Alrighty so just fyi this chapters takes place a few months after the first. This is Chapter 2 Part 1, everybody. I hope to have Part 2 here within the next week or so. Okey dokey? Good. Enjoy.


"Mommy! Mommy!" he cried, running towards the woman.

She was kneeling, hands tending the weeds and flowers, soft as satin. Gentle as a bird. Smooth as silk.

The boy stopped, cocked his head. "Mommy?"

The woman froze. She turned slowly, eyes straining to look over her shoulder. Lithe hands held a weed half-way out of the dirt.

"Stiles," She finally said in a loose, breathy way.

The boy took a step back.

The woman turned around to face him, smiling fondly. "Yes. Stiles."

He sighed and ran towards her. She remembered him. This was a rare 'good' day.

"Mom. I missed you." he assured her.

His mother grinned, brushing his hair lovingly away from his forehead. "Yes. I've been away, haven't I?" Another dreamy look overtook her unlined face.

He nodded and grimaced. She hadn't been away. Not physically. Mentally, though, she was waning. Her sanity was leaving her. And so she was leaving him.

"Have you met my friend?" she asked, offering him a hand.

The boy took it, shaking his head. They walked together through the open garden towards thick trees at the back. A pale figure flashed against the leaves, there and gone in an instant. He faltered, but with an encouraging look from his mother, trudged on through the tall grass. Moments later they stopped, the woman peering intently at the treeline.

"You'll like my friend. He knows such nice songs. He has such nice words."

The boy gulped, free hand twitching with nerves. He shouldn't have gone with her. He should have asked her a few questions first - seen if she was truly awake in her own head. He knew from experience how often she wasn't and, though he hated to hear it, his father warned him enough against going places with her when she got like this.

"There!" She cried excitedly, pointing at nothing. Another white figure flashed. "Oh, hear that? Aren't his songs just beautiful?"

"Mom, I think... I think we should go back." He tried to sound mature. He tried to sound in control.

But the woman started to sing along to the song he didn't hear, staring adoringly at a man he didn't see.

Are you so tired of the things your fear?

And so tired of the things you 'hear'?

You've never seen the end so clear.

You've never seen the end so near.

Are you so tired of telling lies?

Are you so done with sightless eyes?

You're no more the one who tries.

Now you're just the one who dies.

You're so mad.

You're so mean.

And the pain, as always, remains unseen.

She stopped, eyes closed, lips twisted into a loose grin. With a sigh, and a pointed look to the invisible man, she started up a minute later, chanting in a deep rhythm.

Oh, Madness is a lonely child,
from whom the many run away,
the odd thing is - when we are tired,
it is the one with whom we play.

The boy, breathing ragged and rushed, tried to tug his hand out of his mother's. This was wrong. This was dangerous. She wasn't right in the head. He was scared. He pulled away again, a broken scream ripping out of his empty lungs. But his mother only turned to him, still smiling, still chanting. She knelt, catching his small, white jaw in tight fingers. And with a final kiss on his forehead, she broke his hand and died.


Stiles sat up, gasping for breath that refused to be found. His chest was heaving as visions of his mother's dead eyes clung to him. The dream faded as he found his breath. But this was not a new dream. He knew how it ended, every single time.

Running his mother's lithe hands through sweaty hair, he flexed his fingers. Not broken. Not clutching the hand of a dead woman.

A low, pained note escaped his sore throat. Those hands fell to his lap, his head hung so low, so heavy, full to bursting with painful memories of his mother and the Nogitsune and pain and death and blood. His breathing slowed. He shut his eyes.

A soft hand pressed against his back, tracing his spine which, though much less prominent, was still too visible to be healthy. Gentle fingers followed each vertebra to the dimples framing his tailbone. They pulled back up to catch his jaw.

Stiles flinched, for a moment feeling his mother's vice-like fingers rather than Malia's delicate ones. Malia didn't pull away. Stiles was thankful.

"Bad dream?" She hummed, her voice low and rough with sleep.

He hunkered down to bury his head in the crook of her neck. Arms wrapped tightly around his body, rubbing trembling skin until he let a laboured breath out into her hair and let his body mould to hers.

