From the get-go, I knew this was hard to hold

Like a crash, the whole thing spun out of control

Oh, on a wire, we were dancing

Two kids, no consequences

Pull the trigger without thinking

There's only one way down this road

It was like a time bomb set into motion

We knew that we were destined to explode

And if I had to pull you out of the wreckage

You know I'm never gonna let you go

We're like a time bomb, gonna lose it

Let's diffuse it

Baby, we're like a time bomb, but I need it

Wouldn't have it any other way

Well, there's no way out of this, so let's stay in

Every storm that comes also comes to an end

Oh, resistance is useless

Just two kids stupid and fearless

Like a bullet shooting the lovesick

There's only one way down this road

Time-Bomb – All Time Low


I went home with Stiles.

There hadn't been a conversation about it, I'd just gotten into his car, and he'd driven us back to his house in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

The plan hadn't paid off. Nobody had come for the 'body', and we were no closer to knowing who the Benefactor was than we had been that morning. It wasn't Kate, unfortunately – Chris had made sure I knew that.

John was at work (now at the hospital to deal with the shit-storm we'd left behind, no doubt) so the house should have been empty when we arrived. But I knew the moment he cut the engine that somebody was inside.

"Someone's here," I whispered to him sharply, and he froze.

"Who?" he asked thickly.

I paused, taking in the familiar rhythm of the heartbeat on the second floor. "It's Malia," I told him, and he immediately relaxed.

"Oh, thank God," he exhaled, snapping off his seatbelt and climbing from the car, already fishing his keys from his pocket. I followed quickly, making sure none of the neighbours had any time to notice the rapidly-drying blood I was currently soaked in.

We climbed the stairs in a hurry, and although I was tired and in pain, I wanted to see Malia. I was genuinely concerned for her wellbeing. The girl had just found out she was, not only adopted, but a Hale.

It must have been more than a little bit traumatising. I knew if I'd found out I was related to Peter, I'd want to throw myself off a building and into a raging pit of fire.

I let Stiles speak first, leaning in the doorway and watching her closely. She didn't look up at us, staring down at the list that was laid on the desk before her.

"Hey," Stiles murmured tentatively.

"Why're you covered in blood?" Malia asked me, rather than answering him.

"There was a fight," I told her simply.

"Anyone dead?" she asked flatly, giving me the impression she would be awfully apathetic no matter the answer.

I looked over at Stiles to see him already looking at me. We shared a wary look, then turned back to the were-coyote. "Not technically," he answered her, and though this must have been confusing, she nodded like it somehow made sense. "Where've you been?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

"Talking to Peter," she revealed without looking up.

"Okay," he nodded. "I think that's a good idea."

"If he can help me find my mother, I don't think I care," Malia said emotionlessly.

Stiles paused, then stepped closer. "You know, you might related to him, but you're not like him," he promised her.

"Maybe I am," she countered without flinching. She stood, casting us both a cursory glance before wandering over to the evidence board in the middle of the room. "That night I caused the car crash?"

"You mean when you were out of control?" he asked quietly. "On the full moon?"

"There's a part I didn't tell you about," she continued without acknowledging that he'd spoken. "Right before we got in the car, my mother..." she paused, a glint of pain appearing in her eyes, "...my adoptive mother, I guess...we got into a huge fight. I don't even remember what it was about, but – I remember what I said." Tears gathered in her eyes, and I cringed, my own eyes falling to the floor.

"Malia..." Stiles tried to say.

"I said 'I wish you were all dead'," she told us hollowly, the pain in her voice made my stomach clench.

"Killing doesn't run in the family," Stiles told her gently.

"Maybe it does in mine," she responded, pinning the list to the board before turning to leave.

I didn't want to speak up, didn't want to say what I knew had to be said. It was something I hadn't even told Stiles, something I hadn't spoken about, hadn't thought about, in decades.

"I killed my own father."

