#I've got an awful ear-worm right before posting

[raksh-writes]

(I could) love you with my eyes closed

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Brett Talbot

Words: ~3,7k

Prompt: "you don't have anyone to go to prom with, so i volunteer, but we end up ditching early, instead driving around town, stopping for some cheap burgers and incredible sights"

Requested by the lovely @msmischief101 over on tumblr, thank youuu, it's been super fun writing this one 💗🥰 As seems usual, I kinda modified the prompt while I was writing, but I hope that’s okay and it's still gonna be a nice read 😂💗 Also big thanks to my lovely friend and beta @flowers-for-stiles for giving it a read, thank you, hun 💗🥰

Also on AO3 here!

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“You know, if you really just wanted some burgers and sights, we could’ve skipped the whole prom thing.”

“Oh, shut up.” Stiles throws his balled-up napkins at Brett’s face, which he easily dodges, chuckling under his nose, the asshole. “You’ve volunteered to be my d—” Biting his tongue, Stiles tries not to wince and reconsiders his words — because that’s definitely not what Brett’s to him, however much his heart might be racing at the mere thought, “—to go with me yourself, so suck it up. I didn’t even want to go.”

“C’mon, you only have prom once in your life, gotta have the experience, Stiles,” is Brett’s response, the little infuriating smirk playing around the corner of his lips just on the edge of mocking — because yeah, that’s exactly what Stiles’ dad said. And kinda what Satomi did too, which—

“Ha-ha,” Stiles deadpans, crumbling the wrapper left from his finished burger — which was heavens better than whatever their school got for the prom and way cheaper too. Beacon Hills has lots of faults, but their local diner served some of the best burgers he ever had. “Should I remind you your own prom is in two weeks?”

“Yeah, and you’re my date for the night, so what of it?” He smirks, tossing his own crumpled wrapper back and forth between his hands.

Stiles groans, firmly ignoring the way his face heats up and hoping it’s not visible in the darkness, because of course Brett just went ahead and said that. Plus, Stiles still has no idea how Brett even managed to talk him into it — not only he volunteered to go with Stiles but then somehow made it so Stiles had to go with him to his prom over at Devenford’s in exchange when Stiles didn’t even want to go to his own. It’s still mind-boggling and however many times Stiles thinks about it he still can’t figure out how Brett convinced him into agreeing to all of that and what it entailed — though… it might’ve been connected to Brett being all sweaty and shirtless right after his lacrosse practice. Yeah, that— that might’ve occupied too much of Stiles’ brian power to realize what he’s getting into.

“Yeah, and I’m already regretting it,” he grumbles, leaning back against Roscoe’s windshield. From their vantage point up on the hill Beacon Hills actually looks pretty nice, with all of its twinkling lights in the distance and stars shyly breaking through on the sky. “I’ve looked shabby enough next to you on my own prom, I don’t think I can handle the embarrassment again — and with all those rich kids laughing behind my back.”

There’s no doubt that’s how it’d end — with Brett in his perfectly tailored steel-gray suit, black shirt and a fucking red tie against Stiles in his slightly too big one that’s seen way better days? Yeah, he’d be the laugh of the night. Even now, when they're just relaxing on top of Roscoe’s hood, munching on cheap burgers and gazing down on the silent Beacon Hills below them, their jackets long abandoned in the backseat, Brett’s looking like a model straight out of a magazine or some other similar shit. Vest still on, top button undone like the few above in his shirt, open over his chest in a way that should be straight-up illegal, and with his sleeves rolled up above his elbows — how should Stiles even attempt to match that?

“Hey, c’mon,” Brett straightens up, in all his too-gorgeous-to-handle glory, “you’re looking just fine—”

“Just fine,” Stiles deadpans, narrowing his eyes.

“Even adorable, I’d say.” Brett smirks, eyes slowly trailing down Stiles’ silhouette — and fucking fuck, that should not make him shudder as it does.