Stiles opened his eyes, staring up at her neck and her cheek and across her collarbone and chest. Her skin was white and grey and blue in the dark and so many other impossible colours in between. Her skin was beautiful and firm and soft so he pressed wet lips to her neck. Malia shivered under him. He wrapped her up in his arms until they were pressed together so snugly they were indiscernible from one another. They blended together in soft, sleepy shades until they were one being, both breath and heartbeats synchronized.

"You didn't sleep." He whispered to her hair.

"We still have time."

She grinned as he strained upwards for a look at the clock. It was three in the morning.

"I can't sleep." He confessed. His voice cracked, low and rough.

Malia nodded. Stiles swallowed, an inexplicable feeling pushing from his chest. This was why he loved Malia more than he could have ever imagined. She didn't ask about the dream. He didn't want to talk about the dream. She didn't force him or push him. She was patient without fault and she loved him for him. They loved each other wholly in ways rarely seen throughout the world.

"So let's not." She sat up, untangling herself from him.

They both grinned, shivering. They were naked and cold.

Picking some clothes up off the ground and pulling them unceremoniously on, Malia stood up and stared at Stiles.

He was spread out in such beautiful ways. He looked infinitely better than he had. His bones and stomach were lined with thick muscle. He was rosy from her penetrating gaze and his skin was golden. His hair was thick and dark and his face glowed with health. Though mentally he was still far from okay, physically he was almost perfect. A few more pounds and he'd be back to how he was pre-possession. Malia bit her lip, exhaling strongly through her nose. Stiles was stretched out across the messy bed, sheets covering his hips to his thighs, arms behind his head. His gaze was mischievous and somewhat shy as he knowingly pulled his muscles taught and stretched enticingly in front of her. His head tipped back, exposing the thin white skin of his neck, the sheet slipping ever so slightly, just barely covering what she was most interested in at the moment.

"Stiles," She warned, voice low and husky.

He grinned at her. "Where are you going?" His eyes told her he knew he had her hooked. She wasn't going anywhere. Not with him lying so temptingly across her bed.

"I was going to go to the beach." Her eyes were still travelling the hills and valleys of his body, their gaze dark with lust and desire. Stiles could only imagine what thoughts were going through her head.

He licked his lips excitedly, taking in her bedhead and his shirt that didn't remotely fit her fine frame and her long legs that he craved so deeply. After everything he'd been through he made a promise not to deny himself of the good things in this world. Malia was one of those good things. He wanted Malia. He needed Malia.

"Stay here with me." Each of his carefully-pronounced words was filled with sex.

Stiles watched Malia squirm, her eyes flickering between his and his body. She didn't want to give in. She was too proud. But the provocation was so great. With a deep breath, a fire lit itself in her eyes. This was a game now.

"No." She forced herself to catch his eyes. He cocked an eyebrow, a smirk playing across softened lips.

"We can cuddle and..." His gaze flickered off to the side. He blushed.

Though Stiles could try to act like a sex fiend, he was still a virgin, shy on the delicate topic. This made Malia grin, and she stepped closer to him, hands falling away from the buttons she was trying to do up. Stiles' shirt hung open over her slender, golden shoulders. He gulped as she approached, holding his eyes so possessively it made him squirm with nerves and excitement.

"You know, Stiles," She reached the bed; crawled towards him. "Even though I can't shift anymore, I still have pretty good senses."

He shrugged, tongue licking nervously at dewy lips. "Y-Yeah, I know. Good... f-fashion sense and all that." He swallowed loudly, eyes darting from her exposed breasts to her infinite eyes to the full, wet lips that were smirking at him.

Malia swung low, hovering over his naked body. She could feel the heat emanating off his skin. "You know what I can smell, Stiles?" She cocked her head. He shook his quickly, his breathing short and fast. Malia leaned in, so close she could almost taste the salty sheen of sweat on his upper lip. Her lips brushed his jawbone and teeth found an earlobe. "Arousal."

