heard the way that he talks about you, and I’m just, you know…putting the pieces together,” Connor finished, and Stiles’ hackles lowered.

Oh. Wait…Derek talked about him? To other packs? How was he not aware of that?

Deciding he’d had enough emotional turmoil, he said, “Well, thanks for calling me. This is the best news, and I can’t wait to tell him. Thanks again, Connor.”

“No problem, Stilinski. By the way, don’t forget to check your e-mail.”

They hung up, and Stiles knew that he should go back to sleep, but he was suddenly wide awake and wired, and so he threw off his blanket and pulled on his old lacrosse hoodie and wandered over to his work laptop, pulling it out and flipping it open. He skimmed through his work e-mails, ignoring all of them except for the one that Agent Davis had just sent him.

He smiled as he read it, realizing that he needed to do something especially nice for the man because he had just somehow pulled off the impossible. He drafted a reply, trying to put as much gratitude into it as he could, needing Connor to know just how amazing he was. He’d met Agent Davis when he’d first gotten his job and the guy had immediately recognized a fellow emissary. Stiles had been startled to discover that there was someone else in the supernatural world that had chosen a job in law enforcement, but they’d quickly become friends.

He now had connections with the few packs that were out east because of the man and he was grateful for it, because they had all been far more helpful that Deaton had ever been and he stayed in touch with them through secure channels and used them as resources when things went weird in Beacon Hills, which happened more often than not.

After going through a few personal e-mails to a couple of emissaries, one in North Carolina and one in Ohio, he glanced at his phone to check the time.

It was just after six am. Too late to try and get more sleep, he knew, because his dad typically woke him up at around seven on Christmas morning, every year, without fail.

Letting out a long sigh, he leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes, wondering what his dad had gotten for him that year. Last year had been a set of leather holsters that he had ordered from a professional leather worker up in Wyoming, and he still used them. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got another gift that was in the same vein as the one before. Though his dad didn’t say it, he knew that he was proud of him getting into the FBI, and show tried to show it through the gifts he got him throughout the year.

Just as he felt himself starting to drift, though, he heard from his window--

“Hey, I need to talk to you--”

He opened his eyes just in time to reach out and catch the edge of his desk with his fingertips to keep himself from falling over, and then swung accusing eyes over in the direction of the voice, wondering what the hell Derek was doing there in his room at six fifteen in the morning. On Christmas morning. When he was supposed to be with his pack.

“Dude, what the hell, man?” he hissed out, keeping in mind that his dad was still asleep only a couple of doors down from his room. “How many times do I have to tell you that we have a front door and that you should use it? Also…what the hell?? It’s Christmas morning! Is there a reason why you’re over here scaring me out of my skin instead of back with your pack, dealing with sugary, hyped-up pups tearing into their stockings and presents and driving you up the wall??”

He evened out his breathing as much as he could as he brought the chair back to the floor, once more level, but he knew that he couldn’t hide from Derek just how fast his heart was racing. Normally, he would have been embarrassed, but considering what the alpha had just done, he felt it was entirely Derek’s fault.

Derek just gave him a once over and said, “Like I said, I need to talk to you. I’m worried about who went after Lance’s parents, and I think I should--”

Stiles quickly cut him off, waving a hand in the air and saying, “Dude, don’t worry about it, I’ve already taken care of it,” and at that, Derek’s brow furrowed, and he gave him a curious look, and Stiles realized how it sounded, so he quickly explained.

“Look, I was worried, too, so yesterday I used department resources, as well as a few of my own, and I tracked down the werewolf that killed his parents.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up at that.

“Turns out he was a rogue from one of the Quebec packs who was acting outside the authority of the alpha, trying to claim it as a territory dispute. I managed to track him down to Tennessee and contacted the emissary there, and she just called me this evening to say that they’ve got him contained.” He paused to yawn, and then scratched his neck and said, “Also, I got a call from an agent friend back at Quantico who cut through all the shitty red tape and made it so that Lance Santiago and the man who killed his parents no longer exist.”

Derek, still partially perched on the sill of Stiles’ window, just looked at him with wide eyes, his mouth partly open, and Stiles was fairly certain that that had been his own expression when Connor had told him the news.

Finally, Derek breathed out, sounding incredulous, “How…how did you do all of this so quickly? I mean, tracking him down means…you would need…”

Stiles rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but quip, “Dude, did you never wonder how the hell I became a full-fledged field agent with their own field office at just twenty-four? With three paid agents who work under me, all of them older than I am?”

Derek came the rest of the way into the room and sat on the edge of Stiles’ bed, his brow still furrowed, and Stiles let out a long sigh, flipped his laptop closed, and then said, “Okay, apparently you had no clue, so looks like I’m gonna have to explain it to you,” and went and joined Derek on his bed, trying not to pay too close attention to the fact that all he wore was his boxers and that he hadn’t showered since the night that they had gone to the party.

“As soon as I started the internship, one of the agents took an interest in me and I quickly found out that he was an emissary.” Derek gave him a wide-eyed look and Stiles chuckled and said, “Yeah, I know, it totally took me off guard, too, but because he recognized my spark, don’t ask me how,” he quickly said, throwing a hand up to stop the alpha’s inevitable question, “I still don’t get it, myself. But he recognized it and immediately put me on the fast track to becoming an agent. Luckily, I passed most of the tests simply because I had the experience thanks to my dad and all of my adventurous teenage years in Beacon Hills.”

Derek then finally said, “Is he the same agent that you just mentioned? The one who cut through all the red tape?”

Stiles nodded.

“Yep. Connor’s a great guy,” he said, smiling fondly. “It’s because of him that I got this amazing job in the first place. It’s because of him I was able to come back home to work, instead of spending ten to twelve years back in D.C., trying to work my way up the daisy chain of bureaucrats to get to a job where I could finally choose where I wanted to work.”

Derek looked up at him at that, drawing his gaze away from the floor, and said a low tone, “I didn’t know that. I just…I guess I just thought you were that good, I guess.”

At that, Stiles laughed, though tried to still keep his voice down, remembering his dad was asleep, and said, “Wow, that’s, uh…super flattering, I guess, but no, sourwolf. Just got really lucky with the right person who got me where I could do the most good for the Agency. Not gonna lie, a lot of the cases I take I have to run supernatural interference, so my agents don’t wise up and find out what’s really going on out here near Beacon Hills.”

Derek’s brow softened and he gave Stiles a look that he couldn’t quite nail down.

Feeling a bit exposed, he quickly stood back up and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and said, “So, yeah. Lance is officially off the grid, so if you want to take him in, you can. In fact, how does Lance Hale, sound?”

At that, Derek looked up at him in shock.

“Lance…Hale? Do you mean…?”

Stiles shrugged, a bit nervous as he admitted, “Connor managed to change some records so that you have a baby brother who was adopted right before the fire.” He quickly told him everything that he’d read in the detailed e-mail that Connor had sent him right after their conversation. “He lives with you here in Beacon Hills and is now currently registered at Beacon Hills Middle School.”

Derek gaped up at him, and Stiles was even more confused when he suddenly surged to his feet in front of him and said in a breathless voice, “I don’t know how to thank you, or him, but I need to find a way…”

Stiles felt completely off-balance as Derek leaned into his personal space, their mouths shockingly close.

“Stiles…” Derek then suddenly stopped and took a deep breath, and then he leaned his head down and took another long deep breath through his nose, practically nuzzling into his neck, and then murmured into Stiles’ ear, “You’re still wearing the shirt that you wore under what you wore to the party,” and Stiles swallowed, unsure of what to do, so he remained stock still as Derek proceeded to do whatever he was doing. He then said, his lips brushing against Stiles’ jaw, “I wanted it to be real…”

What was he talking about? What did he meant that he wanted it to be real? He wanted what to be real--oh. Oh.

Oh.

As if he was acting on instinct, he brought his hands up and slipped them around the back of Derek’s neck and said, “Oh, god, so did I, but I thought that was probably pretty damn obvious, by now.” He heard Derek swallow and the alpha said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I wasn’t sure if it was real or if I was just imagining it, you know? I thought maybe because I wanted you to want me in the same way so bad, that I was imagining things…”

Stiles shook his head and slipped his fingers into the hair at the base of Derek’s neck and murmured right back at him, “You weren’t imagining things…”

That seemed to be the trigger, because suddenly Derek had pulled his head back and was pressing his lips to Stiles and he was melting under the sheer heat of him, turning his entire body so that he was pressed up against him from shoulder to thigh, and he didn’t think that he’d ever felt more comforted yet turned on at the exact same time.

And then, through a series of events that quickly became a blur, Stiles found himself on his back on his bed with Derek on top of him, hands sliding under his sweater to pull it over his head, and then was nuzzling his mouth and nose into his neck and down the center of the shirt, letting out these small little sounds that made Stiles think that he was fully embracing his wolf side and scenting him up and down like a wolf trying to claim its territory on a mate.

He was more than a little bit turned on, and then just about lost it when Derek’s tongue darted out and licked at his nipple through the shirt, and then sharply nipped at it, causing Stiles to yelp and squirm.

“Ah, Derek! What are you, what are doing,” he breathed out as he slid further down and traced his tongue across his exposed hip bone.

“I’m claiming you as mine,” he muttered into his skin. “I’m gonna mark you up and make you the prettiest present I’ve ever had in my life,” and Stiles’ eyes rolled up in the back of his head at the sheer amount of desire in his words. God, the threat of being bitten into and marked up by claws and teeth should not be that hot, Stiles thought to himself as Derek then lightly tugged on his boxers, exposing even more skin to his ever-questing tongue.

He slid his hand under Stiles’ hips and forced his legs apart and nosed down into the crevice of his hip and then let out a low hum that sounded like he was enjoying himself.

Stiles reached down and ran his fingers through the alpha’s hair and breathed out, “This is easily the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten, but Der…you’ve got pups waiting for you back at home,” but his admonishment went unnoticed as Derek reached between them and pressed warm fingers to Stiles’ erection, causing his brain to short circuit.

He bucked up into the grip, eyes rolling towards the ceiling, and then nearly passed out when he felt Derek’s tongue trace over him through the fabric of his boxers, and he heard him inhale deeply once more, and Stiles wondered what he smelled like to the alpha wolf, because however he smelled, it seemed to be bringing out every single part of Derek’s possessive side, because he growled, “Mine,” and then lightly suckled at the tip of his cock through his boxers and Stiles was certain that he was going to die from it.

But then the pressure suddenly went away, and he looked down, wondering why Derek had changed his mind and was blown away by look in his eyes as he stared up at him from between his legs.

“God, Stiles…you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he said, sounding completely breathless.

And then he moved up, his thighs still resting between Stiles’ legs, but now his chest covered Stiles’ as he reached back up for another kiss, and as he wrapped his arms around the alpha’s shoulders, he realized he never wanted to stop kissing him. Despite the promise of something more, all he really wanted to do at that moment was to continue to kiss him and hold him in his arms for as long as he could.

Derek slowly undulated against him, their cocks rubbing in just the right way, and Stiles gasped while Derek continued to kiss him, running his tongue down and over his neck, playfully nipping the entire time and he knew that he was going to end up with so many marks that it was going to look like he had barely won a fight against a very determined vampire with blunt teeth. Part of him, the part of his brain that was still working, was telling him to push Derek off and make sure he got back home, but another part of his brain, the much more selfish part, was telling him to never let him go and hold onto him as tightly as he could.

