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wh6res · 3 years

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dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

637 notes · View notes

msmischief101 · 3 years

Text

♞Pairing: Steo ♞Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken, "Dee", Allison Argent, Scott McCall ♞Warnings: / ♞Words: 1977

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“You could have your soulmate already,” Scott says, tracing the back of Allison’s hand, and grins like a lovesick fool. Even Allison looks like she’s high on something. They’ve been dating for three years. Three years. And they still act as if Cupid shot an arrow up their asses only yesterday.

Dee fake-vomits into the ashtray. As if he’s one to judge. The guy has been lusting after Theo ever since he popped up in their dorm room a couple months ago. If Stiles let him, Dee would most likely be just as obsessive with the guy as Scott is with Allison. Then again, he already is way too obsessed with Theo. It’s painful.

Stiles has the urge to throw himself out of the nearest window. They’re on ground-level, so it wouldn’t end him, but at the very least it would be a way out of this hell. When Scott told him he’s coming to visit for the weekend, Stiles was actually pretty excited. He thought that, for once in his life, Scott would come without Allison. But he probably should’ve known better. They’re inseparable which would be fine if they weren’t so damn annoying at the same time. "Scott…"

But Scott doesn't let him talk. "I'm just saying. If you just left your house more often — and would be nicer to people—" Of course, he couldn't bite back that comment — "you may have already found her."

"Or him," Allison chimes in with a smile that's so sweet, Stiles worries his teeth are going to rot just by looking at her.

"Finding your soulmate isn't everything." Stiles mutters, downing his cocktail in one go. This is why he usually invites Lydia because she actually exists without Jackson. It's a treasure, really, to talk to someone who doesn’t vomit love everywhere he goes. At some point, Scott needs to get that checked out. Stiles knows Allison visits Lydia occasionally by herself. It’s almost impressive how she can function by herself. Every single time Stiles sees them together, he’s worried they might stop breathing once they’re separated.

Scott laughs. "Oh, come on. I'm just saying—"

"Scotty," Stiles says, leaning over the table so he could lower his voice, "ever since I left for college, I went out with more than enough people. Probably fifteen times more than you. Which isn't saying much since—" he gestures in Allison’s direction, and he'd probably feel bad if Allison didn't almost snort out her drink through her nose as she tries not to laugh. As annoyed as Stiles might be, Allison is great. He can hardly blame her for existing and becoming Scott’s soulmate.

“And none of them was your soulmate?”

Allison rolls her eyes in the fondest way possible.

“Buddy, you’re missing the point by at least a mile.” Or ten. This is the worst. The whole concept of meeting the one is already something Stiles could gladly live without, but listening to Scott rub it in that he’s not yet found his soulmate makes him want to break something. Allison and Scott are the reason Stiles understands why some people think it’s fair to throw rocks at happy couples. Rolling his eyes, Stiles pulls his jacket tighter around him. He really thought they act like normal humans if they went out for cocktails. Instead, it seems as if this intensified their behavior. As if Stiles didn’t already feel like the third wheel.

Scott draws his eyebrows together. “But—”

“Okay,” Allison says, squeezing her boyfriend’s hand tightly, “let’s drop this. Stiles is in need of a new cocktail, and I have to use the restroom.” She rises to her feet and gestures for Stiles to follow her.

Relieved, Stiles all but jumps to his feet. That sounds like a great idea. The barista is overworked and slow as hell — mostly because he’s busy flirting with people — so it might take a while until Stiles has to go back out and endure the lovely couple. “How do you make him shut up?” Stiles asks as Dee hops onto his shoulder, face propped onto his fists.

Allison chuckles. “Hooking up usually does the trick.” After briefly squeezing his wrist, she turns right and hops down the stairs. It would be so much easier to resent her if she weren’t such a sweetheart. But alas, he is doomed for the rest of his life now.

Dee huffs out a breath. “Is that what it’s like to have a soulmate?”

“Not usually no.”

“Oh.” That level of excitement is never a good thing. “What if Theo is your soulmate?!”

Stiles would only figure that out if he kissed Theo, and that’s not on his agenda for the foreseeable future. “Stop talking about soulmates.” Ignoring the brunette, who turned around to look at him, Stiles pushes towards the bar.

“What if Theo is my soulmate.” Dee jumps off Stiles’ shoulder and onto the cocktail menu, eyes wide and hopeful. This has got to stop.

Stiles yanks the menu from under him and props his elbows onto the bar. “You’re a demon,” he says in a low voice, scanning the menu. “You’re here to wreak havoc, not obsess over an over my shady roommate.” Seriously. When he learned that he’s possessed again, Stiles worried about who was going to die, not who he might end up in bed with. Dee is most likely failing every single demon test in existence, but Stiles isn’t going to complain. He’ll take him over a nogitsune on any day… even though he drives him insane at least twice a day.

Pouting, Dee kicks the menu. “You’re so mean.”

“Then find another host.”