Everybody in the room froze, the only sound their pumping hearts – they even stopped breathing.

"And it wasn't an accident, I didn't 'lose control'," I said, my eyes on a smudge on the ceiling, as though it were more interesting than the conversation we were having. "I stalked him, I haunted him, I made him too terrified to leave his own house; and then, just when he thought he was finally safe, I sank my teeth into his jugular and I drank his blood until his veins ran dry."

My statement was met with complete silence, and I finally looked away from the wall to see each of them staring at me, their expressions indescribable.

"My point is, we've all done things we regret. Some things you can repent for; others, we carry with us for centuries. Own it, live with it, and maybe one day, you'll wake up and realise it doesn't completely define who you are."

Malia didn't say anything, but the tears in her eyes were unmistakeable. She swallowed thickly, then turned and walked past me, down the stairs, and out the front door.

Stiles and I were silent for a long minute, and then I moved over to his dresser, fishing out some shorts and an old shirt before stepping around him and heading into his bathroom without a word. He didn't call out after me.

The shower was glorious, the water hot on my cold skin, washing away all the blood coating me. It dripped off, around the drain a tornado of pink, before it disappeared from sight. I only looked up when the water had finally run clear.

Stiles soap smelled like peppermint, and I supposed that was where his minty scent came from. I didn't wash my hair, but I did get it wet, the raven strands heavy against my neck.

I stepped out of the shower once the temperature of the water began to drop, drying off and changing into Stiles' clothes before I could talk myself out of it. Immediately I was surrounded by his scent, and I unashamedly lifted the collar, breathing it in for a long moment before schooling my features and finally moving out of the bathroom.

Stiles was sitting on the end of his bed, staring at the ground with his hands clasped under his chin. He stood when I entered, wordlessly stepping around me and heading for the bathroom himself. I didn't move, standing in the middle of the room, too afraid to disturb any of his things even as I listened to the sound of the shower start through the wall.

I realised I was being ridiculous, he'd only be irritated if he walked back in and I hadn't moved an inch, so I wandered over to his evidence board, trailing my fingers over the red tape covering it, holding up pictures of corpses, and murder scenes still caked in blood.

I wished Stiles hadn't been through all of that, wished he hadn't seen all the horrors he had seen. But there was nothing I could do to erase it, except compelling the memories away – but that would mean compelling myself away, and I knew I wasn't strong enough to do that.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't even hear Stiles come back into the room. It wasn't until he spoke that I realised he was there at all.

"You killed your own dad, huh?"

I didn't flinch, but I did freeze, my fingertips hovering over the big question mark in the centre of the board, beneath it, 'THE BENEFACTOR' written plain as day. Turning, I had a rush of courage, and I met his eyes, not sure what I'd find.

It wasn't disgust, or anger, that I was met with, but instead a deep confusion, like there was something about my confession that he didn't understand. I'd thought it was pretty straightforward, myself, but I wasn't surprised he had questions.

"If it makes a difference, he wasn't much of one," I muttered, running a hand through my damp hair. "Didn't think I'd mention the that part to Malia, thought it would be counterproductive to the point I was trying to make."

Stiles was silent, tugging at the cuffs of the old, worn flannel he was wearing. "What'd he do?" he asked, voice gentle but cautious, like he almost wasn't sure he even wanted to know.

I lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. "Nothing awful," I said, turning away. "He was the same as any father in the 1820's. Commanding, rude, opinionated, scary. My sister married at a good age, but I was much too old to still be unattached, or so he liked to say," I murmured, staring at the board, but not really seeing it. "It was getting to the point where he was talking about selling me off."

"That can't have been legal!" Stiles cried vehemently, and despite it all, I cracked a tiny smile at his innocence.

"It wasn't, but when has that ever stopped anyone from doing anything?"

"What happened?"

I hesitated, then continued on. "I was turned by Klaus," I answered, turning back to face him, noting that he had, at some point, wandered closer, now standing less than a foot in front of me. "You know the rest."