Torn between the two, he simply slid his hands down Derek’s back and then lightly squeezed when they got to their targeted destination.

Derek grunted and then thrusted hard against him when he did, causing Stiles to moan more loudly than he meant to.

He bit his lip and tried to remember that his dad was still asleep.

But then--

“Hey, kiddo, it’s time to get up for…”

They both froze and Stiles slowly turned his head to see his dad standing in the doorway of his room, one hand still raised as if he’d knocked on the door. Stiles then realized that he probably had, but he hadn’t heard it because he had been…occupied.

All three of them were frozen. And then his dad coughed, raised an eyebrow at them and said, “Uh, why don’t you come down a bit later. I’ll put some coffee on,” and he turned and left, muttering something under his breath as he walked back down the hall to the stairs, and Stiles was confused when Derek suddenly snorted then pressed his forehead to Stiles’ shoulder as his body shook with laughter, as if he was trying to contain his mirth at the whole situation.

Amused, but also annoyed, Stiles tapped his shoulder and said, “Alright, what gives? Being caught by my dad isn’t that funny, man…”

Finally, Derek caught his breath and looked back up at him and explained, “When your dad left, he said that he owed Melissa money.” Derek arched an eyebrow at him, as if trying to tell him to put the pieces together…which Stiles finally did.

“Hold up, are you telling me that…that the two of them were betting on when the two of us were going to get together?!”

Derek nodded and slowly rose up to his knees, so that his weight was no longer on top of his, and Stiles already missed it. He quickly sat up, as well, and then reached out and pulled Derek back to him with a hand around the back of his neck, stealing yet another kiss from him, and was pleased when the werewolf seemed almost breathless when they both pulled back from it what felt like ages later. He didn’t really want to stop kissing him, but he knew that he had to.

“So, uh…Merry Christmas,” he said, not sure of what else to say.

Derek gave him a long look…and then he reached over and cupped his jaw and Stiles couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

And then Derek said, “You were right, before. I need to be back with my pack. But…you’re still coming over later, though, right?” he asked, his tone unsure and Stiles quickly reassured him with, “Of course, I’m still coming over, sourwolf. I’ll just also be bringing an overnight bag,” he added with a smirk and Derek’s smile widened.

“Sounds great,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. He then said, “By the way, I’m sorry I never told you I was okay or tried to visit you when you were at the Academy,” and Stiles felt his heart clench, and he just shook his head and said, “Hey, don’t worry about it, Derek. It wasn’t either of our faults. Just…bad timing.”

Derek nodded.

And then he moved to go back out the window, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Seriously?” he drawled, gesturing widely with his hands. “After all this, and you’re still going to go out through the window? We are fully grown adults, Derek, you can go out through the front door like a big boy,” he said, arching an eyebrow at him, and Derek gave him a look over his shoulder and replied, “I like doing it this way. Makes me feel like I’m making for the years we lost when neither of us acted on our feelings. We have time to be adults later,” he said, completely taking Stiles off guard.

Feeling a sudden surge of affection towards him, he bolted to his window and planted a hot, wet kiss right on Derek’s mouth, feeling a rush of hormones as he then whispered against his lips, “In that case, when can we park your car on some back road and christen the back seat of the Camaro?”

Derek grinned.

“How about New Year’s Eve?”

Stiles grinned.

“It’s a date.”

And with that, Derek lightly jumped to the ground and Stiles stared for a moment, watching him take off back home, looking forward to going over later in the day to see him and the pack. This was the best Christmas ever, he thought to himself as he tugged on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, noting the stain on the front from where Derek had…yeah.

Shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the inappropriate thoughts before he went to spend the morning with his dad, he grabbed his phone and tucked it into his hoodie and sauntered down the stairs, ignoring the smug smirk on the corner of his dad’s lips as he handed him a mug of coffee. The two of them sat on the floor next to the tree and Stiles handed over his present and eagerly ripped at the paper on his own, wondering what his dad had gotten him that year.

“Are you serious?” he said as he pulled out the matching hat and jacket, both with the Mets logo on them, and he saw the scrawl of a familiar signature on the back of the cap and the shoulder of the jacket. “How the hell did you get this?”

His dad shrugged and grinned and answered, “Let’s just say that you’re not the only one who knows people, kid.”

Stiles laughed, pulled his dad into a strong, back breaking hug, and then slid the jacket on, thrilled with how well it fit him.

He then gestured at his dad as he tugged on the cap and said, “C’mon, open up your present, don’t leave me hangin’,” and then smiled when his dad finally pulled off the wrapping on the present that Stiles had spent a total of two minutes wrapping. He smiled even wider when his dad let out a sound of surprise at what he found.

“I’m not going to ask how you got it, I’m just going to say thank you,” he said, pulling out his pocketknife and opening the box, pulling out the brand-new leather jacket with a blue and red leather stripe down the front right side. It was an exact replica of one from a tv show that he’d loved when he was younger, and Stiles was glad that he was finally able to afford to spoil his dad for once. The look on his face as he put the jacket on over his t-shirt was priceless.

But then his dad’s smile turned into a smirk and he said, “So, you and Derek…”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Oh, god, do we have to have this conversation right now? It’s bad enough that you saw us…you know, the way that you saw us. By the way,” he quickly added, pulling the coat and hat back off and putting them back into the box, “Derek told me what you said, about how you owe Melissa money. You two bet on us?”

He wasn’t proud of how his voice cracked slightly as he said it, but then his dad chuckled and shook his head and said, “Yeah, we did. I know you, Stiles. I’ve known for years that you’ve had a crush on the guy. Why do you think I was on your case when you and Scott first met him? I know all the signs of a repressed crush turned into fake anger. You kept on going on and on about how you hated him, and then when you came back and Derek asked you to be his emissary, well…I knew it was just a matter of time.”

Stiles smiled at that, but ducked his eyes, feeling his face go slightly warm.

And then his dad added, pointing a finger at him, “That doesn’t mean I want to walk into what I just saw earlier, again. If you’re gonna do…that…then do it somewhere else. Understood?”

Unable to help himself, Stiles said, “Oh, we’ve already got a date tonight, and for New Year’s Eve, we’re christening the Camaro,” and grinned when he saw his dad make a face and let out a disgusted sound. He may have been an adult, but that didn’t mean he had to be mature.

“Gee, thanks for that imagery, kid.”

“You’re welcome, pops,” he said, reaching out and playfully batting him on the arm.

They then shared one last smile and headed off to the kitchen for breakfast.

Yeah.

Best Christmas ever.

#hazelestelle #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Redemption of a Bell' : an crossover....between RDR2 & COD Cold War

What if.....Bell, the main protagonist of Call of Duty Black Ops Cold War, was in the story of Red Dead Redemption 2 ?

As the Dutch Van Der Linde gang's is on the run to escape the authorities after their botched robbery in Blackwater and trying to survive through the cold of the Ambarino region, one of their attempts against their longs rivals, the O'Driscolls, lead them to discover an woman left for dead by their leader after the attack.

However, this woman is an whole mystery for the gang, trying to find out what they could do about her, not even knowing her real name.....but Dutch has an plan for her.....and he will find an name for her.....

An crossover between Red Dead Redemption 2 & Call of Duty Black Ops Cold War

To read it on AO3, click here !

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1899

Dutch van der Linde's gang is on the run, fleeing the authorities after what happened in Blackwater in West Elizabeth. It was the perfect occasion for all of them to get some money and everyone had plans for this to happen : Arthur Morgan & Hosea Matthews were on an easy job and it was all going to be nice but then, an bad idea from one of the gang's member and it all turned to shit, causing an bloody massacre in this town and causing everyone to flee.

The gang had no choices because of it but it was better to run than to be catched by the Pinkertons. They went up north in the snowy mountains of Ambarino and it was an nicely cover with an storm that were covering their tracks, avoiding the authorities to get them but they also lost people on the road and the morale was an bit low after these losses but like always, Dutch is here to bring up back the morale, asking everyone to have faith.

They took shelter in an abandoned town called Colter, awaiting for the storm to calm down and the snow to get lower as it was also preventing them to use the wagons to left the place. But of course, it's not that they were hiding that they couldn't try to make some moves in the mountains : Dutch, Arthur & Micah Bell has rescued an widow named Sadie Adler and next day, Arthur & Javier Escuella were saving the friend of the wolves, John Marston but now, it was more serious for Dutch.

He knew that in the mountains, there were some O'Driscolls boys hiding too and knowing the hatred he & the gang has for these peoples, there were no other perfect occasion to....see if their stuff couldn't change hands, Dutch having heard of plans about an train and some dynamite to be used so he took the chance : he brought Arthur Morgan, Lenny Summers, Javier Escuella, Bill Williamson & Micah Bell for this mission. He wanted to hit them O'Driscolls hard.

"Good." Dutch started after the posse arrived near the camp these O'Driscolls were hiding. "Now, Mr. Morgan and I, we’re going to head up here a little, see if we can’t get a sense of the layout of the camp." He explained, putting his feets on the snow, making an little sign towards the ridge that were going to allow him & Arthur to take an better look of the camp. "Mr. Williamson, Mr. Bell, you two take up a hidden position just outside the camp." He added, gesturing to the two before looking at Javier & Lenny. "Mr. Summers, Mr. Escuella, you two hold position here. Let’s go." He ordered before he start to walk towards to climb higher, followed by Arthur and then, they took out some binoculars once arrived. "There they are… That’s definitely them." Dutch said.

"Colm ?" Arthur asked, looking through his binoculars as he was focused on an man that was on an brown horse, talking to someone.

"I think..." Dutch tried to guess, moving his binoculars to look at the situation

"Yeah...that's him." Arthur stated after an closer look, recognizing the man that Dutch was hating deeply in him, still talking to that person near by.

"Who’s he talking to? He don’t seem very happy." Dutch demanded as he was trying to find out who was the person was talking and by the look of it, it was resembling as an young redhead woman, dressed like every men around her but as Colm was looking ready to go, Dutch & Arthur watched in horror as Colm took out one of his revolvers and fired 3 bullets in direction of the woman who immediately fall in the snow.

"No..." Arthur whispered, shocked by what he just saw. "That bastard !" He exclaimed as Colm was not even looking anymore at the woman he just shot down before he got up back on his feets. "Should we go get ’em?" He demanded in an voice that couldn't tell if he was angry at all about the situation

"Yes but Colm can wait. Best to get some of them outta there. And much less fun to rob him and his score if he never finds out about it." Dutch replied as he was walking away from the ridge to get back to their respectives horses....he wasn't shocked by the event, it was mostly Colm's behavior from time to time towards his followers. "Alright, let’s go pay our old friends a visit. Don’t forget to grab that rifle from your horse." He expressed his enthusiasm to get those boys, pointing out the rifle on Arthur's horse. "You boys be ready to pick them off from up there." He adressed himself to Lenny & Javier before starting on an path that Bill & Micah took to get down.

"Sure thing." Lenny told him, getting ready with Javier to greet any escapers on this path as Arthur & Dutch were going down to join the others.

"Like you said, revenge is a luxury we can’t afford." Dutch exclaimed to Arthur as the two were at the middle of the path, walking slowly to not get spot in advance by the O'Driscolls & mentioning words that Arthur said on the way to here.

