There is something very wrong with Stiles Stilinski, something strange and dark. I glance over at him, sitting at his desk with his head pressed into his hands and his eyes clenched closed. I turn slightly looking around curious if anyone else has seemed to pick up on it. Something is wrong and not a single other person seems to notice, a cold trickle slides down my spine and I quirk my head at him curiously. How strange that he seems so invisible to them. Brushed to the side by his best friend who seems to jump in terror of his own shadow, invisible to the girl who has been clinging to his arms for weeks who has always seemed to be balancing precariously on the line between wild child and wild animal, and overlooked by his father who seems to be too focused on figuring out what is going on in this god forsaken town. Yes, something is very wrong with Stiles Stilinski, and yet no one seems to notice but me.
The bell rings, and he's out of his desk and through the door faster than I can blink. I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I gather my things, moving slowly as I deliberate on what I should do next. With a certain level of blind curiosity I decide that from this day on if no one else is going to notice him then I'll be sure that I do. The unseen can always see the invisible.
I watch him carefully from a considerable distance for the next few weeks, a constant shadow in the surroundings- never noticed, but always seeing. I watch as he stops sleeping, frantically trying to cling to what is reality and what is not. His hands constantly shaking as he looks at them, searching for signs to prove to him whether he's awake or not. I continue to watch as he begins to speak to strange people, plotting strange things, going strange places.
Today is no different. At some point he slipped away from his friends, still just as unnoticed as he has been for the past few weeks, and I followed him to see where he was going. He slipped into the chemistry room, his long fingers tapping along the various different bottles of chemicals. I lean against the doorframe, watching in silence as he continues his search for whatever it is he's looking for. A firefly lands on his shoulder and he stiffens. I quirk an eyebrow curiously at his reaction, pulling my lower lip in between my teeth as I try to contemplate what the significance of a small big could mean. He turns slowly, as the firefly becomes airborne again, cocking his head to the side as he looks at it intently.
Without a word, he reaches out and catches it in his hand, the small big flickers dimly, the slight shimmering slightly through the crevices of his clenched fist.
"A few Oni can't stop me." He says in a low tone, chuckling to himself darkly and I melt back into the shadows.
My heart thunders in my chest as I think over this new observation. If there are a few Oni, then that means that there are Kitsune involved and the kitsune only involves themselves in the lives of humans under one very specific circumstance- The Nogitsune.
A shiver goes down my spine as I push away memories desperately trying to surface. Yes, something is wrong with Stiles Stilinski, and it has now made him very, very, valuable to me.
I blink a few times, allowing my eyes to adjust to the subterrain filtered light, and they narrow slightly at the incessant dripping noise that plagues the dark sewers beneath the town. It's disorienting, being in the dark, but it calls for somewhere dark and damp and I may only use a specific light for what I am here for. There's a faint flapping noise, and my gaze slides over to the bag by my feet. I crouch down, pulling the bag towards me before slipping my hand inside of it. Slowly, I pull out a small shaking bat, black as night, struggling against my firm grip.
"Sssh, my darling," I coo to it, stroking a finger along it the tough membrane of it's wings. "Sssh." I wrap a hand around it's head, the small creature still struggling against me and with a sudden twist a crack fills the air and the bat falls limp in my hand.
A slow, careful slide along its body brings up a dark welling of blood, and I quickly dip the tip of quill into the gash before scrawling something onto a small slip of yellowed parchment.
I pull out a black candle, quickly followed by a jar of oil that seems even darker. I trace my thumb along the weathered paper if the label patchouli, black peppercorns, valerian root, black mustard seed. With a quick twist I unscrew the lid of the jar, slowly dipping the candle into the oil. I stare at it, unblinkingly, focusing every fiber of my being into projecting the strength of the Petro into my intentions. The Petro an important family of Loa known for their fiery aggressions, and often times the Shadow Women loved to whisper around me that I had been chosen by them- perhaps that when I pass on I would join them.