"Not everything," he argued gently, and I cocked my head curiously. "Why did you kill him?"

I smiled again, this time ruefully. "Why does someone without humanity do anything?" I mused quietly. He didn't seem to have an answer, so I supplied one for him. "In the hidden hope that it might make us feel something again," I whispered, and he winced like the statement had caused him pain.

Stiles took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Come on," I said, tentatively reaching out and curling my hand around his shoulder. "Enough doom and gloom. You need sleep."

"So do you," he countered instantly, hand snapping up to cover my own, the touch of his skin on mine sending heat along my spine. "Will you stay? Again?"

I smiled, but it was weak at best. "Always," I answered him, because what else was there to say?

Squeezing his shoulder once more, I detached our clasped hand and turned, heading for the bed. Like lightening, Stiles reached out and grasped my forearm, turning me back to him. I could have stopped him if I'd wanted to, but I didn't know what he wanted, so I allowed him to move me, moving with him fluidly, instead of turning to stone as my instincts urged.

I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but before I could form the words, he was swooping in, catching my lips with his own, and all thought evaporated from my brain, filled only with the electric touch of him.

The kiss was quick and chaste, and he was pulling back before I even really had a chance to process it or respond. I hadn't shut my eyes, but he had, and when he opened them, he stared back at me with an emotion in his eyes that I couldn't quite name.

Well, I could, but I didn't want to be throwing around words like that if they would only serve to get my hopes up and hurt me later.

He swallowed, adams apple dipping, and for once I didn't follow the movement, staring back into his caramel eyes, chest clenched at the way they seemed to nearly glow in the soft light of his desk lamp.

"Is this okay?" he asked, but there was no hesitance in the question, the words were merely an afterthought, something to fill the pause between heartbeats. My eyes stung, and I clenched my teeth together against the wave of emotion that crashed through me.

I reached up, gently brushing my fingertips along his high, pale cheekbones, feeling the warmth of his skin seep through mine and heat my very bones. "Of course it's okay," I whispered, like anything louder would break the spell. "But I don't know if it's wise."

"Screw 'wise'," he said so vehemently that it made me pause, looking up from where I was tracing the constellations of his moles, which travelled from the apple of his cheek down to the sensitive spot beneath his ear. He shivered when my fingers brushed the one hidden at his hairline.

"What do you want, Stiles?" I asked, my voice so terrifyingly vulnerable that it made me want to scream. He stared down at me, reaching a hand up to run it down the side of my head, along a lock of inky hair, touching me like I were something delicate and fragile, when we both knew I was anything but.

"What do I want?" he echoed quietly, his voice losing volume but gaining passion, but then not giving me an answer, the question hanging between us like a fog.

He closed his eyes tightly and leant in to rest his forehead against mine as though he couldn't bare to not be touching me. I shut my eyes soon after, basking in his presence, both of my hands cupping his face, my thumbs brushing his soft, tearable skin.

It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, but I had to tell him the truth. "I'm no good, Stiles," I whispered brokenly, refusing to open my eyes, too terrified of what I might find if I did. "I'm a time bomb. You deserve more than that." I bit the inside of my cheek, my eyes stinging behind closed lids.

"I don't care what you think I deserve," he said passionately, with such intensity in his voice that I had to open my eyes, just to catch a glimpse of the spark in his. "I only care about what I want," he told me fiercely, "and all I want is you." I was thrown back to our first kiss, right here in this very room, the first time he told me he wanted me. It seemed we were doomed to repeat history.

I found I couldn't have cared less.

I wasn't sure who moved first, it could have been either of us, but suddenly we were kissing again, and this time it wasn't chaste at all. His fingers buried themselves in my hair, cupping my head in his large, lovely hands and pressing me to him. All I could do was hold on to him, winding my arms around his strong neck, pulling myself up onto my toes to get a better angle.

