#thebrokenalpha

The school day over, Jackson gathered his sports bag from his car and was about to head out to practice when he felt it. The strange indescribable pull that he was needed elsewhere. Jackson scowled. Derek. Again? When was he going to give it a rest?

 Fuming, he had no choice but to skip lacrosse practice and head over to Derek’s. Finstock was going to put him on blast, probably boot him from the team. The pull becoming stronger as he drove. Derek did not like being kept waiting. Jackson couldn’t help but drive over the speed limit and through a red light. He cursed loudly. This urge to please was going to get him killed.

                                                                                                                                      He's so tired.

     The ride home is nothing but a blur of Stiles' incessant babble whirring into his ears and of his palm idly cradling the wound at his torso. It still aches, nothing more than throb that hums with each motions as he finds marginal strength to unlock the front door, sighing his exhaustion into the still air of the house. The bag resting on his shoulder falls limp at the floor, a foot pushing it against the wall before clicking the door behind him. The dark, onyx shadows of the house ease his guilt in slight, helps shallows down the thick gulps of air to steady himself. Palms reach forth to scrub roughly against his lids, a feeble attempt to tear himself from the sharp talons of failing the older werewolf.

                                                                                            [ It wasn't suppose to end like this. ]

    The hints of blood catch his attention, hints that differ from his own and his spine straightens with taut awareness, irises flickering through the shadows before skidding a stop towards the front door. A flinch startles from him as the sound of a sharp gasp, barely audible through the barrier and a thud that equates to a hand against the door brings him into action. He slides open the door slowly, cautious of what lays outside and once he catches the mangled, torn mess of Derek, any words that thought to slip free choke in his throat.

lilmisslydiamartin

curlyfriesandfullmoons

abunchofspottedmutts / skylar-rockwell

thebrokenalpha

Hello lovelies. I have five more drafts to do which are:

hale-of-an-alpha

protectormccall

withmyteethhale

thebrokenalpha

newalphaderekhale

Stiles woke up slowly, the sheets against her bare skin feeling somewhat comfier and slightly silkier than usual, and the person whose chest she was pressed up against was rather warm, the overheating probably not helped by the fact that Stiles was laying flush against the man's torso. Her eyes slowly fluttering open, and looking upwards onto the face of none other than Derek Hale. As the shroud of sleep slowly wore off, Stiles grinned to herself, biting her lower lip. She; Stiles Genim Charlotte Stilinski, had just slept with none other than Derek Hale; current Beacon Hills resident pack alpha, badass werewolf, and, not to mention, probably the hottest guy in the tri-state area; and not just because of his body temperature.

What is one thing you really like about how I play my character?