“Yeah, sure, laugh it up,” he grouses, crossing his arm over his chest, chin tucked in. It’s probably childish, but he can’t quite help it — not when he has Brett right beside him, warm and gorgeous and fucking leaning in, what’s he even—

“I’m serious,” he says, amusement gone from his voice, so Stiles chances a look — and regrets it immediately, seeing that way too soft smile on Brett’s pretty face, “you’re cute enough to always look good, expensive clothes or not.” Something in Stiles melts, seeping away the tension from his curled shoulders even as his chest tightens. Then Brett’s smile changes, just slightly, and Stiles’ brain skips into high alert. “But if you’re gonna be so hung up about it we’ll go and get you a new suit. I’m sure Lori’s gonna have fun with that.”

“Oh no, hold up,” Stiles straightens in his seat, “I have nowhere near enough money to buy a new suit and—”

“Who said you’re gonna be the one paying?”

Stiles can’t help it — his jaw falls right open in shock. The... gall of this guy, sitting there all smirking and looking like million bucks and—

“Oh no, no—” Stiles raises his finger, “no way. I’m not gonna agree for you to pay however the fuck it’s gonna cost, nope, no way—”

“For fuck’s sake— chill out, worrywart.” Brett grabs his raised finger and brings it down, having the absolute audacity to even roll his eyes and completely ignore Stiles’ indignant protests. “You’re my date for the night, let me spoil you this once.”

Stiles’ brain screeches into an abrupt halt, his mouth stuck slightly open as he’s caught in Brett’s surprisingly earnest gaze — with his constant aura of a nonchalant asshole with too big of an ego and enough zen to barely ever get angry, it’s easy to forget how thoughtful, caring and giving to his close ones the wolf can be (loves to be, Stiles has long suspected), so it always catches him off guard. But especially now — with Brett’s hand still around his own, big and warm and—

This does not sound like just friends going together to prom because there was no one else.

“Fucking fuck,” Brett raises his brows at Stiles’ muttering, but Stiles looks away, carefully taking back his hand — as hard as it is to lose the warmth of the wolf’s touch, “you’re gonna do that whether I agree or not, won’t you…” He huffs, shaking his head, but even without seeing Brett’s smirk Stiles knows he’s right. “Fuck, okay, but — nothing too expensive. Just so we’re matching or whatever…”

He doesn’t realize his exact word choice until he sees the way Brett’s smirk widens — the spark in his green eyes too dark not to cause a little shiver down Stiles’ spine.

“Sure, Lori’s definitely gonna go nuts when she hears that bit,” Brett chuckles, while Stiles silently begs for the earth to swallow him up so he doesn’t have to deal with all the teasing that’s to come, Lori could be just as relentless as her brother if she wanted to, “and if you’re so hung up about money, we can rent one instead of buying.” That soothes some of Stiles’ nerves, but Brett's eyes turn liquid and half-lidded, voice dropping into a rumble so low and warm it seems to seep right into Stiles’ bones, and all other thoughts disappear from his brain. “At least no one’s gonna try to steal you away from me if we’re matching.”

Stiles squirms, letting out a huff — right on the verge of a nervous laugh that would’ve been way too obvious. Thank the night it’s dark or his face would’ve been way too obviously glowing crimson.

“As if. I have two left feet and an affinity for falling on my face, I’m not agreeing to any dances or anything,” he tries to joke, but his voice wavers and Stiles swallows down thickly, fingers fiddling with his dress pants as he hopes Brett will allow his attempt at topic-redirect and won’t dig deeper into it. Which he actually doesn’t — but not in a way Stiles wanted.

“Which reminds me…”

Sliding from the hood to the ground, Brett takes out his phone and scrolls down on the screen until he finds what he was looking for — which turns out to be a soft, almost trance-like song, somehow both perfect for a night out star-gazing and yet rhythmic enough to immediately make anyone want to sway to it. Then he places the phone screen down on the hood and— and reaches out his hand to Stiles, a small, private smile curled in the corners of his lips.

Stiles is so damn flabbergasted his mind might be as good as gone, and his voice so thin it might be just as well. “What…?”

Brett rolls his eyes. “You’ve taken me to your prom and didn’t even grace me with a dance. What do you think, pretty boy?” His smirk curls dangerously in one corner, the slant of it waking a lick of pure heat in Stiles’ belly — then he cocks his head, hand stretched out a little closer. “C’mon, Stiles, no one’s here to see.”