The kiss was full of everything we didn't know how to say. It was languid and slow, like we had all the time in the world. We were like magnets, unable to part for long before being drawn back into one another.

Gently, caressing me as he moved, his hands slid down over my shoulders to clutch at my waist in a possessive move that took my breath away. He hesitated there for a long minute, enjoying holding me close, before his hands slid down over my hips to my thighs, where he gripped me and lifted me up onto him in a move of surprising strength.

Suddenly I was taller than him, head tilted down to meet his, my inky hair like a barrier around us, sealing us off from the rest of the world. My hands were acting of their own accord, like I had muscle memory from all the times Stiles and I had been together before, my fingernails raking through his glorious hair, and he gave an appreciative moan, his grip digging gloriously into my thighs.

I rolled my hips into him, and he gave a startled groan as he lost his balance, stepping forwards and slamming my back into the evidence board, which creaked under the sudden hit.

I couldn't help but laugh, the kiss becoming useless with my smile, and even Stiles chuckled against me, before diving back in for another kiss, like a thirsty man submerging himself in water after a year in the desert.

I leaned into him, forcing him to take unsteady steps backwards, but I knew that to be where the bed lay, and with a final little push he fell back, breaking away with a grunt as his back hit the mattress.

I landed on my knees over his hips, and he could only stare up at me in the low light, his pupils blown with lust, a dazed sort of look to his eyes. I leant over him, pressing my face into his neck and inhaling. He seemed to know what I was doing, reaching up a hand to comb gently at my hair.

"I missed you," he murmured into the quiet, his thudding heart loud in my ears. "I missed you so much it nearly killed me," he swore, tone thick with emotion. I reached to the hem of his shirt, pulling him up enough that I could yank it over his head, tossing it heedlessly over my shoulder.

Immediately I placed a kiss on his chest, directly over where his heart was racing like it was going to give out. I knew it wouldn't, it was far too strong for that.

I slid down, showing him how I felt as I ran my tongue down to his bellybutton, then took the time to nip lovingly at his sharp hipbones. He moaned, and in a heartbeat I was hovering over his face once more.

"I missed you, Stiles," I told him breathlessly, feeling like he had stolen the air from my very lungs. "I still do," I said gently, leaning into his ear and taking a moment to nibble at the lobe, making him groan. "I'll stay," I promised blindly, and suddenly he was tugging impatiently at the hem of my shirt.

Sitting up, I settled over his throbbing crotch, making him groan loudly with need. I hastily yanked his borrowed shirt up and over my head, revealing absolutely nothing underneath. Stiles groaned again, keening as he ground into me. I tossed the cloth over my shoulder, the moved down so we were pressed together, foot to head. I pressed into him again, lost in the smell of him, and the heat that moved between us like it was a conscious thing, flames of passion licking at my bare skin.

Our lips connected once more, and I slid against him in the best possible way. He seemed to nearly whimper into my mouth as I rocked my hips into his, and I swallowed the sound eagerly, nipping at his plump lower lip.

I needed more of his skin, and I reached down, blindly tugging at his belt and ripping it off with enough force to make him jump. The pants were a little more complicated to get off, but my enhanced speed made quick work of them, and soon I was settling over him again. He was pressed into me through the thin material of his boxers, and he gave a breathless gasp as I rocked in that delicious way I knew he loved. I smirked proudly against his lips at the beautiful sound.

"Shut up," he huffed into me, and I was swelling with emotion, enough so that a hysterical sort of giggle broke through the haze of lust. Stiles grinned, and I pulled back with another laugh to meet his eyes, but suddenly he was palming my breast in his large, strong hands. Eyes slipping shut at the sensation, I ducked back in to press my lips to his, unable to bear the lack of contact.

We kissed with fervour, all passion and fire, no hint of an end in sight; which was just fine by me.