I focus on the thought of them, of the fiery heat of their rage. Slowly, my blood begins to burn and bubble, like it's boiling me from the inside out. A bit of wind whistles through the darkness as I slowly begin pulling out the candle, a chorus of whispers echoing of the stone walls- too quiet to understand. The wick of the candle slips out of the oil and suddenly it's ablaze with a flame so hot it flickers blue and white.
Next out of the bag comes an old wooden bowl lined with a black square of fabric, and a jar of cobwebs taken from the boarded up crawlspace in the attic of the newly emptied house I've taken residence it. I carefully pull the cobwebs out of the jar with my finger, coaxing it gently so as to not tear he fragile beauty of it before placing it into the bowl. Out comes another jar, and I shake it open until a large unmoving beetle drops into the bed of cobwebs- quickly followed by a bit of hair and a scrap of old gauze. I pinch of dried Spanish Moss and a single flower from the Persian Silk tree are thrown in next as I again channel the Petro. The candle has melted quickly in the time it's been lit, the hot wax brushing against my knuckle and I resist the urge to hiss or in irritation- the pain will help fuel the power. Slowly, I tilt the candle, dripping the hot candle wax over each and every ingredient; sealing them together. I wrap a single finger around the remainder of the candle, holding it tightly so that I can scoop up the fabric, folding it up around the ingredients and tying it quickly. Once it's tied I pull out a loose stone in the wall, pushing in the buddle, and placing the rock back in place. I blow out the candle quickly, plunging us into darkness, nothing but smoke curling through the air.
The days began to slip away, one by one, as if ticking by on some unseen clock. I look up through my eyelashes to see him with his head in his hands shaking at his desk. His head jerks up and he whips around to look at me, the marks under his eyes as dark and purple blue as a nightshade flower. His hair is disheveled, his lips chapped, and he let's in a haggard breath as I look at him- my lips slowly curling into a smile.
"Looking a little rough, Stilinski," I murmur and his eyes narrow at me.
"It's none of your fucking business." He snarls, and I giggle softly.
I slide out of my chair, gathering my books, and lean down next to him. "Not yet," I whisper to him, my breath hot against his ear, "But it will be."
I turn on my heel, hips swaying slightly as I walk away, "Freshen up, you look like you've been hexed." I holler at him over my shoulder.
The moon is full in the sky, bright enough to see the faintly beaten path through the woods. I trail my fingers along the weathered tops of the tombstones as I pass them, humming softly to myself. "You'll be unharmed, just like a charm, night- night little mama, night. Precious as can be, eyes not meant to see, creepy crawlies and voodoo dollies, night little mama, night."
I crouch down, digging my fingers into the damp, cold ground. The dirt comes up quickly and easily, and I don't stop until dirt is caked underneath my nails and there's a sizeable hole left behind. Continuing to hum to myself, I drop the satchel into the hole and lovingly fill the whole back up, burying the darkness within it.
"Your mama isn't here, she went to the market, your papa isn't here, he went to the river. Precious as can be, eyes not meant to see, creepy crawlies and voodoo dollies, night little mama, night."
"And here I thought you were a ray of sunshine, little dove."
I glance up at the boy in front of me, staring down at me with his dark eyes and his hands in his pocket.
"I didn't take you for one to like midnight strolls through the graveyard, Stilinski,"
He flashes me a grin, a grin filled with mischief and chaos, "There doesn't seem to be much that you know about me."
I stand up slowly, brushing my hands against my thighs to wipe of the dirt, and I notice his eyes flicker to the dark smudges of mud on the skin beneath my skin.
"See something you like?" I ask him, quirking an eyebrow at him and he smirks at me.
"Looking for a little chaos?" He asks, his tongue flicking out to lick his chapped lips as he takes a step towards me, so close that I can feel his breath fanning against my cheek.
"Oh, there's going to be much more than that.
Thunder claps loudly as a strike of lightning flashes across the sky, illumination his face and the wind begins to gather, swirling around us.
"What is this?" He snaps at me, flexing his fingers as if there's something he can do to stop this.
"Revenge."