Dee huffs out an exasperated breath, not even bothering to acknowledge the threat. Mostly because Stiles is threatening him at least twice a day. One day, he should probably pretend to start an exorcism, or Dee is going to completely run over him. Not that he isn’t doing that already anyway. “You are—”

Stiles is never going to learn what he is because someone chose the exact same second Dee intends to come up with what’s probably a devastating insult to put a drink in front of his face. The funniest part about this is that they dropped it directly on top of Dee’s head, who, flustered as hell, spins around, ready to cuss out the stranger. He never does, and Stiles’ stomach drops as he spots a familiar ring on the hand around his glass. He blinks twice then snaps his eyes up to find himself seated right in front of Theo Raeken. Why is this guy everywhere?

“What the hell?”

Theo sips on his own drink, smirking as if he’s won the lottery. “That’s not the greeting I’ve hoped for.”

“What the hell are you doing there?” Because why the hell is Theo standing behind the bar? Stiles has been here a few times, and he has only ever seen two baristas. The dude who’s working tonight, and the girl who left an hour ago when things started to slow down.

Putting his own glass down, Theo leans on the bar. “I own the place.” He tips his head to the right. “Well, co-own. It’s mine and Tara’s.”

“Let me get this straight,” Stiles says, willfully ignoring the little snort Theo doesn’t even try to hide behind his smirk. Asshole. “You own this place.”

“Co-own.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and folds his arm, ignoring little Dee dancing on a coaster as well. Traitor. The worst kind. Seriously. “You own this place, and you’re still living in the dorms?”

“It’s about the college experience.”

“It’s because he wants us.”

Stiles cuts his gaze to Dee. This stupid demon is so gone on Theo, and that really raises some serious red flags. Why would a demon be obsessed with someone? Because they’re nasty. Dee likes Stiles, and Stiles is aware that he’s kind of a big asshole. Scott had a point that Stiles should probably try to be a bit nicer to other people. At least sometimes. Not that he’s going to admit any of that. “The college experience sucks,” Stiles mutters, dropping the menu, and props his chin on his hand. “Especially with our neighbors.”

Theo curls his lips in disgust. “I hate our neighbors.”

“I still think we should kill them,” Dee pipes up, sounding surprisingly diplomatic as he makes himself comfortable on top of Stiles’ head.

Stiles doesn’t deign it with a reaction.

“Maybe we should kill them,” Theo muses.

Dee almost falls off Stiles’ head as he throws his hands in the air triumphantly, and it takes every ounce of strength Stiles possesses not to make sure he’s safe. Not only would that have looked weird, it’s also completely unnecessary. Dee isn’t even really there. This is so exhausting. “I’m… sorry?” Stiles asks, scratching the side of his face.

Theo shrugs. “You could also move in with me.”

“I’m sorry?” Stiles echoes, and when Dee does topple off his head with a screech, he doesn’t even react. Is that guy insane? “Do you… are you saying you’re— never mind, we’re already living together.” What does he mean by ‘move in’? They’re already roommates. Stiles can’t possibly move in anymore.

“I own an apartment down in Central Park South.” Theo says that as if that’s the most common thing in the world. As if Central Park South isn’t one of the most expensive neighborhoods in New York City. This guy is so removed from everything, Stiles cannot believe he even knew what the hell a dorm is.

Grabbing the drink Theo made him, Stiles shakes his head. “You own a cocktail bar,” he mutters and sips on the drink, pulling a face at the sharp tang of Whiskey on his tongue, “you own an apartment in fucking Central Park South, and yet you’re living in the dorms.” He shakes his head again. Impossible. Why? “Fuck the college experience.”

“Trying to,” Theo replies with a half-shrug, “but he’s usually pretty hostile.”

Stiles blinks and stares at Theo. What? Scrunching up his face, he takes another sip of his drink. "I don't think we've reached that level of acquaintanceship yet," Stiles mutters, ignoring the jolt of jealousy. If anything, that's probably Dee messing with his emotions. Wouldn't be the first time. Plus, it’s hard to imagine that someone says no to Theo. He’s painfully hot, even Stiles has to admit that. But he doesn’t trust him farther than he could throw him — which probably wouldn’t be very far considering all of that muscle.

“Aren’t you…” Theo trails off, squinting at him for a moment. It’s a very un-Theo-like expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be super smart?”

“What?” Stiles has no idea what Theo is trying to hint at.

“Because you’re exceptionally dense.”

Dee gasps, puffing himself up. “He did not just call you stupid. I will smother him.” Oh god. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget how overly protective

“Listen,” Stiles says, probably a bit too loud; it’s not like Theo could actually hear Dee, “I think it’s about time I go back to my friends.” He grabs his glass, trying — and probably failing — to grin. “Thanks for the drink.” And with that, he spins around. Sometimes it’s the best idea to bring as much distance between Dee and whoever he’s intending to murder. There have been two public incidents. Stiles really doesn’t want to push his luck, much less with someone like Theo, who could pay an army of lawyers.

“Wait, Stiles—”

“See ya!” As fast as he can, Stiles slips through the crowd and out of the entrance. The last thing he needs is Dee burning down the cocktail bar because of Theo Raeken. Although that would probably still more thrilling than having to talk about soulmates for the next three hours. He can’t wait for this night to be over.

#steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #teen wolf #theo x stiles #does anyone here remember bb demon?#because i did #and he finally makes a comeback #it's not that I have like four abandoned wips #that were supposed to include him #but oh well #better late than never #lol #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:steo

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