"Yeah, I just wasn’t sure you agreed with me." Arthur explained, not sure of how to think about this...about everything to be honest.

"Arthur, Arthur, have you completely lost faith in me? Our needs right now are supplies, equipment and a way out of here." Dutch insisted on that 'faith', wanting everyone to keep it for the future, he was very insistant on it. "Everything else, including Colm, can wait." He added, arriving at the same level of the camp & seeing Micah & Bill awaiting in another hidden point of the camp.

"So what are we doing, Dutch? I can take this if you want." Arthur questioned Dutch after they sneaked further into the camp, hiding right below an cabin.

"Just make the call. You wanna take the lead? Go." Dutch complied, making an sign to Arthur, meaning that he was the one in charge here.

"Okay, I’ll go first." Arthur took an deep breath before going out of cover with his rifle. "O’Driscolls! You’re dead, you sons of bitches!" He literally yelled towards them, signifying the beginning of the attack against these poor devils.

At the second that he yelled that every O'Driscolls in the camp were like chille by the sound of it, totally unprepared for that situation as Arthur, Dutch, Micah & Bell were the first to open fire on every person they were going to try to fire back at them. The first victims were two guys that were going to move up the body of the woman that was gunned down by Colm himself and then, the long list was following for the O'Driscolls.

They could have tried to open fire.....they were immediately greeted by the bullets from the revolvers & the rifles of Dutch's boys. They could have tried to flee but they will be killed by the suppressing fire coming from Mr Summers & Mr Escuella, still on top of that ridge but now descending the main path to help the others in need, seeing the advance they were making inside the camp, killing every bastards that were hiding in the old cabins.

However, as it was seeming that everything was in order after an few minutes of fighting and that the group were going to search for anything useful that they had to fight again, this time, bullets coming from the trees that were in another part of the camp but it was not knowing the bravery of Dutch's men that the surprise that the O'Driscolls tried to do turned out to be the very last mistake they did in their lifes.

If they were not coming at them, Arthur and the others will come at them and like before, the surprising advance that the group did at this O'Driscolls group turned in their big favor, killing one by one everyone of them but there were also some lucky guys....cowards as Dutch proclaimed that managed to get away from the camp, not wanting to meet an bullet with their names on it. With now the camp peacefully secured, the group could finally proceed on what they came for.

"Good work, boys. Now, let’s tear this place apart. Bill, you go search that wagon there. Arthur, you take that building to the left." Dutch congratulated his men, happy about their exploits today and destroying hopes for an O'Driscoll future heist before giving the orders. "Alright men, quick! Find those detonators, explosives, anything you can. Let’s go." He ordered, causing everyone to split up to search what they needed : Micah was looting the cabins, Bill, the wagon Dutch pointed him to, Arthur, the building he was told to look at as Javier & Lenny were searching the bodies.

"Seems so good thing here." Lenny was with Javier as they were looking at the guys Arthur first killed with his rifle, holding an little silver watch in his hands.

"Don't be too greedy, Lenny." Javier scoffed as an good joke for him, seeing Lenny trying to put the watch on his wrist before something got his attention....an sound. "Wait, it's you that is breathing like that ?" He asked, hearing that loud & weird breathing near him, thinking at first that it was Lenny doing that.

"What ? No !" Lenny replied, half-joking. "I'm not Bill." He added, this time joking before realizing that Javier wasn't laughing, trying to figure out where that sound was coming.

"Must be near by." Javier looked around him until his eyes went on the woman he also witnessed to be shot but without binoculars, approaching her with curiosity but then, he fall back, scared after he put his ears near her. "My.....Dutch !" He shouted, asking for him.

"What's happening, Mr Escuella ?" Dutch demanded in an worried & serious tone, arriving at the scene, almost running.

"The woman....she's breathing !" Javier replied, his hand pointing towards the body of the woman for Dutch.

"You're kidding ?" Dutch thought that he was messing with him before he decided to verify his claims to be sure....and then, he realized that he was telling the truth : that woman with 3 gunshots wounds, one near her right kidney, one near her left lunge & the last one on her right shoulder....shots that were surely fatal...was still breathing despite the small pool of blood on the snow. "My god, the poor girl." He gasped, seeing that woman still alive.

"Hey, Dutch, found those plans you needed." The moment were interrupted by Micah Bell himself, holding in his hands some plans before he was trying to figure out what the fuck was happening by seeing Dutch, Lenny & Javier near an woman. "What are you looking at ?" He demanded, an bit annoyed as Dutch was taking the woman's body in his arms.

"That poor girl survived." Dutch responded, turning around to face Micah, holding her.

"Good and now, we can kill her, she's an O'Driscoll." Micah stated in an weirdly happy tone, wanting to draw his pistol but Arthur, who was coming out of the building he was now with Bill stepped in front of him.

"Ain't going to let you do that, Micah." Arthur defended, standing right between Micah & Dutch and it was looking like Micah was alone in this situation, despite the fact that this woman is an O'Driscoll...was.... "What are you planning, Dutch ?" Arthur asked to him.

"We're going to bring her with us, I will....take care of her with Hosea." Dutch responded, walking towards his horse that Lenny & Javier has all brought down with them during their descent on that camp during the attack. He then put her on his own horse before mounting on it. "Alright, let’s get outta here. I'm proud of you boys! All of you. Not a man down." He proclaimed as everyone was going back on their horses before leaving the camp.

They were able to get what they needed in here : dynamite for an future job and plans for an train attack, belonging to an certain Leviticus Cornwall and it was all good for Dutch but he was now also curious about the woman that they managed to find on that camp, he was trying to know how she was able to survive this long with 3 bullets in her in the middle of the snow. Everyone was very curious about it because they saw it happen too : Colm shot her in plain sight and she survived....this woman is kinda strange to say.

When the group come back to Colter without Arthur as he was charged to capture an lucky O'Driscoll guy that managed to flee the original attack, everyone in the camp was worried about seeing Dutch arriving with an wounded woman on his horse but instead of putting her with the others, he decided to....bring her inside the cabin that, Hosea & Arthur were using, stating that she needed peace to recover and that too much people around her can kill her.

Hosea, who was quite curious about this choice, resigned himself to agree to let Dutch install this woman in their cabin, taking the lead to heal her with the only tools he got to remove the bullets that was in her and luckly, he was able to save her life but she wasn't recovering, still unconscious and now on Dutch's bed. For him, he was seeing...something in her and that thought was taking over him during the rest of the day, still thinking of it when the night came, sitting peacefully in front of the chimney with Hosea.

"What are we going to do with her, Dutch ?" Hosea questioned him, breaking Dutch out of his thoughts as he was worried about that woman too but curious about what Dutch was thinking. "We can't let her like that here." He added before the front door of the cabin was opened, revealing Arthur.

"Dutch, Hosea." Arthur saluted them, entering the cabin as the two saluted him.

"Arthur, how are everyone ?" Dutch asked him, Arthur walking to one of the free chair in the room.

"Fine but they want to have news about the woman, they're worried." Arthur replied, sitting down on his chair and crossing his arms. "Like you said, I couldn't tell them that she was an O'Driscoll because of Mrs Adler's situation." He continued, remembering Dutch's advice before the group spot that O'Driscoll on the way back to Colter....guy that he was able to capture and now, kept by the others boys.

"You did good, Arthur, you did good." Dutch reassured them, his look on the fire of the chimney, thinking.

"So, Dutch, what are we doing with her ?" Hosea repeated his question to him, seeing him like that....that was strange.

"Like you said, we can't let her like that." Dutch responded, joining his hands together, peaking his eyes for an mini-second to look at the room where that woman was. "Colm would kill her if he saw her again and the Pinkertons....they could kill her too." He added, taking an breath. "No, we're taking her wih us but...." He stopped himself, trying to think about an problem. "I think that she isn't going to be pleasant with us."

"Really ? You saw what happened, right ?" Arthur scoffed, thinking that Dutch was joking, why would someone stay loyal to the person who shot you down. "You told us yourself : Colm doesn't give an damn about his men and also women."

"Maybe but there's exceptions." Dutch corrected him, raising his little finger towards Arthur. "She can still be loyal to him despite that and she can be useful to us." He stated, looking at Arthur. "Looking how though she is, interrogating her is an loss of time."

"And what are you exactly thinking her, Dutch ?" Hosea asked, now worried about what could possibly got out of Dutch's mouths after his statement.

"A while ago, I read an book about an secret experiment....something that we can try on her....mental manipulation." Dutch answered with an grin on his face, causing Hosea & Arthur eyes to go wide like that.

"What ?" Both literally protested in unison, shocked to hear that from Dutch.

"Dutch, that's crazy and almost inhuman." Arthur objected, even going up off his seat to face Dutch. "We can just let her wake up and tell her everything."

"No....we can't, Arthur." Dutch said in an clear voice, staying on his seat, thinking about that book he read....he wanted to try that and he knew that was going to be discussed in an bad way. "We don't know who she is and what she can do one she got up." He continued, defending his opinion on the subject as Hosea was quite disturbed. "You don't need to worry : I have an plan with her, keep some faith in you !" He exclaimed.

"Hosea, it's...what do you think ?" Arthur demanded, looking at Hosea that was still disturbed, looking down at his feets.

"I can't believe that I'm going to let this happen." Hosea muttered, resigning to debate with Dutch himself who has won the argument and now, if Hosea was resigning....Arthur was soon following because of Dutch's persistance to do so.

"All we need to do is to make everyone believe that the thing we're doing is for her good, that we're trying to save her." Dutch told the both of them before he decide to got up from his chair. "Keep some faith, I have an plan !" He insisted on that to the two before he decided to get out, going to get that book that was in his wagon.

That plan....it was surely crazy & inhuman but there were actually nothing that could have stop Dutch to execute it, he was going to do it, end of the story. That was fucked up but Dutch was ready to do anything because he has plans for that woman, she could help them with things and he wasn't going to let her in the hands of the Pinkerton or the O'Driscolls again. This was an big chance that was given to him.

He....he started his experiment on her the very night he proposed his plan to Arthur & Hosea who had to get along with it, everyone was going to get along with it, only Arthur, Hosea & Dutch knowing the real motives of that experiment. The others will probably thinking that this is only to help her to be better, purposely forgetting to mention an lot of details about the whole thing. It was Dutch in command here, he's only doing this to keep the morale up.

It was mostly Dutch that were making the experiment going to be true with Arthur & Hosea, often helping him along the way and he was doing that for almost 2 days straight, letting the storm going down and the others to survive while he was doing his job here. After these 2 longs days, he finally managed to succeed in his task, she was now 'changed' and now, the trio were now awaiting for her to wake up.

"So, how is she ?" Arthur asked after he came back inside the cabin after an hunting session with Charles in the forest, seeing Hosea & Dutch near the woman, still on Dutch's bed.

"Her condition is stable." Dutch replied, closing the book he has been using for two days now in his hands. "Now, we will be awaiting for us that she awake, how are the others feeling about it ?"

"You know it, Dutch." Hosea said, his hands behind his back, sounding an bit sad that he had to let his friend doing all of this. "They unfortunately thinking that what you're doing is good for her." He responded, looking at his friend. "This is going to be bad when she will find out." He added as an personal opinion.