Which should be encouraging but it really, really isn’t. Still, as if caught up in some kind of trance — be it the music, the stars-riddled sky above them, or the molten warmth in Brett’s gaze — Stiles can’t help but take the wolf’s hand and let himself be pulled down from the hood, right into Brett’s sure arms.

“Brett…?”

“Hush,” his voice is barely a murmur, warm air slipping over the side of Stiles’ neck, making him shudder. “Just give it a second. If you don’t like it, I’m not gonna force you to endure it any longer,” a hint of humor slips into Brett’s tone, but there’s— there’s something else in it that wraps around his heart tight and aching.

They start to sway slowly to the music pulsing low and soft in the cool air of the starry night around and above them, Brett’s arm strong and sure around his waist, the warmth of his palm on Stiles’ lower back seeping down into his very core, their hands loosely joined near their shoulders — and Stiles’ heart pounding so fast and heavy it might as well bruise his ribs from inside out. Which — Brett must be aware of, both because of his supernatural senses but also because they’re so close they’re almost pressed flush against each other, closer than ever before. Stiles swallows thickly, eyes firmly set on his own hands, awkwardly laying on Brett’s firm chest — is— is he imagining it or is Brett’s heartbeat faster too? — and almost lets out a full-on whine when the wolf’s cheek rests on his head. As if that’s a thing they do.

“Brett...” he tries again, this time only met with a hum, vibrating almost like a purr under his fingers, “why— why ask me? You could’ve gotten anyone to go with you. I mean, damn, I’m pretty sure they’ve been asking you already, so why—” His voice cuts off, and Stiles closes his eyes, almost sick with how hard his heart thumps in his throat.

Brett shrugs, fucking nuzzling his cheek into Stiles’ hair, that’s— “None of them were worth it and I knew I’d have a better time with you, which—” And then, then he trails his nose lower, warm air brushing over Stiles’ earlobe. “—case in point.”

Stiles shudders, his mind scrambling to catch up with what he missed, what this— what all of this even means, what’s happening, what— why— A moan gets caught in his lungs as Brett trails his nose even lower, brushing against his neck, his— Fuck, Brett’s fucking scenting him, right here, right now, nuzzling into Stiles’ neck all slow and intimate like they’re— they’re—

“Brett…?”

And Stiles hates how his voice wavers, so breathy and on a verge of a whine it’s even worse than the way he instinctively bares his throat, shivering at the low growl that rumbles out from Brett’s chest — and still, somehow, he hasn’t missed how the wolf shuddered right before. Then he pulls Stiles in, one sure move that puts them flush together; so fucking close breath catches in Stiles’ lungs at the sheer heat of Brett’s body right against his own. And then, then—

“Be mine, Stiles,” Brett murmurs, low and rumbling and so, so warm — Stiles can’t quite catch the half-choked whine that sticks to the back of his throat nor stop the shudder when the wolf leans up, nudging their noses together. “Just mine…”

A wavering breath escapes Stiles’ parted lips and—

He has no idea which one of them snapped first, was it because their eyes met or Stiles squirmed, all but grinding against Brett’s thigh, pushed between his own just slightly — and when did that even happen? — but all at once they’re kissing, hard. No hesitance, no hangs up; Brett catches Stiles' lips between his own and — after the split second of shock that comes with it, the heat and warmth and sheer, pure sensation of Brett kissing him — Stiles melts into his arms, a moan lost among their mixing breaths. Then Brett pushes into him and Stiles surrenders, curving up into the wolf’s hard body, giving back anything and everything he has with the little, weak mewls constantly slipping out, eaten up by Brett’s hungry, skilled mouth; kissing, nipping, biting down on his bottom lip just so he can soothe it, tongue slowly lapping between his parted lips. There’s still the slightest aftertaste of the burgers they’ve just eaten that Stiles can detect, thrilling in the way it makes it all feel real — and more perfect than he could’ve ever imagined.