I grew impatient, lust rearing it's head in my gut. It was difficult to seperate it from the usual physical hunger, the thirst for blood that I felt every minute of every day. But it was Stiles, and as I inhaled his scent, I focused on the warm swell of emotion he evoked within me, and it was easier to focus on my love rather than my hunger. Still, I kept my teeth away from his neck – just to be safe.

"Jules," Stiles panted in my ear, and I smirked at the sound, the way his voice was absolutely wrecked, begging me for the relief only I could give him.

I pushed him back firmly, and he collapsed against his covers, watching in rapture as I quickly yanked off my borrowed pants, leaving me bare. Stiles sucked in a sharp breath, the sound loud in the quiet room, though I could barely hear it myself over his racing pulse. Settling over him again, I sighed into his chest, running my tongue across the ridges of his sternum.

"Jules," Stiles said again, pleading with me. I ached for him, the need to have him in me too powerful to bother playing any more games. With a tug I removed his boxers, leaning back up to kiss him as I gripped his shaft tightly. He whimpered, and I swallowed the sound eagerly, taking my time in thoroughly kissing him before I once again settled over him, wet and ready.

I moaned when he first pressed inside, and I felt my insides clench around him. I pulled back to see his eyes screwed shut in concentration, his adams apple dipping as he swallowed a moan.

"Stiles," I said his name like a prayer, sinking down onto him and exhaling with relief. I felt full in my entire body, my very veins filled with the feeling of him.

"Jules," he murmured, eyes still shut tightly as I rocked on him. "Jules I won't last-" he tried to say, and I bent down so my clit rubbed against his pelvis, an added benefit as I kissed him. It got him to shut up, and I rocked harder, my fingers tangled in his wonderful hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp, making him groan.

His hands gripped my hips like they were anchoring him to the earth, and I lifted myself up, dropping down sharply enough to make him jolt. I absorbed every sound he made, every twitch in his expression. My own pleasure wasn't even that high up on my list of priorities. More than anything I just wanted to lose myself in him like I never had before. Then his hand drifted down between us, and I hissed when his fingers came in contact with my clit.

I tried to focus on kissing him, but it was really more of a clash of mouths than anything else, and I moaned into him as we moved. It was building low in my body, as it always did, and I pushed myself harder and faster, trying to get there before him.

In the end, our ends seemed to coincide, and I finished with a satisfied gasp, the pleasure sparking along each of my nerves, my toes curling from the sheer force of it. Stiles must have felt me clench around him, and it pushed him over the edge, coming with a groan of my name that was music to my ears.

Then things were silent, and I was relaxed, my body and my hunger sated, though for once, not by blood.

Stiles' heart had been racing for the last half hour, but now it was finally beginning to slow. He peppered kisses across my bare collarbone, nuzzling into my chilled skin as though he couldn't get enough of it.

I understood the feeling.

I slipped off of him with a hiss, burrowing into his side as he lazily tugged his covers over us. I liked it, made me feel closer to him as we burrowed under them together like we belonged there.

"I've always loved the way you smell," he breathed into my neck honestly, inhaling my scent as I so often did to him. My fingertips scraped over his scalp and made him shudder, and I smiled at the feeling, brushing my nose over his hairline.

"Is that so?" I murmured playfully.

"If Amortentia was real, all I would smell is leather and spice; a dusty kind of smell, like an old library; and the somehow alluring, grungy scent of cigarettes."

Bemused, I grinned, revelling in the feeling of his fingertips running gently over the silky skin at my waist. "I don't know what Amortentia is," I murmured and he gave a huffing sort of laugh, exhaling his warm breath on my collarbone, making my skin prickle pleasantly. "But I feel like that was a compliment."

"It most definitely was," he promised, lips brushing my skin as he spoke, and I sighed with pleasure. "I feel like we should be talking about things," he mumbled reluctantly, and I groaned, taking action as I pushed him off of me only to shove him back onto the mattress. Throwing one leg over his waist, I settled over him, laying down over him, my hair like an ebony curtain, shielding us from the rest of the world once again. My own breath washed over his lips, and I shifted my hips, and despite being spent, he still gave a little groan and twitch of interest.