"I'm thinking the same, Dutch." Arthur joined Hosea's thought about the situation but Dutch shook his head.

"Don't worry about this, I can make sure that she's not going to drift away." Dutch told them, reassuring them with an tap on each of their shoulders. "I have implanted something that will keep her in control." He continued before he looked back at the woman on the bed, seeing the bandages covering her chest.

"And now....I was thinking....what's her name ?" Arthur demanded in an curious voice. "We didn't find anything about her at all." He stated before Hosea look at him, raising his shoulders

"I'm guessing that Dutch is the one giving it to her." Hosea sighed, seeing Dutch thinking of an name about her with his hands below his chin before he approached the woman at the same level as her, having found the name for her....an name that is linked to something he saw in his book.....

"Bell !"

#cod bocw #cod bell #cod black ops cold war #red dead redemption 2 #RDR2 #fem!bell #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #Sadie Adler #John Marston #RDR2xCODColdWar fic #Because.... #Why not ?

[tellywoodtrash]

immj2 02.11.20 lb

this fucking episode my dudes. i just went through it like...

business maharani is doing some more bitchification of bhaabi, ki dekho phir nikal gayi aapke peeche. even used the same lameass mandir excuse, the idiot, instead of coming up with something new.  

hubs like riddhima is a major pain in the ass, but she's MY PAIN IN THE ASS, where isss sheeee, why isn't she back yet???????? is she ok????????????

ishani getting a call about someone in the hospital and......

bitch, it's her friend who's in the hospital. why the fuck would anyone call ISHANI of all people if riddhima was in the hospital????

lo aa gayi.

gujarat registration gaadi waale bhaiyya was a careful driver. unlike literally everyone else on tellywood. good for him.

concern!maxxxxxxxxxxx about her haalat.

asks about her bleeding hand and she's like i'll tell you if you tell me about how YOUR hand got hurt. noice.

again, rrahul's not putting on the vansh voice in this scene and it's 300% more watchable. for the love of god stop directing him in a way that impedes his performance!!!!!!! LET THE MAN MOVE HIS FACE AND TALK IN HIS NORMAL VOICE!!!!!!!!!!!

cliche dialogue about “shareer ke ghaav jaldi bhar jaate hain par dil ke ghaav..........”

this asshole is like yeah who would know that better than me???? BITCH WHAT IS THIS, THE TRAUMA OLYMPICS???

she's thinking ki yeah, i'm not gonna fall for your fakeass parwaah anymore. good. i like. she needed this stupidass illusion of her's broken longggggggggg back.

ohohohohoho ib waala mangalsutra breaking and slipping off trope idhar bhi hai.

“tooti hui cheezein kabhi kabhi dobara nahi judti.”

dialogue maarke chali gayi, lol.

but notice she's the one who caught it anyway. which makes me think she's gonna choose him/this relationship YET AGAIN. *deeeeeeeepest sigh in the world that sucks up all the oxygen in the atmosphere*

“jaise mera dil.”

OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH.

“lekin ab waqt aa gaya hai bohut se cheezon ko sahi karne ka.”

again, he looks menacing and all, but is probably just talking about making sure all the paperwork is up to date for upcoming end of year audits. he's a very rich accountant, remember???

ragini's medical reports have come.

lol being married to ishani is taking yearssssssss off angre's lifespan. roz naya tension, naya drama.

also, angre refers to vansh as "vansh bhai" when talking about him to ishani, but calls him "boss" when referring directly. interesting. veryyyyyyyyyyyyyyy interesting. you guys need to sort out that relationship, my dudes. it's the only stable, healthy one in this whole damn show.

ishani is like you're his right hand, what the hell are you doing about riddhima spying on him and getting all up in his business???????? dang, this might be the first conversation they're having about their only common interest: vansh's well being.

also i notice ki shivaay ke saare shirts angre ko diye gaye hain. huh, the shirts must have a kanji eyed wearer clause in their contract.

“mujhe shakti dijiye ke main apne emotions se upar uthke sahi ke saath khadi rahoon.”

damn, first time i've had a lil respect for riddhima. i mean, i know ultimately it's all gonna go to shit, but she's trying.

lmao a dhaarmik aarti version of the title track is playing. a version for every situation!

“main ragini ko bacha ke rahoongi. yeh mera aapse, ragini se, aur apne aap se vaada hai.”

YESSSSSSSSSSS BITCH, SISTERS OVER MURDEROUS MISTERS!!!!!!!!!!!

OMG WHY WON'T Y'ALL JUST DRESS HIM LIKE THIS, LIKE ARNAV, WITH THE SHIRT AND SWEATER COMBOOOOOOOOOOOOO. PLS GODDDDDDDDDDDD STOP DRESSING HIM WITH THAT STUPID SCARF WAALA BLAZERRRRRRRRRRRRR I BEG OF YOUUUUUUUUUU

he's talking to some shadow (def a woman) about how they're his humraaz about the whole ragini issue and nothing is hidden from them and how everything is going as they planned and the story will end soon.

it might be siya but omg i hope to goddddddddddddd it's ishani. i really really reallly want it to be ishani and see the hot demon siblings do some scheming and planning together. the sibs that conspire together, stay together!!!!!!!!!

menacing growling about riddhima and how he needs shadow chick's help in "handling" her, so that she doesn’t leave the house.

“chaahe VR mansion uske liye jail bann jaaye, i don't care.” cool, real healthy. also copied from this week's naagin 5. i'm telling you, these two shows be copying their homework off each other.

vansh leaning real hard on how he trusting shadow chick. hmmmm. reallyyyy hope it's ishani. though can’t say i wouldn’t be delighted if siya also turns out to be just as fucking twisted as him.

ofc ms. snoopy here has come to snoop. SIS TUM THAK NAHI JAATI KYA ISS SAB SE. MUJHE TOH DEKHTE HI THAKAAN HO GAYI HAI AND I NEEDS ME SOME GLUCON D.

“ragini riddhima se jeete-jee milna toh door, usse dekh bhi na sake.”

uh a little too late for that my man, lol. your girls already had a catchup session this afternoon. they're going for brunch and manis next weekend!

oh ho, she knows that angre's gone out. so this is def someone else in the house. DAMN, I'M REALLY INVESTED IN THIS SHADOW NOW.

yaaar, kya haalat bana rakhi hai shivaay ke room ki. best room hota tha iss set ka, aur isko bas ek random space banaa rakha hai.

ASLKFJSLDKJFLSDKJFLDKSF

this fucker crazyyyyy. like fulllll on flipping cray cray!!!!!!!!!!!!!

wow ok he's shaking from rage. more unhinged than i've ever seen him. which is really something. something scary as fuckkkkkkkk.

kudos to riddhima for just being like same old, same old, instead of being scared. i'm really liking i-give-no-fucks-riddhima.

DUDE. THIS FUCKER HAS COMPLETELY LOST IT.

also knife play copied from shivaay. this dude like a much much worse version of shivaay. never thought that would be possible, but never say never with ITV and the year 2020.

ok i don't like this angry version of him that's outta control, all shaking and growling and panting. not only is it really bad acting, it's hard to take seriously as menacing. ppl are always scarier when they're ice fucking cool with their anger.

blah blah blah some more growled warnings and riddhima and i are just here like............. “ok and????”

she's not even allowed to leave the room.

oooooh brave sis questioning him back and provokingggggggggg himmmmmmmmmm. got a death wish, this one, but i like her like this. i was sick of her just collapsing all over the place weeping. thaaaaaank god she found her longlost backbone.

“tum jaise haiwaan ki baat kabhi nahi maanungi.”

sarcastic slow clapping and slightly turned on by this show of dheentness.

“chalo aaj tumhari bahaaduri ko celebrate karte hain.”

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

“piyo, zeher nahi milaaya hai ismein.”

OK NOW THAT YOU SAID THAT I'M DEFINITELY THINKING THAT YOU HAVE.

omg ridhhimaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa you idiottttttt.

ok he's def put something in it. his face almost looking pitying as he takes the glass back.

“jaao. jahaan jaana hai jaao. nahi rokunga tumhe.”

ohhhhhhhhhh boy.

dslkfjsdlfkjdslkfjdslkjflkd her legs don't work no moreeeeeeeee.

THIS FUCKERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. JESUS CHRIST THIS CRAZY ASS FUCKING D;SLFKJ;SLDKFJ;LDSKJF;LDKJ

EVEN THE CHANNEL PUTTING BIG BOLD DISCLAIMER OVER THE SCENE LIKE THIS SHIT IS SERIOUSLY UNHINGED AND FICTIONAL THE CHANNEL ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT CONDONE THIS FUCKING MADNESSSSSSSSS

I CANNOT STOP SCREAMING THIS FUCKERRRRRRR IS OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK IS THIS THIS SHIT IS MAKING 4 LIONS MEN LOOK LIKE SOFT CUDDLY LIL SOFTBOIS I AM LITERALLY GOING OUTTA MY MIND WITH RAGE AND ANGUISH WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

i need a break. i seriously need a break to go cuddle my cat coz my god this deranged fucking showwwwwwwwwww.

ok cuddle break done. i’m not feeling any better but at least the tears of blood have stopped flowing from my eyes?

all i gots to say at this point is that CHEELANSHU SINGHANIA FROM NAAGIN 5 WOULD NEVER DO THIS. ONCE AGAIN SANKIIII CHEEL BOY >>>>>>>>>>>>>>> HUMAN MEN.

“haiwaan hoon main. rakshas hoon. aur rakshas kuch bhi kar sakta hai.”

electric chair for you, dude. ELECTRIC FUCKING CHAIR, GREEN MILE STYLE.

he literally gave her a paralytic.

“isse ek luxury relaxing spa treatment ki tarah enjoy karna.”

OMG I WISH I HAD SOMEONE MAKE ME SLIP INTO A PARALYTIC COMAAAAAAAAAA WHAT ELSE COULD A GIRL WANT FROM PRINCE CHARMING UWU TRUE WUVVVVVVVVV

omg inn paplu taplu ka chip waala naatak abhi bhi chal raha hai BIGGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED IN THE HOUSE YOU IDIOTS KEEP THE FUCK UP LITERALLY NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR SADAA HUA MEMORY CARD ANYMOREEEEEEEEEE

anyway they decide to put it in the bank locker. omg why though, under the mattress was suchhhhhhh a safe and secure spot!!! badal kyun rahe ho tum log?!?!?!!?!?

“good morning.”

sis, lower half is paralysed. haath abhi bhi kaam kar rahein haina??? PICK UP WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU CAN GET YOUR HANDS ON AND HURL IT AT HIS FUCKING HEADDDDDDDDDDD

“don't worry, bas kuch der ki baat hai. uske baad tum apne pairon pe khadi ho sakti ho. main tumhari help kar deta hoon.”

TELLL HIM SIS. TELL HIM TO STAY THE FUCK AWAY AND NEVER EVER COME WITHIN A 3 DISTRICT RADIUS OF YOU. 

“phir se zidd. tumhara naam riddhima nahi, ziddhima hona chahiye tha.”

ok can't deny i lol'd at that.

OK NO BACK TO HATING HIM. PUNS WILL GET YOU NOWHERE WITH ME, YOU BLOODY PSYCHOPATH.