A flash of lighting streaks across the sky again, crashing down against him and he shudders before collapsing against the ground.
I run the rough edge of the match along my skin, up and down along my thigh as the thunder continues to rumble around us outside.
"Precious as can be, eyes not meant to be see, creepy crawlies and voodoo dollies, night little mama, night."
"That really is such a creepy song." I growls from behind me and I tilt my head back to look at him, grinning.
"I happen to like it."
"Why am I here?"
I stand up quickly, walking over to him, "I think I quite like you like this." I trail a finger down along his arm, rubbing my thumb over the shackle wrapped around his wrist. He pulls at the chains, growling in irritation and I grin at him again.
I step up onto the stone coffin that he is chained down to, the stone hard and cold under my bare feet, and I slip a thigh on either side of him as I straddle his waist.
"You don't remember who I am, do you?" I ask him, leaning down towards him so that my lips can ghost against his ear.
"I've been around for a long, long time, Little Dove. I can't be expected to remember everyone."
I lean back, grinding against him slightly and he shudders, "Oh I expect you'd remember me. In fact, we met on a night eerily similar to this one."
He looks up at me in confusion, struggling to find the connection and I find my patience growing increasingly short.
"New Orleans, 1912." I snap at him and a hint of recognition flashes in his eyes.
"Well, well, still playing with your little voodoo charms I see." He says, his tone so patronizing it makes me want to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until he's struggling and gasping beneath me.
"Actually, I stopped with voodoo a while ago." He looks amused and I grin at him, my teeth glinting in the moonlight, "Now I play with hoodoo and it's much more wicked."
"You shouldn't play with things you don't understand."
"Don't tell me what I do and do not understand." I snap at him, my eyes sparking with rage and he chuckles.
"Oh I seem to have hit a nerve there, haven't I. I'll tell you what, unchain me and I'll make it up to you." He snaps his hips up, grinding against me to emphasize his point and I can't contain the soft moan that escapes from me.
"Come on, Little Dove, let's see just how wicked you can get."
I repress a shiver that runs down my back, choosing instead to lean forward, a hand on either side of his head as I hover over him.
"Make me."
He surges forward, as far as the chains will allow, and catches my mouth with his in a bruising kiss that sends sparks flooding all the way down to the tips of my toes. His teeth pull roughly at me lower lip and I moan again into his mouth. He pulls away, trailing his lips down my neck, nipping at the tender skin until I let out a small yelp.
"Let me make you feel good, Little Dove," He rasps, his hips rocking against me and I run my tongue along the beads of blood he drew when he bit me. With a shrug, I look him in the eye as the chains suddenly unbolt from each other and fall to the ground.
His hands reach up towards me, one gripping into my hip so roughly I'm sure there will be bruises in the exact same places his fingers are now, and the other tangled in my hair so he can pull me towards him, catching me in another hard kiss.
"I have so many thing I want to do to you," He whispers in my ear, his tongue flicking against the shell of my ear and I shudder, "Let's see if you're as delicious as I remember."
He pulls me by my hips as if I weigh nothing at all until my thighs are on either side of his head. His hand slips up under my skirt, and his eyes flash with mischief.
"No panties, you really are such a naughty little heathen."
I open my mouth the snap back a sassy retort but he pulls me down against his mouth and the second his tongue brushes against my core the words get lost. He continues to flick his tongue against my clit, each brush dragging me farther and farther into a spiral. When he slips in a long finger, reaching deep within me, I let out a long moan as my back arches.
"I've seen you staring at this body I hold," He rasps against me, sucking my clit into his mouth again as his fingers slide in and out of me feverishly sending me into a frenzy.
"You like his fingers, don't you? You like how they slide in and out of you. You're absolutely dripping for him."
His words pull at something deep inside of me and I throw me head back as my orgasm comes crashing down around me, drowning me as burning pleasure rushes through my veins like molten lava.
I drop down against him, my chest rising and falling rapidly with every heaving breath.
"I forgot how wicked you can be with your mouth." I rasp, watching him slowly lick my juices off of his fingers.
