Jan 16, 2017
@toleaveamark
Stiles was stretched out on the therapist’s chaise lounge chair, legs crossed at the ankles and hands leisurely locked behind his head. Needless to say, Stiles Stilinski wasn’t one of Jack Marsland’s scheduled appointments. “Exactly what part of “you’re on a deadpool” don’t you get?” The vague smell of sex and lilies reached the back of Stiles’ throat with a hefty inhale. “Because I’m pretty sure staying in Beacon Hills wasn’t part of our little conversation the other day.”