“abhi toh bas ek chota dose diya hai jiska asar sirf 10 ghante rehta hai.”

oh how sweet. such a considerate husband. Star Parivaar Pati of The Year you are. haan behen, aur rakho aise pati ke liye karwachauth.

“agar baat nahi maaani, toh agla dose double hoga.”

seriously though, where can i get one of these? all i want is to be put in a coma so that i don't have to be conscious anymore. esp with the USA election today............ give me a 5x dose, daddy.

YEAH RIGHT LIKE SHE'S EVER GONNA CONSUME ANYTHING YOU OFFER HER EVER AGAIN LOL

“tum chaahe kitni bhi koshish karlo vansh, main tumhe ragini ko nuksaan pohunchaane nahi dungi.”

determination toh behen ka top classssssssssssss hai. where do ppl get such mental will from? i face the slightest inconvenience and i need a 6 hour nap to cope.

LMAO VANSH YOU DUMBASS YOU LEFT HER WITH HER PHONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. YOU KNOW SHE'S A SPY AND HAS SOMEONE ON THE OUTSIDE. YOU WANTED HER NOT TO GET TO RAGINI BUT NOW SHE CAN JUST CALL WHOEVER SHE’S WORKING WITH TO GET RAGINI THE HELP. GOD, BEWAKOOFON KI TOLI HAI YEH SHOWWWWWWWW.

ab yaad aayi kabir ki. my god, he seems like such a mellow weirdo now compared to vansh, just into some casual costume-changing and quasi fratricide. almost a tolerable level of deranged compared to this other fucking madman.

sent a voice note to him.

SHE HEARD SOMEONE COMING AND FLUNG THE PHONE ACROSS THE ROOM INTO A PILE OF CLOTHES. OH HO WHYYYYYYYYYYYY, YOU COULD HAVE LITERALLY JUST HID IT BACK UNDER THE PILLOWS WHERE YOU FOUND IT!?!?!??!?!?!?

“hi riddhima! tumhe iss haal mein dekh kar, dil ko bohut sukoon mil raha hai.”

asldkfsjflkjdslfkjdl i honestly love her the most. she's so fucking petty and hilarious.

ishani is like thank god bhai has seen fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinally seen your real face.

“sirf vansh ne hi nahi, inn sab mein maine bhi vansh ka asli chehra dekh liya hai.”

“kya matlab hai tumhara?!?!!”

ok, i'm thinking ishani is shadow girl. from day 1, she’s wanted riddhima to see vansh in a certain way; as someone dangerous, the way he projects himself. (as opposed to dadi and siya who want her to see his soft side.) this statement from riddhima makes her wary that did she get close to the actual truth. INTERESTING. VERYYYYYYYYY INTERESTINGGGGG.

she's now grumbling about how vansh treats her much better than she actually deserves. I REALLY WANT MORE INSIGHT INTO THIS BROTHER SISTER RELATIONSHIP THEY HAVE IT'S SO INTRIGUINGGGGGGGG

le, kapde chale gaye laundry. phone ke saath.

———————————————————————

precap: kabir listened to the voice note and now him and mummy are in panic about ragini disclosing the truth about 3 years ago. RE DEVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. OFC THESE TWO WERE INVOLVED IN THAT KAAND TOO. LITERALLY EVERY ONE IN THIS SHOW IS A DERANGED MENACE TO SOCIETY.

kabir coming to meet riddhima.

but ofc.

ugh she turned back saying “K.........” and he's like there's literally no one in this house whose name starts with K.

*facepalms for allllll eternity till my godforsaken face itself falls off.*

i think i’ll go watch s2 of mirzapur now. i need something ~~~light and fluffffffffffy~~~ to take my mind off whatever the FUCK this was.

#ishq mein marjawan 2 #immj2 #immj2 lbs #episode liveblogs

[chappedandfadedvds]

Nov 16th, Monday 15:39

The phone landed somewhere to his left on the bed, when he had let it fall from his hands. Though he badly  had wanted to throw it against the wall.

Unfocused Jens tried to calm himself. He knew he overreacted, that it wasn’t actually something bad, that it wasn’t meant to attack him. He wished just that his body would understand this too.

Instead his lungs felt a little too tight to allow him to breath freely. His room was too bright, so he pressed the heels of his hands to his closed eyes.

Fingers then grabbed his shoulder.

„Jens?“

That was Lucas.

Right. The boy next to him was almost about to leave. Just after they finished this online class. Which remined him that he probably should have listened to that instead of chatting away on his phone with the broerrrs.

„Did something happen?“ The fingers moved to cup his face and turn it, causing his eyes to fall free from the self induced pressure. He blinked his eyes open, trying to look at Lucas, who appeared to be puzzled, but not less worried. „Is there something I can do to help?“

„No, I’m just frustrated.“ That was a lie. Or was it? He definitely felt some sort of frustration, but he was sure it was more directed at himself and not at any of his friends.

„Okay.“ Lucas didn’t believe him, but didn’t say anything else, instead he his thumb began to slowly brush over his cheek. Jens was glad. That’s what he told himself. Aa a part of him wanted Lucas to ask him further. To question it. Even though Jens wasn’t sure if his answers would be honest. So perhaps frustration was the right word in the end.

„Moyo and Aaron are just assholes, saying stupid stuff about me having to go grocery shopping and Robbe hasn’t replied for an hour to defend me.“ Said out loud, it actually sounded childish and dumb. He felt incredibly stupid right now. God, what Lucas must think of him right now, getting worked up over some stupid comments.

For a moment there was only the sound of their teachers voice from the speakers filling the room.

„What did they say?“ Lucas looked at him, still being serious. He wasn’t laughing at Jens as the older boy had expected somehow.

„Nothing bad really. Just why I always have to do so much and have no time for them and our group any longer. Asking if they are no longer important to me. Bullshit like that. We spend basically all saturday playing games together. And Moyo often has to take care of the household and his little brother too. So why does he have to bitch about me? Bullshit.“ Jens groaned. He knew that it was unfair to compare them, like his friend had done in chat. That it was different. 

Yes Moyo had a lot of responibilities at home too. And he fullfilled those diligently. But usually just a couple days a week, not for months straight. And Jens wouldn’t even be in the position if he just simply told them. He was at fault he realised. He probably should apologise for texting them to fuck off and leave him the fuck alone. His exact words from five minutes ago.

He still was angry, so perhaps he could do that a bit later, when he wasn’t so damn emotional.

„That sucks.“ Lucas said, looking a bit at loss for how to handle the situation, Jens couldn’t blame him for that. Obviously he didn’t know the broerrs all that well yet and it did come a bit out of nowhere.

So Jens tried to smile, it had already been enough help, that Lucas had been around and listened to him. Jens actually felt already a bit better. Eating up feelings definitely never was a good idea, he had seen Robbe succumb to that last year. And now he proved them to be not better. 

Why was it so much easier to handle stuff as an outsider looking in and not vice versa?

„Do you want me to call and cancel the appointment with the caretaker? Because I would have to leave in like five to ten minutes otherwise.“ Lucas asked, pressing a kiss to Jens’s temple, brushing through his hair, before he leaned back and closed his laptop. Class was over, it was announced over chat. Lucas never took his eyes off of Jens though.

„Nah, I’m good. Otherwise I’ll call you later and complain for hours how fucked my life is. And you are not allowed to hang up until I say so.“ Jens slowly found his usual self again, smirking at Lucas, who nodded and smiled back.

„Deal!“ The boy proclaimed and then they both got up from his bed, Lucas to collect all his things, he had somehow managed to strew about the whole room, and Jens to put his schoolwork back on his desk. He would go grocery shopping first and do his homework later. Truth be told, later meant obviously not today or when the clock was running towards midnight.

„So I’ll see you on wednesday then?“

Jens almost was about to agree, when his eyes fell on the calender by his desk, the one he rarely used. Only to write his mothers appointments in, because they were important and he didn’t allow himself to forget about them. He couldn’t.

„Thursday?“ He replied therefore, daring to look at Lucas, who was busy packing his things. The younger boy sighed a little sad, but returned a smile at Jens nonetheless.

„Sure.“ He said briefly. Too brief?

„My mother has an appointment, that I accompany her to. I promised her. Sorry. It wasn’t on my mind til now.“ Jens felt the need to explain, unsure if Lucas would be dissapointed otherwise. Obviously he wouldn’t have been, as he looked over to Jens, before he got up and went to meet him at the desk. His arms wrapping around Jens’s middle.

„It is okay if you have other things planed, Jens. I do too, like with today or my own mom. So stop worrying. I can see it on your face. And I don’t want a wrinkly boyfriend, because he frowns all the time. Okay?“

Jens nodded, all his troubles shrinking away as he was being kissed by Lucas. He was so lucky to have this boy, who seemed to understand so easily. With Jana, Jens was sure, they would have fought every day. That made him notice something else.

„Did you just call me boyfriend?“ Jens asked, leaning back to see Lucas eyes go wide, as realisation hit him.

„I...yes?“ He tried cautiously, smiling awkwardly, as his cheeks blushed a faint red. „I mean. I don’t plan on seeing anyone else.“

„Me neither.“ Jens let the other boy know. „But it’s all a bit fast, isn’t it?“

Lucas shrugged.

„What isn’t with us?“

That was indeed a fair point the dutch boy made. And Jens was sure, that in his heart and mind they already were the first time they kissed, though never outspoken. They still didn’t know each other that long.

„My boyfriend then.“ Jens said, the world feeling odd on his tounge. Boyfriend. Who would have thought? Definitely not him. Weirder even, he loved the sound of it immensly. He could say it again and again. On repeat.

„Boyfriend.“ Lucas agreed, giggling softly as he let the word escape his lips and fill the air between them.

„Alright, you can go now.“ Jens declared, nodding towards the packed bag of Lucas next to the bed.

„Very lovely of you.“ Lucas joked, absolutely not offended in the slightest. They kissed again. And maybe one more time, before they broke out of their embrace.

„I guess I can finally start to be my worst around you.“

„So just the usual, huh?“ Lucas said, eyebrow raised, leaving Jens speechless. This boy always had something to hit back with. Always some last word to shut him up. So he simply followed Lucas out of his room and downstairs, giving him the victory.

They stood in the doorway of the entrance, Lucas dressed and ready to go, and yet both of them busy kissing lazily, enjoying their little intimicy.

„See you on thursday then?“ Jens whispered against Lucas’s lips, partly as a reminder for himself, pulling the boy’s closer. If it was even possible, but Lucas hadn’t yet stopped breathing, so perhaps it was still fine.

„Mhm.“ Lucas assured him wordlessly, pecking to more kisses to Lucas, smiling happily away.

„Alright, my beloved boyfriend, Mr. Van der Heijden, off you go.“ Jens tried to put some authority into his voice, ready to let go of Lucas, who, only clung stronger to him in return. Making them both laugh.

„I love when you do that.“ Lucas said quietly, looking away, as he did.

„What?“

„Call me by my last name. I don’t know, makes me happy and maybe a little excited.“ The dutch boy said, his confidence not yet back as his eyes searched for Jens’s again. 

Now that was something Jens hadn’t expected. He just started using it to make light of a situation, to get them back to the real world and do whatever they actually should be doing. Apparently it did had a different effect on Lucas.

„Dully noted.“ Jens said, his eyebrows raised mischievously. He could definitely make use of that. He snorted at how quick Lucas was to step out of his arms and open the door. It looked a bit like fleeing, if not his giggling betrayed him to let Jens believe Lucas was okay. So he let the boy leave.

