#because suddenly he has no fucking idea where he is

[whos-the-seme]

okay but I kinda need read a fic where Shen Yuan is wife plotted (AGAIN) by some random papapa plant (dammit Airplane--) and he basically falls into a floating coma or something. on a hunt for some rare herbs with liu qingge, he's lured by the sound of his Binghe's (his lost little lamb) voice and ends up ensnared.

okay, imagine that he's being held high in the air by these vines, just asleep, and nothing can wake him, even after liu qingge cuts the monster plant down to get him. he's just sleeping, rosy-cheeked, unwakeable.

peak lords panic, and start trying to figure it out what this rare plant is. sqh wracks his brain somewhat and somewhat remembers this plot line.

they come to the conclusion that its the everlasting dreams flower or some shit. basically traps the victim in their dreams while it sucks out their qi until the person dies of dehydration/starvation or qi loss, whichever kills them first (sometimes, its not the latter, and if the person is a cultivator, they can last a while before their qi is fully drained enough that they can no longer practice inedia but also haven't died yet). meanwhile, the person won't even care because their dreams are so sweet, that they don't want to leave.

the only way to cure it? true love's song. someone who truly knows and loves the sleeper needs to sing something from the heart, and if it's pure enough or something, it can pierce through the pleasant dreams of the person and wake them up. yqy and lqg instantly become flustered, but both of them can't help but secretly wonder how it would feel to have Xiao jiu/shen-shixiong wake up at their song.

they confer with the rest of the peak lords a little outside of shen yuan's resting rooms on the Qian Cao peak, and yqy decides to sing a little lullaby he used to sing to Xiao jiu when they were still on the streets. he goes in, his voice is a steady but a bit nervous, but he croons that shit out. airplane can't believe his fucking ears. yqy could honestly be an idol its not fair wtf-- only, sqh knows he can't dance to save his fucking life, so.

when yqy finishes, he waits, but his heart sinks when Xiao jiu doesn't so much as stir. he hurries out of the room but sqh notices how the tips of his ears are red in embarrassment. of course, even when he still had his memory, Xiao jiu wanted nothing to do with him, why did he think it would change now, he just--

lqj goes in next. he murmurs a song that he constantly hears sqq sometimes strumming on his guqin, thinking that means sqq must love the song. he's not sure what else he can do, he doesn't know how to sing from the heart, but the feelings he has for his shixiong... he has to at least try to wake him.

he doesn't wake. lqj walks out in defeat.

airplane who has been wracking his brain all this time because he was trying to think of requirements for awakening so he wasn't paying attention suddenly jumps up. he doesn't mind the startled glances that the other peak lords give him.

he just remembered!

the song didn't have to be a romantic song or anything. the love for the sleeper didn't have to be romantic love, at all! he remembered this plot line that he added about binghe trying to wake one of his wives, but it was one of the wives' sisters that woke her, because she truly loved her sister deeply. causing binghe to realize that his love was becoming shallow, in that it wasn't enough anymore or blah blah blah. he scrapped that plot line and that plant after he got a ton of bad reviews for even suggestion that lbh's love (pillar) wasn't big enough and so he had lbh fix it with papapa, but whatever!

he shivered.

anyway, the story has been so warped over time that its only told that it has to be a romantic lover. but it didn't have to be.

he had an idea. he loved Shen Yuan! despite the rocky start, their shared transmigration and experiences led them to form a closer relationship, and Shen Yuan was his best friend. he knew him wholly, both in his bitchiness of Cucumber-bro of their old lives, and in the snarky-masquerading-as-pretentious SQQ he was in their new lives. He knew him as a whole of Shen Yuan, not as Xiao Jiu, or as the original goods.

and also, both he and Shen Yuan had discovered they both liked some similar songs during one of their weekly private meetings a few weeks ago, while Shen Yuan was there under the guise of planning their eventual escapes, but was actually just drinking up all his wine and ransacking his snacks.

he's got this! (he hopes.) (he would quite not like his bro to die from an unwakeable coma.)

confidently, with incredulous stares following him, he walks into the room and sits at shen yuan's bedside. and proceeded to sing, as smoothly as he could, a vocaloid love song. if nothing else, it might shock Shen Yuan awake to hear a random ass vocaloid song in his dreams. the lyrics are actually pretty sweet and soft, but he can't stop imagining the music behind it, making it funnier than it should be to sing it.