A deep, animalistic groan tore itself from his throat, his eyes hooded and lusty and dark. Any nerves he had concerning intimacy were gone. Needy hands reached for her but she chose that moment to rock back on naked hips. Malia grinned at him, obviously victorious. Stiles groaned again as the sudden lack of the heat of her body left him feeling bare and cold.

"Malia," He huffed softly through a rough exhale. It was a plea, soaked with desperation.

"I want to go to the beach." She insisted, slowly buttoning up his shirt, covering a flat stomach and stiff, peaked breasts.

Stiles, sighing, let his head loll to the side, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm tired." He protested, pouting shiny lips.

Malia swatted at his bare feet. "You just said you couldn't sleep, asshole." Stiles just scrunched his nose at her, trying futilely to catch her thin waist between his calves. She grabbed them easily, pulling him towards the edge of the bed.

"Eager, aren't we?" The boy smirked as the sheet - the only thing covering him - slipped even further off, leaving one hipbone and a dangerous amount of skin exposed.

"Prude, aren't we?" She sneered as he started to pull the sheet back up, his naturally modest nature taking over.

Stiles froze. And keeping his eyes on Malia's, he ever so slowly got up, swinging his legs over the bed and standing. The sheet fell uselessly away. Malia's eyes struggled to keep hold of Stiles'. She swallowed. She showed weakness. Fingers at her sides trembled, so incredibly eager for the feel of his smooth, firm flesh against hers. She tilted her chin up, trying so hard to keep her aura of pride and authority. But she'd lost. Her eyes broke off from Stiles', flickering everywhere, trying to take his whole beautiful body in at once. Her tongue wouldn't stay still. It swept across her lips until they were sore and a deep pink blush spread across her cheeks. She couldn't stop staring.

"It was your idea to get naked." Stiles offered after a solid minute of laboured silence.

Malia's lips smacked, struggling to find words through the thick air. "I just... wanted to cuddle." She amended, eyes flickering up once more to meet his.

He smirked, cocking an eyebrow. His expression was lusty and his lips were loose and his eyes hooded and deep, deep brown. He stepped towards her. Just one step. But it was enough. She gravitated towards him, almost floating across the old carpet, decorated with patterns painted by the moon. Malia had no idea how the kid could switch so seamlessly from shy virgin to sex fiend in seconds.

"Beach?" Stiles asked. "Or bed?"

But Malia didn't hear him. Not really. She was preoccupied with the way the moonlight caught his lips; sparkling, almost, with saliva, and the way the same moonlight ignored his eyes, leaving them dark, deep sockets. It was a look both enticing and frightening, to Malia. For the first time in a long time, Stiles looked powerful. He looked strong. And he looked hot as hell.

"Bed." Malia commanded, her chest reaching his in a single stride.

Hands found bare skin, revelled as they traced his collarbones before shoving him back towards the mattress. She caught the slightest hint of a smile curving his lip before he fell back, naked and splayed deliciously beneath her. Malia crawled atop him, their skin pressing together from foreheads to toes. Arms, stronger and safer than ever, curled around her waist, pressing her hipbones almost painfully into his. But they didn't feel it. They were intoxicated with their heat and their breaths and the friction. Goddamn, the friction. A primal groan ripped itself from Stiles' throat, his fingers gripping desperately at her back, raking along her spine before they landed comfortable on her bum, pressing her harder against him in the most intimate of ways. Her lips found a sweet spot on the delicate skin of his neck and his eyes rolled back into his head, mouth loose and open, panting and sighing and making the most undignified sounds. But Malia either didn't care or didn't notice. Every sound he made sent delicious vibrations straight to her crotch. Every moan and hum and groan was like honey, thick and sweet and soft. They were both lost in ecstasy.

Until Malia sat up. The sound Stiles made was almost a whimper; needy and protesting and wrecked. The girl grinned, pressing her palms into his chest. She leaned over him once more and his breath hitched. He palmed desperately at a breast. "I changed my mind." she rumbled. "I want to go to the beach."


Yaass okay thank you for reading and again, PMs and reviews are always lovely :) Make my day, they do!