„See you thursday. Can’t wait.“ Lucas shouted over his shoulder, walking up to the street.

„Me neither, Mr. Van der Heijden!“ Jens yelled after him, laughing as he watched his boyfriend trip over his own feet, trying to keep balance. It earned him a very agressive middlefinger before the door fell shut. 

The incident with his friends, not even an hour ago, completely forgotten.

__ __ __

tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

#week 4 #wtfock #skam #vds #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #chapped and faded #and they were boyfriends

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 6 (1/3)

Finally back after the Holidays! I ate so much I am embarrassed to say...

Previously on TWoT: Emily, a girl from 2020, ends up in 1899. Her life changes drastically but she seems to find some comfort in the people she happens to live with: the Van Der Linde gang. Even though things in camp seem to go well, outside camp the world is full of dangers, some little, some big, that make Emily remember day after day that she isn’t in 2020 anymore. Now it is time to prove herself and the gang what she can do. 

Chapter 6 (1/3) - Horses and O’Driscolls

Words: 2,2k

That morning Emily woke up with an unusual heartbeat and kept feeling that way until Mr. Morgan announced he was leaving. She still couldn’t understand what attraction had that kind of wandering: he didn’t even visit towns, he just roamed in the countryside, camped among the mud and weeds, and spent a lot of time on his horse. Without considering how dangerous it was: he had no mobile phone - of course in 1899 they didn’t exist yet - and if something had happened, if his horse had sprained his ankle, if he had fallen in a pit, if someone had attacked him, if the law had caught him eventually, they would have never known. 

In the end she went to say goodbye, with a long face that made her look like a child who hasn’t received her favorite toy from Santa Clause. 

Fortunately for her, over the next days she would have had a lot to think about: Miss Grimshaw kept her busy for some other little job; she had started to practice with Charles how to calm a horse, how to read its physical signs, how to mount and dismount, and how to take care of it; Jack asked for her everyday and she had to come up with a couple of different games to play; and then there was that illegal practice by the doctor in Valentine which intrigued her, and from time to time she went looking for Javier to know if he had found out something new.

One day, it was a cloudy day, with those heavy dark clouds that make you understand the rain might come every moment, Emily was in the kitchen, washing the plates and chatting with Mrs. Adler. She was still grieving for her husband and she wasn’t really in a talking mood, but Emily tried all she could to make her feel better. She couldn’t fully understand how Sadie was feeling, because she had never lost someone: her only family were her parents and an old uncle, she had lost her grandparents when she was young and didn’t remember much of them. 

But even if it was difficult, she tried to focus Sadie’s attention on something else, asking her what she thought about the camp, about the country, if she wanted to go to town someday with her, everything that could distract her, and from now and then she noticed that Sadie glimpsed at the man tied at the tree right behind the kitchen, who was perfectly visible from where the basin to wash the dishes was. Maybe she new something about him that Emily didn’t.

“What do you think he has done?” she asked nodding towards the prisoner.

In those days she had walked many times in front of him, but she had never stopped to talk. She didn’t trust him, even though Mary-Beth had told her he was harmless. 

“Something bad for sure. He’s an O’Driscoll” replied Sadie with a low growling voice full of despise.

“What does it mean? What is an O’Driscoll?” she asked.

“They are the sons of bitches who killed my husband.” Emily raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth, moving her eyes from Sadie to the prisoner.

“You mean… he was there that day?”

“No, not him. His friends.”

“So, what has he done? Why is he tied there?”

“Whatever he’s done, I hope they let him rot there for the rest of his days.”

Sadie made sure to pronounce those last words loud enough to be heard by the man, who did nothing apart from closing his eyes and taking a sigh.

Emily was shocked by Sadie’s cruelty. After all, he had nothing to do with her husband’s death, he was part of the same group, that was true, but she couldn’t tar them all with the same brush. 

So, the mystery of the tied man was still chasing her, and when she finished with the dishes, she went looking for Hosea: if someone could unravel her doubts, that was him. She found him near the horses with a big map in his hands, which he was studying carefully. She walked closer and as always she first asked what he was doing, intrigued by that big piece of yellowish paper.

“It’s a map of some big rare animals. A man at the saloon gave it to me this morning and I was having a look” he said showing her the little animals drawings.

“Are you going to hunt them?”

“I’d like to. There are a couple of interesting animals, like this bear here, up the Cumberland Forest. People in town say he’s huge, a real monster. But I need someone to come with me. I’m too old to hunt it on myself.”

“Oh come on! You can’t be this old” she said kneeling down next to him, and for a moment they looked like a man with his granddaughter seated at his feet ready to hear another story from the past.

“I’m old enough” he laughed.

The two of them exchanged a sweet smile.

“Anyway, I came to ask you about the man you keep as hostage. Sadie told me he is an… O’Driscoll? What does it mean?”

Hosea took a deep sigh and then started with the long story about the feud between Dutch and Colm O’Driscoll. Luckily, he had nothing better to do, so he educated Emily about the different gangs, who they were, their way of doing things, why they claimed to be different from them. And so Emily finally had the answer to the presence of so many girls, a child and even the reverend. She learned that everybody was part of that group because Dutch had saved them from a life of misery, or because they had saved Dutch somehow. She also had the certainty that what was written in that little newspaper cutting under Arthur’s tent was true: once they used to steal from the rich to help the poor, but now with so many mouths to feed and the law constantly on their heels, that kind of charity was out of question.

“So, what has that man done? Why is he tied?” she asked in the end.

“He’s there for questioning, and without a little persuasion Colm’s boys never speak openly.”

“Are you telling me that he’s probably done nothing? And you’re keeping him in that conditions anyway?”

Emily felt sorry. She felt sorry because in the past week she could have helped that man, bring him the water he asked, exchange a few words with him to make him feel better, talk with Dutch and try to find another solution, but she didn’t because she had fallen under the spell of prejudice and stereotype, something that she had always sweared not to do.

“That’s barbaric” she whispered, but she was talking about the other’s behavior as much as hers. 

“It’s necessary. If he runs back to his friends and gives away our position, we’re all dead.”

She left Hosea and reached Charles seated on a small footstool next to the fire, not the one at the centre of camp, where they used to sit and eat, but the external one, the one they called ‘scout fire' for the people on guard duty. He had told her to reach him there every day around eleven o’clock for their lesson.

Among all the people in camp, Charles was the most patient, generous and hard-working of them all, but because of his robustness was also considered one of the most dangerous. Emily had tried to think of him in those terms, imagining how fierce he had to be with his enemies, with that stoic expression of his, but then he opened his mouth and a calm and reassuring voice came out. No, it was impossible to think of him as a bad man.

“Hi, Charles. I’m ready” she said walking closer.

“You better change your clothes before. Put on them jeans you have.”

“W-why?”

“You need to be more comfortable this time, we’re going out.”

Out? Did he mean out of camp? At last! She hadn’t put a foot out of that camp since Arthur had left. Due to the fact that she still wasn’t able to ride a horse and that she couldn’t take a wagon if not in the presence of a man, she hadn’t had the audacity to ask anyone in camp to accompany her again. Besides, the idea of Valentine, with its stink, its muck and its rude citizens, wasn’t appealing. 

Emily didn’t inquire further on the matter of leaving camp and walked to her tent where she changed her skirt with her jeans. Then, she went back to Charles feeling incredibly nervous but thrilled at the same time. She still hadn’t acquired a good familiarity with horses: she was more confident in touching them and mounting and dismounting, but far from being ready to ride. 

Charles made her mount on Taima and then he took the reins, walking out of camp and thought the wood. When they reached a plain a little out of the woods, Charles gave her the reins and told her how to give Taima the commands: walk, speed up, slow down, turn left or right, and stop. He told her she needed to give a little whip of the reins and a kick with the heels to make her move, and so she did.

“Now stay calm. Horses can sense fear or insecurity, you have to show her who is in command.”

“In command, yes. I-I don’t really feel like I’m commanding her.”

“But you are. Come on, make her walk in a circle, all around me.”

The lesson went on for a while. With every circle, Emily felt more and more secure on the saddle and her movements where smoother. When Charles saw she was making some progress, he thought it was enough for the day and they finally headed back.

“When do you think I’ll be ready to go on my own?” she asked.

“It’s hard to say. You’re getting better, but you still have a lot to learn. It’s easy to control a horse when it’s calm, the hard part is control it when it gets skittish.”

“They truly are the most stupid animals in the world. How it comes they are so big and strong and yet afraid of their own shadow?”

“Instinct to survive.”

“I guess. Anyway, thank you, Charles. For all you’re doing, for teaching me. You’re really kind. You all are. Are you sure you are criminals?”

“So says the bounty on our heads.”

“I still don’t get you. Why don’t you take some money from a bank and buy some land? It would be far much easier. You all make a great group.”

“When we don’t turn one against the other.”

“Yeah, well… every family has its flaws.”

Charles’s words echoed in her head for a while, about the bounty on their heads, and she wondered what they could have possibly done. Hosea had told her that Dutch had killed a girl, but she still couldn’t believe it: looking at them, at their faces, she couldn’t think they were capable of killing someone, she didn’t want to believe it, she didn’t want to think of them as murderers, not Hosea, not Charles, and especially not Arthur.

She was brought back to reality by Lenny, who shouted a “who’s there” when they reached the camp.

Emily decided to change her clothes again to avoid her jeans, her precious only pair of jeans, to get dirty, so she wore the brown skirt again, before she went looking for Javier. That was the only thing she could do, walk around and annoy people with questions, and sometimes with simply her presence. 

She found him seated at a table polishing a gun and she took a little sigh before approaching him: why they had to keep always those things in their hands? Walking closer she also noticed he had changed his clothes too and now he was wearing a big grey Mexican-style hat. 

“If I had a doubt about your provenience before, now I can’t be mistaken” she joked sitting on the table and catching his attention. 

“Before you ask me again, yes, I’ve been back to Valentine and had a look” he said.

Emily laughed at his annoyed tone. That poor man was right, she had been asking him about the doctor almost everyday, sometimes even more than once at day. 

“What did you find?” she asked.

He put down the gun and looked at her right in the eye. 

“There is another iron door in the back of the building, just like the one on the inside. This means we can’t get in from the back, we need to convince the doctor to open the door for us.”

“Well, that seems easy enough. You just have to make him open the door, take the money and leave.”

“It’s not that easy” Javier chuckled.

“Why not?”

“First of all, we don’t know how many men there are behind that door. Second, the sheriff’s office if right beside the doctor’s, and if he should hear something’s wrong and comes checking, I’m a dead man.”

“So, we need a plan of attack” she said as she felt a thrill run down her back and suddenly she was so excited she could barely sit still on the table.

#rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female oc #Charles Smith #Javier Escuella #hosea matthews #sadie adler

[tamagoincident]

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 2/10

link: AO3

Chapter Two - The Man Who Makes All the Decisions

Chapter content warning: brief encounter of sexual harassment

You awoke gasping in the night, heart pumping, heaving in lungfuls of stale air. The darkness of the Saints Hotel room pressed close. You’d dreamt about Emma and Henry again. 