[Shen Yuan, whose dreamscape has become completely synchronized to his current living conditions and so he dreams of the serene bamboo hut: *sitting at his table with binghe pouring him more tea* *sudden hatsune fucking miku disturbing the atmosphere*

Shen Yuan: 👁️👄👁️]

while he tries not to giggle as the song comes to an end, the stares of the other peak lords boring into his back from the doorway (he can just hear them thinking, "yqy and lqg couldn't wake him up but you think you can?" but maybe that's just his imagination. or maybe they think the song is shitty, what does he know--), shen yuan's eyes flutter open.

airplane, who didn't think this would actually actually work (though he hoped), gapes at him. Shen Yuan, eyes half lidded from sleep, gazes back.

"uh..."

"The everlasting dreams flower, really? That was a really good plot line, can't believe you, ah," Shen Yuan yawns, "dropped it in favor of more papapa as always, you shitty author." He can't catch a break. Why did he wake this guy up again?

"he's awake!?" multiple voices cry out.

THUMP. yqy has fainted.

they both have forgotten their audience. liu qingge has goes outside to punch a tree. the other peak lords are in various states of disarray, disbelief, and discomfort. liu minyan has appeared out of nowhere to take notes. mu qingfāng rolls his eyes and comes in to check shen-shenanigans's meridians.

"Can't believed that shit worked, honestly," Shen Yuan says, eyeing one of the older disciples try to drag YQY to a cot. he is starting to rouse. "hatsune miku, really?"

"aw! well now you know how deeply and purely I love you, shixiong!"

THUMP. YQY has fainted again.

more sounds of breaking trees from outside. mu qingfāng warily calls out a warning to avoid his good medicinal trees, thanks.

after a while of conversation, with eyes closing a bit once more, from exhaustion, rather than the plant poison, Shen Yuan gives Shang Qinghua a small smile. As his eyes flutter shut again, he says, "I love you too, bro."

[mingi-s-dimples]

「 Skyline Sins - Mingi 」

"You like the view, baby?"

"Y-yes-"

"I like the view too. The view of your ass bouncing against me."

pairing: mingi x fem!reader

genre: 18+, filth

summary: Mingi's always so touchy... but tonight, he just can't get enough of you. At first, at dinner.. then, on the balcony.

wc: 3.7k

warnings: rough needy mingi, risky touching, public touching, slightly fingering under the table, public setting, balcony sex, making out, kissing, he's needy af, marking, hair pulling, neck holding, rough sex, cursing, possessiveness, teasing, dirty talk (slut), unprotected (boo use protection irl!!!), 3 rounds, desk sex, lots of cum, cum control (he makes her keep his cum inside until the dinner ends), spanking, biting, doggy, completely consensual, for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: Thank you @atiny1 for uncovering this idea LMAO cause I got it while we were yapping... and damn. That's all I have to say 😵‍💫😵‍💫. I love Mingi. That's it.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The party is a fucking blur—champagne bubbling in crystal glasses, laughter and murmured conversations blending with the pounding bass. The city skyline glows through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a breathtaking view of the world below.

But none of it matters.

Because Mingi is watching you.

Not just watching—devouring.

From across the room, sprawled in a leather chair like he owns the place, legs spread obscenely wide, a whiskey glass dangling from his fingers. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you once.

And you feel it.

Everywhere.

The weight of his gaze burns into your skin, making it impossible to focus. Impossible to breathe. Your dress suddenly feels too tight, your thighs press together too often, and you know. You fucking know he’s enjoying every second of this.

So when he suddenly appears beside you, lowering himself into the seat next to yours, heat rolling off him in waves—

You know you’re in trouble.

He spreads his legs, pressing his thigh against yours, his body too close, his scent wrapping around you—whiskey, spice, something dangerous.

Then—his hand grips your thigh.

Hard.

His fingers dig in, thumb brushing circles over your bare skin, and when he leans in, lips grazing your ear, his voice is pure sin.

"Enough fucking around."

Your breath hitches. "Mingi, we’re in public—"

He ignores you. "Been watching you squirm all night." His grip tightens, rough, possessive. "You like teasing me, baby?"

You should push him away. You should remind him where you are.

But you don’t.

Because fuck—this side of him? This rough, reckless, desperate side? It wrecks you.

His fingers slide higher. Too high. They ghost just beneath the hem of your dress, so close you almost snap.

"Someone will see—"

"I don’t give a fuck."

His voice is a low, dangerous growl, and the way he says it—like a warning, like a threat—has your stomach flipping, thighs trembling.

Mingi notices.

Of course he does.