Climbing to his toes, Stiles tightens his arms around Brett’s shoulders, twining his fingers in the short hair at the wolf’s nape as he tries to get impossibly closer — and before he knows it, Brett leans down to grip the backs of his thighs, sure as ever as he all but lifts Stiles up into the air. Then he’s sitting on Roscoe’s bumper, judging by the height, legs spread around Brett’s hips, Brett’s hand hooked under his knee, arm around his waist, pulling them as close as physically possible and— and Stiles’ brain spins in his skull, dizzy from the heat of Brett’s kiss, the deep, woodsy smell of him, the way he’s all but trying to devour him right here, right now, the— the—

“Wait—” He pulls back, hand tight on the back of Brett’s neck to hopefully stop him from just continuing with those sinful kisses of his — as shiver-inducing as the prospect is. “Wait!”

Brett leans up, eyes half-lidded and darker than he’s ever seen, lips still slightly swollen — so pink Stiles kinda wants to just kiss him again. But no. Focus, Stiles.

Tongue darting over his mouth, he tries not to squirm.

“What— what’s this about? Why are you—” He swallows down, can’t quite handle keeping Brett’s gaze right now, not as he frowns as if confused — and the most horrible thought creeps up on Stiles, freezing the blood in his veins solid. “What of the others? We’re— shit, Brett, if this is some kinda friends with benefits thing—” He shakes his head, horrified to discover the itchiness starting under his eyelids, blurring his vision. “I can’t—”

“Woah, hey, hey, easy there,” Brett hurries to cup his face in those big, warm paws of his, “take a breath, Stiles, it’s none of that.”

Doing as instructed, Stiles tries to get his thoughts in order, calm down so he doesn’t slip into a panic attack; his fingers tight around Brett’s biceps, holding on as if it’s his only anchor. Then Brett’s thumbs swipe gently over his cheekbones and it’s almost his undoing.

“What are we even doing here?” Escapes on barely a whisper, and Stiles doesn’t dare to look at Brett — not until the wolf chuckles, tipping his head back so he has no other choice.

“And what does it look like?” Brett nudges their noses together again, melting almost all the resistance left in Stiles’ spine.

“I don’t—” He licks over his bottom lip, chest so tight it almost hurts to breathe. “Brett, I don’t want to be just another guy in your bed—”

“Let me stop you right there.” A hint of steel slips into Brett’s voice, so clear and sure it halts any and all of Stiles’ spiraling thoughts — and there’s a frown growing between his eyebrows. “We’ve been friends for how long? How could you even think you’d be just another guy? Stiles, I—” He lets out a sharp exhale, as if irritated by the mere indication, but then his frown smoothes out and everything in Brett softens, as if some tension just released, slipped away on a breath. His fingers span out over his jaw, thumbs over his cheeks and pinkies reaching down to Stiles’ throat. “I’ve never been more serious in my life. And you know how rarely that happens.” Brett smiles and Stiles can’t quite help the chuckle that escapes him, clearing out some of the weight hanging in the air around them.

“Yeah, as rarely as snow in the middle of summer,” he manages to say, feeling strangely as if he’s already heard Satomi saying something similar. Maybe he’d picked it up along the way — hell, he almost belongs to the pack at this point.

“Hey now, I can be serious if I want,” Brett grouses, but the smile is still pulling at his lips.

“Sure, maybe about lacrosse.”

“Yeah,” he admits, completely unabashed, but his face softens then, “and about you.”

Heart in his throat, Stiles reaches to curl his fingers around one of Brett’s wrists. “You— You really mean it?”

“You’re just catching onto that?” One of his brows curves up, a teasing edge to his expression, but he also huffs out a chuckle when Stiles elbows him. “Alright, alright, c’mon, I’m trying to confess here, co-operate for once.”

An indignant noise rises at the back of Stiles’ throat as he tries to ignore the way his heart just skipped in his chest. “Congratulations, you’re doing a shit job of it. I’m gonna fall asleep if it continues—”

Not letting him finish, Brett reaches for his waist and pulls Stiles right into his chest, hand spread out wide on his lower back. “Then maybe I should change my approach, huh?” This time the curve to his brow is all but daring Stiles, but— they both can’t deny how heavy the atmosphere still hangs around them.

“Nah, you’re good,” Stiles backtracks, swallowing thickly — he’s always threaded on thin ice, but it’s really not worth it now, not when this might just decide everything, and… well, Stiles wants — needs — to hear it himself. “Tell me. Please...”