"Do you really want to spend our time talking?" I asked cheekily, shifting again and allowing my lips to drag softly over his. He exhaled shakily, pushing his head up to capture my lips in a soft but hungry kiss. I leant into the embrace, my breasts pressed enticingly against his chest, but he unexpectedly broke away with another groan, though this was one of reluctance rather than pleasure.

"No, we need to talk," he insisted grumpily, as though he hated himself for saying the words.

In a last-ditch effort, I pouted at him, blinking my wide green eyes at him hopefully, and he grunted, scowling unhappily as he gently pushed me until I fell beside him. Sighing in defeat, I propped my head in my hand, staring at him as he breathed deeply to gain control of his lust and focus on the conversation he clearly so desperately needed to have.

"What do you want to talk about, then?" I pressed, slyly letting my toes drag up and down his shin, free hand moving out to trace my fingertips over his smooth, bare chest. He swallowed loudly, but his gaze remained firm.

"Jules," he began, seeming to puff up as though expecting a hit. "I need you to promise me you won't leave again."

It wasn't really what I'd been expecting, but at the same time, it should have been. I understood how my previous actions might have made him apprehensive or insecure, and I felt a wave of guilt at my past-self for being such an inconsiderate dick.

I couldn't promise not to hurt him ever again, because, let's face it, I was the bitch to rule all screw-ups, but he wasn't asking me for the impossible. He was simply asking me to swear that I wouldn't ever abandon him again, that I would never run away with my tail between my legs like some kind of scolded, ashamed mutt.

"Stiles, I don't think it would be physically possible for me to leave you ever again," I murmured to him, the sincerity in my tone overflowing. Stiles was quiet, and I knew this was my window, my opportunity to say everything that so desperately needed to be said. I shuffled closer, my skin just itching to be pressed against his, his warmth like a balm to my buzzing nerves. "I know I'm not any good at showing it, but I love you, Stiles," I told him in a whisper, dropping my eyes to his freckled collarbone, our connected gaze far too intense for me to handle in that moment.

His heart, which had begun to slow, suddenly kicked off again with all the power of an engine, beating fiercely from within his chest. I didn't glance up to see if he was looking at me, instead reaching out and focusing on drawing meaningless patterns into the warm skin of his chest.

"It's like you're written into my DNA," I told him quietly, biting into the flesh of my cheeks as I attempted to stave off getting overcome with emotion. "Vampires are frozen in time, you see," I said, gently dragging my nails over his chest and watching with satisfaction as goosebumps appeared in my fingers' wake. "Once something comes along and hits us without enough force to make a change...that change is forever."

Stiles swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"I'm sorry that I'm not very good at loving you," I whispered hoarsely, my brow beginning to ache from how deeply it was furrowed. "But I promise – I vow – that I will never stop trying to be better, and that I will never, ever stop feeling the way that I do about you. You're everything to me, and you always will be."

The human was perfectly silent, slowing processing my heartfelt declaration. I was sure that if I could have blushed, my face would've been bright red.

"That – uh, that's good, then," Stiles said stiltedly, and I looked away from where I was tracing a small scar on his shoulder to meet his gaze, noting with pleasure that his cheeks were a blotchy pink, and his eyes were alight with emotion.

"Don't clam up on me now, Romeo," I told him slyly, shuffling impossibly closer and gently dragging my lips down the barely-there stubble along his jaw. "Usually I'm the emotionally constipated one in this relationship. Not sure there's room for two."

He rolled his eyes, and I beamed back innocently, fluttering my eyelashes at him for effect.

"Is that was this is, then?" he asked suddenly. Confused, I cocked my head and waited for him to explain. "A relationship," he elaborated, seeming to lose confidence. "Are we...back together?"

"Do you want to be?" I knew answering his question with a question was ridiculous, but he didn't call me out on it.

