A collection of one-shots with hot prompts in alphabetical order. These stories feature a variety of characters from the TVDverse and Teen Wolf.
*Super spicy, 18+ please.
I do not own these characters, obviously. But I do own my writing. Do not cop...
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A/N: My Crescent wolf timeline is a little rusty, so I apologize if I got some things twisted around. But it's hot and smutty, just like we like it, so if you're 18+ and don't mind some outdoor activities of the naked variety, read on 😉
***
I had a feeling I'd find him out here. Seated on the balcony with a journal in his lap, scribbling away in the middle of the night. Jotting down feelings he'd never say aloud in that perfect swirling penmanship.
"You up for some company?" Waving two stolen flutes of champagne in my hand, I hold my breath until he nods and closes his book. As he sets it aside, he slides over to make room for me on the terrace. We can hear the faint melody of the orchestra playing for the wedding guests still lingering below.
In a cruel twist of fate, newlyweds Hayley and Jackson have moved in across the street from where we are sitting right now. They're spending their wedding night in the apartment overlooking the Abbatoir. Elijah is no doubt experiencing the same sick feeling as I am, having also been unceremoniously dumped in the name of the werewolf betrothal bullshit.
Holding my glass in the air, I make a false toast. "To the happy couple," I grumble, taking a mouthful of champagne.
Elijah shakes his head. "I'm sorry that your relationship with Jackson was the collateral damage of this union."
Shrugging one shoulder, I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. "I want what's best for the pack, too. I just wasn't aware that our relationship was so expendable."
Across the street, vague shadows move beyond the balcony door, a bride and groom preparing to form a bond that will unite the werewolves and bring us all peace. Shuddering, I turn to Elijah. "I'm sorry for you, too. Oliver mentioned you and Hayley were close."
As Elijah pinches the bridge of his nose, his scowl deepens. "I just want her to be happy. If he's the one who brings a smile to her face, so be it." He drains the champagne flute and watches me do the same.
"For what it's worth, he really loves her. I was with him the night he figured out who she really was, that the prophecy would come true and the curse could be broken. He's been waiting his whole life for—" my voice breaks, and Elijah softens.
Once I accept the handkerchief he offers and begin dabbing at my eyes, he rises to his feet and moves to a desk just inside the doorway. He rifles through the drawer before lifting up a dusty bottle of brown liquor and raising it in my direction. "I've been saving this bottle for a special occasion. But we could both use something stronger than champagne tonight." He takes a generous gulp of the brown liquid, swallowing it down before passing it to me.
"Hear, hear." The stuff tastes like death, like musty leaves and dirt swirled together with coffee grinds, but I drink it anyway. Before I hand the bottle back, my head begins to spin. "Shit, that stuff is strong."