Brett visibly softens again, but he doesn’t retrieve his arm — only curls it loosely around Stiles’ waist, thumb brushing down his spine. “I haven’t been with anyone else in well over a year — and I know you’ve noticed. It was never more than just a bit fun, too, never meant anything more. And I’ll admit, at first I thought I’d be great to get you in my bed too. You’re cute and sexy just the way I like it, and I had the feeling we’d be more than compatible, but—” He shrugs, smile playing around the corner of his lips — he’s definitely noticed the way Stiles blushed just there, “—we had a good thing going and I could tell you were happy with that. It’s not like I’m gonna push where I’m not welcomed.”

And that’s true, Brett’s popular largely thanks to his looks, of course, but a big part of why he always stayed just as popular — aside from obvious experience Stiles really doesn’t need to think about right now — is the fact he never went for someone who isn’t obviously interested — he flirts, sure, but is also respectful to his partners and openly states his intentions. Or, at least that’s the impression Stiles got — and he really didn’t need to spend countless nights thinking about how attentive of a lover Brett must be too. Nope, never did that, nu-uh.

“So,” he licks his lips again, keenly aware of Brett’s eyes tracking the move, considerably darker than just moments ago, “when did that change?”

“Not sure, to be honest,” is the easy answer, his thumb slowly trailing along Stiles’ cheekbone, so soft it makes him melt a little more. “I guess at some point I just realized my wolf has already scented what it needed in you and wouldn't ever accept or want anyone else. Maybe even from the very beginning and I just didn’t notice at the time.” There’s a smile playing on his lips, a note of something amused and nostalgic about it, before his hand travels down to Stiles’ throat, thumb fitting under his chin to tip his head back, just slightly. “I just know I’ve wanted you to be mine ever since. Still do.” And that liquid gaze of his becomes half-lidded again, sending all kinds of sparks and thrills down Stiles’ spine, hot and seeping right into his core. “So, what do you say, gorgeous?” He nudges their noses together, voice all but a purr. “Be mine?”

Stiles’ breath gets caught around his heart, beating hard and fast in his throat, but— there’s also something warm and airy filling up his chest, ever-expanding at the mere thought…

“Only if you’re mine too,” he manages to say, barely even a murmur, but Brett hears him loud and clear.

“Already there, babe,” he purrs, the growl-like tone a lovely rumble right against every inch of Stiles, the way he’s pressed so close to the wolf’s chest. His brow rises again, just slightly — as if he already knows the answer before he asks, “so, what’s it gonna be?” And, well… he just might.

“Yeah, me— me too,” Stiles finally admits, all the weight falling off in favor of the sweet, sweet thrill of what’s to come already buzzing in his veins, “been there for a while.”

“Well,” Brett’s smile ticks into a smirk — and Stiles shivers, already feeling the heat spreading anew as Brett pulls him in tighter against himself, touch intent in a way that can’t be mistaken, “then let’s start making up for that, huh? I’d hate to leave you wanting.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Brett chuckles and Stiles can’t help his own laugh too, something so bright and light expanding in his chest it makes him feel like he’s gonna float away — but Brett keeps him grounded, keeps him close, hand on his neck, on his thigh, nose nudged against his own and, finally, that too skilled mouth kissing him breathless. But that’s okay. As far as Stiles is concerned, Brett can steal way more than just his breath, and oh, he’s certainly going to. Stiles will make sure of that.

[lonelychicago]

Your name on my lips, tongue tied

It's 4:10 am and I can't sleep so i decided i might as well write this. Some soft, fluffy jurdan.

THIS IS POST QUEEN OF NOTHING.

Sumary: Cardan tells Jude his real name.

(I didn't know what name to give Cardan, so i did a bit of research and i hope it's not too ugly or whatever. Fun fact, Cardan used to be a nickname in ancient england for stubborn and i i think that's hilarious )

Also, i'm not sure how faeries true names work so this may be totally wrong but... yeah.

🪐 ｡･ﾟ🌙. ﾟ･｡. ｡ ･ﾟ

"I wish I could forget it." Jude whispers, as if talking to herself more than to him. But Cardan hears her all the same.

"What?" he asks curious, looking up at her.