He was quiet for a long moment, which made my insides freeze to ice. My breath was stolen from my lungs, and I tensed, ever so slightly shifting away from him, so our skin wasn't pressed against one another.

His arm caught me around the middle, pulling me back into him stubbornly. "I love you, Jules," he told me with a racing heart, eyeing me vulnerably, as though my own risky confession hadn't been enough to assure him where I was at. "That won't ever change. Of course I want to be with you."

I allowed myself to remain pressed against him, but my fingers had stopped their playful dance across his bare chest. "Then why the hesitation?" I asked softly, my voice as weak as my quivering insides.

Stiles was quiet again, for once mulling his thoughts over before letting them leave his lips. "You know how you distanced yourself to protect me?" he murmured tentatively. I nodded, and he felt the motion on his skin. "I guess it works both ways."

"But you're not dangerous," I said immediately, sitting back up, half leaned over him so I could look into his face and gauge his expression.

"Neither are you," he countered without missing a beat.

Growing irritated, I let go of the constant focus it took to keep my true face hidden. In an instant black, decaying veins were crawling over my cheeks like they were part of some kind of grotesque dance, and my gums prickled as fangs slipped into view, protruding from my mouth monstrously.

Stiles' heart stuttered, but his expression gave no twitch to indicate his fear, which I was grateful for.

"I get it," he murmured with an eye roll that seemed too forced to be natural. "You're a big, bad, scary vampire," he listed with great exasperation, and with a pout I made my fangs disappear back up into my mouth and the rotten blood melted from my eyes, leaving them once more a deceiving, shimmering green. "You'd never hurt me," he said once he was sure my theatrics were over, sounding assured and trusting until the end, "but I might hurt you."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said without thought, leaning closer so I could get a good look in his eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm actually quite difficult to injure." Stiles was quiet, and bewildered, I could do nothing but watch him, trying to decode the glint to his eyes. Would 'haunted' be an appropriate descriptor? "What are you afraid of, love?" I asked in my softest voice, raising a hand from his chest and cupping the side of his face, my long, cold fingers caressing his slightly stubbly jaw.

His eyes scanned me, and though all the good parts were covered by his cream coloured bedsheets, he still looked at me with the same rapture he had just minutes before.

"It's my fault you went dark side," he finally blurted, meeting my gaze, an echo of remorse in his maple eyes. "What if that happens again?"

Considering this, I dragged my thumb over his cupid's bow, entranced by the way the supple skin gave way under my touch, his lips parting as he sucked in a breath at the tenderness of the gesture. I felt guilty that he was feeling guilty, and though my old habits dictated that I should fall into the sea of shared guilt and let it eat us both up inside – I was done with that behaviour. I owed it to Stiles, I owed it to myself, to be better. I had to break the cycle.

Leaning in, I pressed my lips against his, deftly catching his plump bottom lip between both of mine and kissing him chastely but lovingly. It was different to our other kisses that evening, instead it was filled with the sort of promise that couldn't be said with words.

"Stiles," I began once I pulled away, noting with satisfaction that he seemed breathless after the simple action. "I can't guarantee I'll never switch off again – that's the curse of vampirism, the threat of losing control will always hang over me like the blade of a guillotine." His heart hammered, but his expression was scrunched in confusion at my calm demeanour. "But whatever happens, we're going to get through it together," I swore, and he attempted a smile. "It's going to be okay," I vowed quietly, even though I knew I had no right to do so, and he swooped in for another kiss, making my stomach tie itself into knots. My own coils of anxiety began to lessen, and my brain was filled with nothing but the feeling of him.


A/N: Hoping you liked this one, guys, I actually really struggled with it. If any of you like the show 'The 100', I've got a pretty rad Bellamy/OC story up at the moment that I'm currently updating every few days. I strongly encourage you to check it out.

Anyway, please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, your reviews mean the absolute world to me! Love you xo