Frightened as you were, you whispered to yourself that you were safe, that the dampness upon your brow was perspiration, and not the spatter of blood from Henry’s gunshot wound. That the screams seeping from the peeling walls were not Emma’s, but recalled from the etchings of your memory. You collapsed back onto the sheets and pulled the blanket over your shoulders, shuddering hard against the nausea prickling in your stomach and praying for sleep to find you once more.

—

Arthur stood at the bar in Smithfield’s Saloon, casual in the way he leaned over it. How at ease he appeared, unapologetic in his taking space. You choked on your envy, allowing yourself to wonder what it’s like to do whatever you wanted, wherever you pleased, unescorted. This feeling climbed as the man seated closest to the entrance pulled his chair out fully in your direction, reclining with his thighs spread. You tightened your grip on the handle of your travel bag and kept your revulsion from showing too much. Folk like that chased any sort of reaction, like they chased down drink after drink.

Ernest waved you over, having noticed how quiet the room fell when you’d walked in through the swinging doors. Arthur remained fixated on his glass despite the change in atmosphere, spinning it idly atop the nicked wood, taking more stock in it than in his surroundings. His voice cut across the idle chatter from the tables. “You even wash these?”

“Funny you ask,” Ernest said, wiping down the bar with a rag. “We’re in the market for a dishwasher. You look right fit for the job.” He abandoned his task at your approach to reach towards one of the dozens of bottles lining the shelves behind him, but you held up a hand to stop him. You needed your full wits to do something as illogical as you were about to, potentially letting a stranger lead you to God-Knows-Where to meet God-Knows-Who, with the pistol shoved in your right boot acting as your sole reassurance.

“So you’re a comedian now, mister? Didn’t realize I was getting dinner and a goddamn show.” Arthur knocked back his shot of whiskey and put the glass down on the bar. You set your bag at your feet and settled yourself in the space beside him. Through the aroma of decades of liquor soaked into the timber of the saloon, you caught a whiff of soap and freshly scrubbed skin. 

“Cursin’ in front of women,” Ernest said, acknowledging you. “Ain't your daddy ever taught you manners?”

“Say that again,” Arthur growled and smacked both palms on the counter, moments away from hopping over it. You cleared your throat before he could hitch a leg up. He turned and froze, as if it surprised him that anyone else was in the saloon at all, let alone you in your best (and only) dress.

The disturbance had caused a bit of rubbernecking your way. While Ernest rattling the clients was always an entertaining diversion, (and privately, you would have seized the opportunity to see Arthur try to throttle him, the mountain of a man Ernest was) an all-out saloon-brawl was counterproductive to anything you’d arrived there to do. The situation had to be defused, and fast.

“I’m not a delicate flower, I won’t wilt from a little profanity,” you said. “It didn’t offend me to hear him swear the first time we’d met, and it doesn’t offend me now.”

Arthur looked at you. His expression turned from confused to even more confused. Clearly he hadn’t recognized you from your previous encounter. Taking pity on him, you helpfully concealed your nose and mouth with your sleeve, resembling the scarf you’d worn when he met you. He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. You dug four bits from your skirt pockets, sliding them onto the counter to Ernest. “For this man’s next drink.”

“Couldn’t tell it was you without the get-up you was wearing the last time,” Arthur grumbled, and accepted the second shot of whiskey, placated for now, “or without the rifle.”

The rifle wasn’t concealable, and it hadn’t fit in the bag with your other travel necessities, so you left it with Ernest. You’d come back to Valentine to retrieve it later, at the right moment, along with half of the train score you had hidden away in a lockbox. “Had to try to look somewhat respectable for a negotiation. If there will be a negotiation, that is. Didn’t want to show up in my dusty travel clothes.”

“You look naïve, and an easy target to swindle,” he said, sparing a glance toward Ernest, who only cocked an eyebrow in response. Arthur cleared his throat. “Not that I’d do something like that. You see, I’m an itinerant worker, laid off from a factory—”

“Save it, please,” you said. “I’m not interested in divining who you really are or where you’ve come from. What I am interested in is whether you can help me with that offer we discussed. From your countenance, I assume your friend decided to take me up on it, against your better judgment.”

“What’s wrong with my countenance?”

“You’re scowling.”

“I ain’t,” he said, scowling. You put your hands up, conceding.

“He said he’d meet with you,” Arthur said. He brought the glass up to his lips. “Still decidin’ if I want to spin him a tale that I came to Valentine, but you never showed. Or, I could just rob you. I don’t think he’d mind that as much.”

“You just said you wouldn’t swindle me,” you accused.

The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched, as if he wanted to laugh, but didn’t wish to act on it for fear of appearing too amicable. “You said we’d get half the money upfront?”

“Yes. You’ll get half if we can come to an agreement, and the other half once Emma is home safe.”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Arthur said. “We already went through an ordeal with that train, risking our skin to come up empty-handed. Now you want to pay us to risk it again with the score which should’ve been ours in the first place. This might end up being more trouble than it’s worth even with the seventy dollars you promised on top of it.”

“Hey lady, how much for your company?” A grunting voice emerged from behind you. You ignored it, too immersed in assessing the value of all your worldly possessions, your rifle among the other trinkets you had stashed away in different locations. You didn’t own land or assets to sell or put up for a loan. The single thing of monetary value in your possession was Henry’s wedding ring, and you’d hang before pawning that off. It’d been his dying request to return it to Emma. They’d only been married for five months when he was killed.

“I said, how much?”

Ernest jabbed his finger at him. “You best shut your mouth and sit back down ‘fore I drag you out of here, you drunken fool.”

 “Weren’t talkin’ to you.” A hand clapped on your right shoulder, jerking you backwards. “I was talkin’ to this uppity bitch—”

You only had a brief moment to recognize the man as the one from earlier who’d leered at you. In the next second, he was flat on the ground, clutching his newly crooked nose. Arthur was towering over him, shaking out the soreness of the impact from his hand. He bent down and, without so much as a word, wiped his bloodstained knuckles on the howling degenerate’s shirt. Apart from his slightly mussed hair and the wild promise of barely restrained ire lurking in his eyes, an eerie calmness rolled off of him.

So much for preventing a brawl. 

“You broke it! You fuckin’ broke it!”

“Hey,” someone piped up from the cards table. “Ain’t that the feller who damn near beat Tommy to death the other day when Hubert was workin’?”

“That was you Hubert was talkin’ about?” Ernest said to Arthur. “You owe us money for the window you smashed through, my friend.”

“How much was it to replace?” you said. “I can pay—”

More wailing. “I’m gonna skin you alive!”

“You know, Tommy ain’t been right since,” another person called out. “He may be an imbecile, but he’s our imbecile! You think it’s fun beatin’ on all of us?”

People were getting out of their seats. “Yeah!”

“Let’s go,” Arthur barked at you amid the jeering.

“My bag—” you said, surveying around your feet for your belongings. In the chaos, Arthur had grabbed it for you and was heading to the door. You struggled not to trip over your skirts in pursuit, casting one last apologetic look to Ernest, who seemed like he wanted to go after you. 

Arthur stood outside, unhitching his horse from the post. The temptation arose to make a jest, to smooth the terse silence with something guaranteed to irritate him further. You swallowed it and instead listened to the bustle of wagons and barking of stray dogs. 

“Grab your horse,” he said. “You can follow me. We got a bit of a ride south from here. Can’t for the life of me figure out why he wants me to lead you to camp, but I’m tired of arguin’ with him.”

You wondered who exactly Arthur was referring to. At the Trading Post, he’d hinted at a leader of sorts, the one who had yet to be named. You thought to ask for it, but there was a more pressing issue at hand. “I don’t have a horse. Not since my last one ran off.”

“She doesn’t own a horse,” he said to no one in particular, a moment of exasperation to the universe perhaps, if you had to guess. “How the hell you been getting around? Hot-air balloon?”

“Much less exciting than that, I’m afraid. Trains and stagecoaches. Sometimes I borrow a horse from Ernest. Sometimes I ‘borrow’ from strangers and return their horses before they’re missed.”

“I’m not even gonna pretend all that trouble you put yourself up to makes any sense,” Arthur grunted in response, strapping your bag to his saddle. “Alright, then. Come here.”

You didn’t move. In your hesitation, you considered beginning your rescue plan anew, using the train money to pay for hired guns, which you had wanted to avoid. If the first meeting between the two of you had gone well, the incident in the saloon had gone every bit as astray. But Arthur had intervened on your behalf, which you appreciated, regardless of the issue it had caused. You thought if there was any chance of a man caring whether or not Emma made it back alive, he was it. And there was the small detail of the score you lifted off his hands. You imagined it wouldn’t go over well if you offered it to another group.

Arthur placed the tip of his boot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up and over the saddle. He lowered his hand. This, you accepted with thanks and up you went onto the back of the horse. At this proximity, the scent of soap you’d noticed in the saloon was stronger. You couldn’t remember the last time you met a man who bathed with any regularity, let alone bathed at all.

“Might want to hold on to somethin’,” Arthur murmured. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the cantle as the horse fell into a trot. 

And off you both went, past the gun shop and the train station, the muddy roads shifting into dusty trails the further Valentine receded from view. You were glad to quit the miserable little town if only for a moment, and though you hadn’t any high expectations for your destination, you hoped it smelled better.

“You mentioned you’re taking me to a camp. How big is it?” you asked.

“Suppose you’ll find out soon enough,” came the curt reply. 

“Then, how many people are with you? Besides you and your friend.”

“Ain't you full of questions,” Arthur said. The pistol hidden in your boot felt heavier. It might be enough to fend off several people if they decided to take back by force what they believed to be theirs, but an entire camp? You reprimanded yourself for not thinking this whole thing through.

The horse veered left. Though you sat quietly, your mind was rife with uneasy thoughts. The sun blazed high in the sky, but it would soon begin its descent. You wish you’d asked to meet earlier, having not considered where you would lay your head down tonight, especially if your offer was declined. In all likelihood you’d end up sleeping propped up against a tree in the good company of hungry mosquitoes. Or hitching a twilight ride back to the Saints Hotel with some shifty wagoner. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d done either.

Arthur said something, which you were too deeply absorbed in your misgivings to have caught. You asked him to repeat himself. “I said, it’s not too much further now.” 

The horse picked up its pace. Suddenly you were aware of the soreness in your biceps from straining to grip the back of the saddle. Squeezing your thighs harder to maintain balance, you wrapped your arms around Arthur’s torso. If the unexpected contact startled him, he did not show it.

“I never thanked you earlier,” you said.

“For what?”

“Quieting that fellow back in the saloon.”

“I reckon you could’ve done it yourself. One minute you’re firin’ a rifle in my direction. Next, you’ve gone all feeble and quiet.”

“If I rose hell whenever someone pestered me, sir, I wouldn’t be here to pester you.”

This earned you a laugh. You felt sorry you weren’t able to see it. “It’s Arthur Morgan,” he corrected. 

Arthur Morgan. You’d known to call him Arthur from that friend Marston of his, but now that you knew both names, you thought it sounded familiar. You racked your recent memory for it, coming up empty. It was a common enough name, anyway. 

“You ain’t told me your name,” he added.

“That’s right, Mr. Morgan. I didn’t,” you said. And that was that.

—

“Coming through,” Arthur shouts as the horse slows. You crane your head to see who he’s speaking to when you spotted a man stepping into the clearing, adjusting the bowler hat atop his head with his left hand and swinging a rifle with his right. Your arms slipped away from around Arthur’s waist, back to gripping the cantle for support.