"And you're just as delicious as I remember, but I hope you didn't think that was all." He leans up on his elbows, eyes locking with mine as he cocks his head to the side, "I won't be finished with you until I've pushed you over the edge thousands of times and I've drained every inch of pleasure and chaos out of you."
He switches our positions quickly, holding down my arms as he hovers over me. Thrusting against me and I moan at the friction of my soaked core against the rough material of his jeans.
"Stop teasing me," I hiss through gritted teeth and he smirks at me.
"Anything you want, Little Dove."
He unbuttons his jeans quickly, kicking them off of his legs along with his boxers. He reaches down between us, dragging his tip through my wet folds and I try to bite back another moan.
He shoves himself inside of me, and I scream out as the pain quickly turns into pleasure. He leans forward, supporting himself with one hand while his other wanders along my body. He grips the neckline of my tank top, pulling down roughly and shredding the frail material, my bra quickly following it.
He resumes his pace, each thrust hitting harder and deeper than the one before. I reach up towards him, gripping his shoulder before raking my nails down his back and he hisses in response.
His hand reaches up to knead my breast, rolling my hard nipple between his fingers and I let out a breathy groan, his eyes growing dark in lustful appreciation.
"I love the noises you make, Little Dove, always so responsive."
His hips snap against mine roughly as he buries himself to the hilt inside of me and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him as deep as I can.
He lets out a groan, nuzzling his face into my neck, adding a few more bites and bruises to the collection that's quickly accumulating.
"A hundred and twenty two years looks so good on you," He rumbles into my skin as he drags his tongue lazily from my neck down past my collarbones.
"I liked you more when you weren't talking," I snap breathlessly, clenching around him and he groans his strokes becoming more and more sloppy.
I clench around him again, writhing as I come undone underneath him and he thrusts into me once more before collapsing down against me as we ride out our highs. Once our breathing has slowed he pulls out of me, standing up and pulling his boxers and jeans back on.
He takes a step towards me, his lips pressing gently against my temple before he leans forward to whisper in my ear, "And I liked you more when you were sobbing after watching me slaughter your entire coven, to each their own."
He pulls away, glancing down at the phone in his hand, "11:59; looks like an early night tonight." The clock changes and my lips curl into a sinister smile.
As if right at the stroke of the clock he lets out a scream, and he's pulling at his arms and chest like there's something bubbling under his skin. A sharp cracking noise fills the silent crypt as his limbs begin to snap out at weird angles, his screams echoing off of the walls.
"What did you do?" He snarls, his face looking demonic as he begins to shake, as if every single one of his molecules are frantically trying to escape.
"Karma, Void, is a fucking bitch and she wants to send you back to the Hell you crawled out of."
He screams again, a loud roar of anguish before a final crack sounds and he falls silent, his neck twisted at the wrong angle.
A wolf howls in the distance, a single lonely heartbreaking sound that echoes through the graveyard, trees, and sky.
I pick at the dried blood under my nails, flicking it off into the dust and cobwebs hiding in the corners. The boy lying on the floor twitches before shooting up into a sitting position with a ragged gasp.
"Too you long enough." I mutter, hopping off of the stone coffin and he looks up at me confused.
"Why am I here?"
"You had something of mine and I came to collect it."
"Void." He says quietly, and he looks around curiously, "How am I alive then?"
"The hex comes for those of equal darkness, and believe me it's a nasty curse it needed someone far worse than you to satisfy it. Besides, taking you wasn't necessary for my revenge and I don't believe in unnecessarily sacrificing the innocents."
"So he's gone?" He asks me, looking me in the eyes for the first time.
"Dust to dust, he won't bother you ever again."
"Thanks," He croaks out, looking extremely sincere, "But why are you wearing my flannel?"
"That, Stilinski, is a question for a different time. Now let's get you home before your friends finally decide to notice something." I say quickly, deciding to spare him the details of what exactly the Nogitsune has decided to use his body for, and I lead him out of the crypt.
Yes, something was wrong with Stiles Stilinski, but no one else will ever know.