He shifts, spreading his legs wider, forcing yours apart, using the cover of the tablecloth like it was meant for this. And when his fingers drag up your inner thigh—slow, teasing, his touch barely there—your nails dig into the table.

"You’re.. wet already, sweetheart?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. "Mingi, please—"

"Please what, baby?" His voice is all amusement, all filth. "You want me to stop?"

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t want him to.

Mingi smirks. Then—he pushes your panties aside.

Your entire body locks up.

His fingers slide between your folds, gathering the mess he’s caused, and he lets out a low, wrecked groan.

"Holy fuck."

Then—he pushes a finger in.

You suck in a sharp breath, body jolting. Your walls clamp around him instantly, the stretch not nearly enough, but fuck, you feel it everywhere.

Mingi’s chuckle is dark, cruel. "That’s it." He pushes deeper, knuckles brushing against you. "Take it, baby."

Your hand shoots out, grabbing his thigh, nails digging in, but you can’t stop the soft whimper that slips out.

And that’s when you panic.

Your voice is a frantic whisper, barely audible over the music. "Mingi—there are people—what if someone—"

He shoves his finger deeper.

The words die in your throat.

Your back arches, legs trembling, and Mingi groans, deep and wrecked.

"Let them see." His tone is pure filth, his breath hot against your ear. "Let them see how fucking good you take me."

You choke on a gasp, your nails digging into his thigh so hard it’ll bruise, but Mingi is relentless. His finger fucks into you, slow, deep, dragging pleasure kicking and screaming through your veins.

Then—he adds a second finger.

Your thighs twitch. Your walls clamp down, and Mingi feels it.

His breath shudders. "Oh, you like that?" He spreads his fingers, stretching you wider, hitting that spot so perfectly—

And then—he pulls out.

Your body jerks at the loss, your hips twitching, chasing friction, but he’s already lifting his fingers to his lips.

And then—he sucks them clean.

Your stomach fucking drops.

Mingi groans, eyes locked on yours, his tongue swiping over every drop of slick.

And then—his voice is a growl.

"Get up.”

Your brain barely registers the command before he grips your wrist, begging you through his eyes. His pace is brutal, shoving past bodies, ignoring the glances thrown your way.

And then—his room.

The door slams shut, and suddenly, your chest is against the wall.

His hands grip your waist, spinning you around, and then his mouth is on yours—rough, desperate, claiming. There’s no teasing, no hesitation, just pure need, his lips crashing into yours with teeth and tongue, hot and consuming.

You barely have time to gasp before he presses you against the glass rail of the balcony, his massive frame caging you in. One hand tangles in your hair, the other gripping your hip, pulling you flush against him.

And fuck, you feel him.

His hard, throbbing cock pressing against your stomach, proof of how badly he wants you.

"You drive me fucking insane," he growls against your lips.

Then—his teeth sink into your bottom lip, tugging.

You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, and Mingi groans, his grip tightening, as if he’s barely holding himself back.

His lips move, trailing down your jaw, nipping at your skin—sharp, possessive bites, each one soothed by the slow, sensual drag of his tongue. Then—he finds your shoulder. And bites.

Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark, enough to brand you.

You gasp, back arching, and Mingi growls, his breath hot against your skin. "Mine."

The word sends a full-body shudder through you. Then, his hands move.

They slide down, gripping your thighs, your hips, grasping at your dress. His fingers bunch the fabric, dragging it up, higher, exposing you to the night air. And he doesn’t even hesitate.

He yanks your panties to the side. Not off. Not even a second of patience. Just pushed aside—like he’s too desperate, too gone, to waste even a second.

His other hand moves fast, unbuckling his belt with one sharp motion, the sound slicing through the heavy silence. Then—his zipper, the rustle of fabric.

And when he frees himself—his cock springing from the confines of his briefs, thick and aching—

He doesn’t wait. He doesn’t tease.

He grips your hips, spins you to face the railing, and presses you forward.

Your chest hits the cool metal, breath hitching as you feel the blunt, heated press of his cock right there, dragging against your soaked folds.

Mingi exhales, voice wrecked. "You’re dripping for me."

His fingers dig into your hips. His tone is low, strained, barely controlled.

"Mhm..You’re ready."

And then—he pushes in. He doesn’t ease in. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease, doesn’t even give you a second to adjust—because he knows.

He felt how ready you were, how drenched you were for him, how your body was already begging for it.

So he grips your hips, tight and bruising, and buries himself to the hilt.