"The Ghost's name. Must be an awful thing to know that people have power over you and there's nothing you can do about it." She answers, a sad distant look on her eyes like remembering a bad nightmare. She shudders and Cardan is quick to hug her, arms strong and comforting around her like a safety blanket. "It would drive me crazy, knowing I'm never fully in control of myself."

Silence stretches between them, as tangible as the shadows of the palace.

"Well, yes. It must be a pretty terrifying thing but I believe he doesn't give it that much thought." Cardan says after a moment of considering carefully his words, reaching out a finger to trace the shape of Jude's ear, the round curve that always facinated him.

"Why is that?" Jude can't understand how Garret is not freaking out, trying to come up with plans to make them forget his name or something equally crazy like that. She wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully if she were him.

"He has Taryn. They love each other. And she knows his full name so she can stop him from doing anything he wouldn't want to do." He explains like is the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it is, Jude thinks.

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

Cardan's tail is around her arm, Jude smiles slightly and with her free hand plays careful and delicately with it, he can't help but to let out a slight moan at her touches on his tail and Jude just laughs. Who would've thought she could have this much effect on the High King of Elfhame?

"Would you like to know mine?" He asks softly, looking at her with such adoration as she just hang all of the stars in the sky. As she's the sickness and the cure all in one. His dearest punishment.

"Would I like to know what?" she asks confused, having been distracted by his tail.

"My true name." Cardan answers and Jude swears she misheard him, her heart skips a beat and she looks at him with her eyes and mouth wide open.

"You don't have to tell me, Cardan. I don't need to know." She says after a long silence, frowning and moving her hand to her husband's cheek.

"I know that. I want to tell you. I trust you, Jude. Like I've told you before, my heart may be a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing but it's yours. I'm yours and I want to give you everything of me." The genuineness in his voice makes her wanna cry.

Cardan whom she hated. The cruelest prince she’d ever known. The boy who ripped the wings from a pixie at a revel, and tortured her whenever he got the chance. And then, Cardan who put his unwavering trust in her, who rescued her from the dark holds of the sea, and continuously, courageously showed up for her time and time again even when she gave him no reasons to trust her. Even when the safest option was to leave her behind, he never did.

Jude blinks. Of all the things to come from her her husband, the offer of knowing his true name never crossed her mind. She never thought he would want to tell her anyway, not after she forced him to follow her commands.

Jude was slowly learning that love is trusting unconditionally, letting go, falling into the other person's arms. Love meant that she wasn't in control and if it were anyone else that'd be terrifying, yes. But it was Cardan, so Jude was getting to be okay with that.

"Okay, if you want to tell me... then I would like to know." She finally forces her mouth to speak, the words spoken softly and her gaze locked in his.

"Carden Erebus Greenbiar. Cardan is a variation of Carden. Erebus is the greek god of darkness in greek mythology and I guess my mom saw fit to name me like that, since I was destined for the destruction of the throne and all." The bitterness on his voice was clear and Jude's heart broke for the little kid Cardan once was, who never got the love and appreciation he deserved.

She took his hand and gently kissed his knuckles. Cardan felt undeserving of such care and devotion, but he would be damned if he didn't spend the rest of his life paying it back tenfold. She would tell him later that that's what they did; they gave each other the love they didn't feel worthy of. For now, it was enough to kiss in their bed, arms around each other.

"If it makes you feel better, my name is inspired by one of The Beatles song." Jude said, giggling softly but Cardan just looked at her confused.

"What the hell is a Beatle?"

They both chuckled, then he leaned his head down and kissed her beckoning lips. They started slow, then she kissed him back with heat, and he wrapped his arm around her back.

The king gently tucked the blanket around her shoulders, tucking himself deeper into her embrace as they lay back together against their bed. Accommodating for his height, he curled himself around her, head resting between her breasts, ear pressed to her chest. He took in a shaky, shuddering breath, tension releasing out in a rush as his body relaxed against her, soft and pliable as he finally found his peace.

"I love you, Cardan."

You know how faeries can be manipulated if someone knows their True Name? I wonder how that works for Cardan and Jude- it was never glinted that he had another real name, but what if after the events of The Queen of Nothing and Htkoelths, he gives it to her? as a proof of his love and how truly invested he is in their relationship and how much she gets him forever undone