“My my, what’s this? Returning with a girl before the sun goes down,” he says with a wide grin. “You’re getting romantic in your old age.”

Arthur groaned. “Do you ever shut up? You fill every waking moment with your nonsense.”

The grin grew impossibly wider. Tilting his head up towards you and Arthur, you were just close enough to make out this man’s freckles beneath the shadow cast by his hat’s brim. “I’ve plenty of time for peace and quiet when I’m six feet under.”

“Just another reason to hasten you there,” Arthur said, then, softly to his horse, “Come on, girl.”

“He doesn’t really mean that, you know. He loves me,” the man called as you passed by, “Isn’t that right, Arthur? Like an older brother, I’d say!”

The horse stopped at a hitching station just beyond the camp entrance. Off you went from the rear of it, lowering yourself until your boots hit the grass. “Quite the lively introduction,” you said to Arthur.

“That boy is too busy cracking jokes and chasing skirts to do much of anything useful,” he said, dismounting. 

“He’s amusing,” you said. “It’s a breath of fresh air from all the prickly folks around these parts. Look at them wrong and they’ll be twitching for their gun.”

“About as amusing as an insect buzzing in your ear.” Arthur led you to a table, gesturing to the folding stools. “You can sit here a moment. And don’t talk to no one.”

You peered down at the tabletop, noticing copper stains that had long seeped into the wood. “Is that blood?”

Arthur shrugged. “Or you can stand, if that’s your preference.”

You tracked him as he made his way straight to the center of camp, to the largest of the surrounding fixtures, a cream-colored tent that stood proudly over all the rest, watchful. He stopped at the entrance, waiting for the dark figure inside to turn towards Arthur as they stooped slightly, perhaps to grab something. 

The figure emerged finally, joining Arthur outside of the tent’s shade. Sunlight beamed against glittering rings on fingers wrapped around a smoking cigar. You squinted.

Oh God, you thought. That’s Dutch van der Linde. You read about him in the New Hanover Gazette. Your mind ran miles per second as you put bits of information together. You had passed his face on wanted posters during your travels, passed Arthur’s too, lingering above a five-thousand dollar reward for one of the largest heists in Blackwater history. A heist that had seen a dozen or more people dead. And now you were in their camp, a camp that bounty hunters across several states would pay a pretty penny to find.

Those wanted faces turned to you. Arthur waved you over. Your legs grew heavy, rooting themselves to the ground. You had a decision to make.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan/yn #rdr2 ao3 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #reader insert #tlab

[brilliant-poses]

Night of the Coyotes

When Dutch Van Der Linde first began to expand his gang, a group of bounty hunters rose to stop a lot of gangs from becoming too big and powerful. The bounty hunters were a successful group, but the Van Der Linde’s and the O’Driscoll’s kept avoiding the rope. You are apart of the bounty hunting group, the Coyotes. You and your older sister, Pride, have been in the group since you were children. Now, you’re faced with the challenges of hunting down each member. When things get out of hand, do you stay loyal or decide a different life?

Chapter 2 - The Town of Blackwater

══════════════════

“We should ask everyone, not just one person, Pride.” You reminded, beginning to kick the dirt at your feet and move towards the grass, where the others were camping. There was a lot of talk around the camp, mostly because everyone had heard the Van der Linde gang were near. Every bounty hunter in the family wanted to catch them. For some, it was a personal reason, while the thrill of the hunt persuaded them to go after the gang. There were a few different women who worked in the gang, some being close friends of Vivian’s while others joined later on. Pride sighed and walked towards the cooking tent. A chubby woman hummed loudly, beginning to cut meat into bits and preparing it with seasonings.

“Alina! You need anythin’ from Blackwater?” Pride called, causing the woman to yell in surprise.

“Oh, you scared me, Pride! You silly girly! Yes, I do! Give me a moment!” She said with her heavy accent, wiping her hands off and going towards a journal to write down a list. Alina Kruger was basically the one who kept women alive. She was a German immigrant, traveling here when she was about twenty and managing to keep herself afloat, thanks to a bakery business she worked for. She joined the family when Vivian had suggest she come with them, tell her it would be adventure and cooking, two things Alina said she wanted in life. Alina had platinum blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, her eyes were round with joy and she looked so innocent. Her cheeks were always pink and her smile was absolutely wonderful. Her hair was normally tied back in two braids, her saying it was a normal German style.

“Here you go!” She said and handed the list to you.

“Thanks, Alina.” You smiled as she giggled lightly.

“Thank you! I did not want to go into town today, I have much to do!” She said and patted your head before shooing you two out so she could continue to cook. Pride as about to go towards her horse before you grabbed her braid.

“That’s not everyone, Pride.” You reminded, tugging her over towards some more tents, causing her to cuss and hiss in pain. You let her go once you’re sure she’s not going run towards her horse. You glanced around and saw a few of your sisters. Virginia Ross, Mary Mantle, and Yolanda Romero. As you stepped closer, you can see the details of what they’re doing get better.

Virginia was from New York, she was from a rather rich family, but she gave that up when her daddy tried to make her marry someone. She told him she wanted to do whatever she wanted, saying she didn’t need money. Virginia had only been with you for a few months, but she was a good member. She had dark brown hair and vibrant green eyes, she was a rather cute individual. Mary, on the other hand, was a cold blooded individual. Her parents were murdered by robbers and now hunts for the hell of it. She’s a little younger than you, most of the hunters were, but she did what she needed to. She had pale skin and dark blonde hair, her eyes a dark brown. She had a large scar that ran across her cheek and a few others over her body. She was a force to be reckoned with. Yolanda was a mystery. She was fun and always had stories of Mexico, but never spoke about why she wanted to be a bounty hunter. You all enjoyed her, with her dark skin and dark, black hair. Her eyes were actually a lighter brown, which made her emotions show. She was probably the best hunter you had, besides Pride.

“Hey girls, you need anything?” You asked with a smile, looking towards them. The girls glanced up, stopping their weapon cleaning to think for a moment.

“Gun oil.” Mary said after a moment, going back to cleaning. You quickly wrote this down on the paper that Alina gave you.

“Get us some more ammo too! My shotgun is getting low.” Virginia said, her northern accent punctuating every word. You glanced towards Yolanda after you wrote ‘ammo’ down, noticing her grin.

“What do you want, Yola?” You asked, the Hispanic woman letting out a loud sigh as she thought.

“Oh! If you find a tambourine, get that. I love tambourines.” She smiled again, making Pride roll her eyes.

“Is that essential for your hunts?”

“Well, we make noises like coyotes, so yeah. It’s to make noises!”

“You’re the reason I go solo.” Pride said and flicked her nose, causing Virginia to giggle.

“A tambourine… We’ll see if we can find one.” You said, causing Yolanda to let out a yell of excitement. You and Pride nodded them goodbye and went towards the tent closest to the entrance of the camp.

“Zotova! Liu! The fuck y’all want from Blackwater?” Pride yelled, forcing you to hit her and shush her. Zotova didn’t even look up from her writing.

“Four journals, three pencils, and hand these out.” The Russian said in her broken English, handing you a few papers with their bounty hunting on it.

“Put them in stores and sheriff’s office.” She said, leaning back to take off her small glasses. Zotova Stanislavovna was the person who helped bring in the money. She was in charge of receiving bounties and giving them to Vivian. She did her job well, but being a Russian immigrant, she couldn’t speak the best English. Some of you had to be there to help her explain herself. She had only been in America for about a year, but everything was falling into place for her. She had blonde hair and brown eyes, who wears glasses a lot of the time.

“I don’t want anything.” Liu said, smiling towards you two. Liu Shun was another hunter, an expert animal hunter, as well. She was the best at long distance shots and tracking. She was a Chinese immigrant, who’s parents worked tirelessly on the railroad. When her parents were killed in an accident, due to the horrible conditions they faced, Liu found your family and requested to help make things right for people like her. She had a good mission, but you were concerned on how people would view her. She had short, her black hair and brown eyes.

“Isabella doesn’t need anything, does she?” Pride asked, referring to the woman who took care of the horses.

“No, she’s fine. She hasn’t mentioned anything.” Zotova said, waving them off. You and Pride nodded, walking towards your horses to see the red head taking care of the animals. Isabella was the kindest soul you had, orphaned at a young age, she’s been in the gang with you and Pride for a long time. She and Brigit was close, the Irish woman who was close to Vivian. The two red heads bonded over their love for horses. You and Pride mounted your horses, not noticing Isabella walking away to grab more hay. She was quiet, so it wasn’t the most surprising thing that she did. She was sweet, but very to herself.

“You ready, Peppercorn?” You asked, patting the Gypsy Cob. He was the best horse you had, the black and white painted horse was the most loyal horse you could ever have. Pride’s horse was a large, white and brown Shire named Sunshine. She named her that since she’s the most hot tempered horse in the entire camp. You mounted Peppercorn, listening to him pant lightly in excitement. Your spurs jabbed into his side and you began to ride off next to Pride. Blackwater wasn’t too far away.

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“I can’t believe we’re having to be maids and get shit.” Pride said as she let Sunshine trot in the street. You were sighing lightly, rubbing your face when she complained.

“Come on, Pride. Let’s just get the stuff. Let’s go to the general store.” You offered, listening to her grumble lightly. You and Pride hitched your horses outside the general store, heading inside after you got off the horses. You opened the door, hearing the bell ring and the store clerk greeting you.

“Welcome, ladies!” He greeted, causing you to nod in a greeting. You began to gather the few things that Zotova wanted.

“Pride, go get what Alina wanted from the butcher. I’m going to go get the ammo and gun oil.” You said as you paid for the items, handing him the paper for your bounty hunter family.

“Hang this up.” You said softly and left with Pride. When you were putting the items in your saddle bag, Pride whistled towards you. You looked towards her and saw them. Arthur Morgan and Hosea Matthews.

“Good morning, ladies.” Hosea greeted, knowing exactly who you two are.

“It was.” Pride hissed, glaring towards Morgan, who scoffed.

“We heard you boys were here. We were trying to find you.” You offered Hosea, who chuckled lightly.

“Yeah, we figured. You ladies are very good at what you do.” He said, causing you to nod.

“Y’all are too, for criminals.” You said as Hosea laughed.

“Well, I can’t argue with that.” He said, gently hitting Arthur to make him stop glaring at Pride.

“We’re just here to gather supplies. You gonna try to get us?” He asked, causing you to shake your head. You hit Pride after a moment, seeing her reaching towards her gun.

“We’re here for supplies too. It would be stupid to start shit in the middle of the street. We’ll come for y’all soon.” You explained, causing him to nod.

“Thank ya, ladies. You have a good day now.” He offered and waved slightly. When they trotted past you, you heard Arthur and Pride exchange words.

“Heartless bitch.”

“Tiny dick Morgan.” With that, Pride took the list and stomped towards the butcher while you went towards the gunsmith. You were going to have to tell Vivian about this, but you weren’t going to pursue them. Not yet. It would be dumb to. Pride was hot headed and wanted to kill Arthur Morgan so bad that it consumed her. You were her calm, her reason. You had to show her that the time would come. As you entered the gunsmith’s shop, you knew it was going to be a long day.

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