Your head snaps back, lips parting on a silent gasp, your body jolting from the sheer force of it—the stretch, the pressure, the way he fills you so completely, so perfectly.

Mingi groans, low and guttural, his fingers flexing against your skin as he pulls back just enough—before slamming right back in.

"Fuck—" His voice is wrecked, strained, like he’s trying not to lose control. "You feel even better than I imagined."

And then—he moves. Not slow. Not careful. Relentless.

His hips snap forward, his pace merciless, punishing, filthy, each thrust sending a shockwave through your body, your chest pressing harder against the railing.

The cool metal bites into your heated skin, but you don’t care.

Because Mingi is ruining you.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, squeezing, possessing. His breath is hot against your neck, his voice dripping with raw need.

"You looked so good tonight, baby." His thrusts deepen, angle shifting, hitting exactly where you need him. "Had me hard the second I saw you."

Your nails scrape against the railing, barely able to hold yourself up, and Mingi notices.

Loves it.

He laughs, dark and breathless, so full of need. "You really thought I was gonna wait?"

His fingers tighten on your hips, his pace somehow getting even rougher, every movement a claim, a statement, a warning.

"I would’ve taken you right there." He snaps his hips forward, making you gasp. "In front of everyone."

A hand slides up, gripping your throat, tilting your head back until his lips graze your ear.

His voice is a dangerous whisper.

"So they all knew who you belong to."

"M-Mingi—"

Your voice is a broken moan, raw and breathless, slipping past your lips before you can stop it. Your hands clench around the railing, your legs shaking as he drives into you, deep and punishing, the sound of skin meeting skin mixing with the distant hum of the city below.

Mingi growls, low and satisfied. "You like that, huh?"

His grip on your waist tightens, his other hand coming down fast.

A sharp slap lands on your ass.

The sting burns through the pleasure, sending a shockwave straight to your core, and your body jerks in response.

Mingi chuckles—dark, amused, wrecked. "Yeah, you do."

Before you can even recover, his hand moves up, fast, firm—

Fingers wrapping tight around your throat.

In one swift motion, he yanks you back against his chest, his arm locking around your waist, keeping you pinned in place.

"Let me hear you." His lips graze your ear, his voice thick with lust. "Let everyone fucking hear you."

Your head tilts back onto his shoulder, your breath coming out in broken gasps as he takes you apart, his pace never faltering, never giving you a chance to catch up.

Then—his mouth is on your neck.

Hot. Wet. Possessive.

His lips drag over your skin, tongue tracing the sensitive spots before his teeth sink in.

A sharp bite.

A groan rumbles through his chest, vibrating against your back as he marks you.

"Mine."

Mingi’s grip on your throat tightens, his chest hot and firm against your back, keeping you trapped between his body and the cool glass of the balcony railing.

His thrusts are punishing, deep and brutal, each one sending shockwaves through your trembling body.

"Taking me so fucking well," he groans, lips brushing your ear, his voice thick with pride and possession. "You were made for this, weren’t you?"

You can’t even speak—just moan, high and wrecked, the pleasure building too fast, too strong.

Your fingers clutch at his arm around your waist, nails digging into his skin, and you barely manage to choke out—

"Mingi—ah, fuck—I need to—"

His chuckle is dark, knowing.

"Yeah? You need to what, baby?"

His pace doesn’t slow, his cock slamming into you, hitting that perfect spot over and over until your legs threaten to give out.

Then—his hand leaves your throat.

Slides down, down, down.

And then—his fingers find your clit.

You whimper, a wrecked sob of pleasure, and Mingi groans, his breath hot against your ear.

"Come on, baby." His fingers circle, slow and teasing, contrasting with the brutal pace of his hips. "Let everyone hear what a good slut you are for me."

Your body tenses, coils tightening, pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave.

And when he presses down harder, rubs faster, fucks you even deeper—

You break.

The moment it crashes through you, it wrecks you.

Your whole body shakes, back arching against Mingi’s chest as your orgasm rips you apart, white-hot and overwhelming.

And he feels it.

Feels the way you tighten around him, feels the way your thighs tremble, hears the helpless, broken moan that spills from your lips as you lose yourself completely.

"Fuck—" Mingi snarls, fingers digging bruises into your waist as he pounds through your high, chasing his own. "That’s it, baby—take it. Take all of it."

His thrusts get sloppier, rougher, his breath ragged as he buries his face in your neck, sucking at the damp skin, his groans vibrating through your spine.

"Gonna fill you up—" his voice breaks, desperate and ruined, "—gonna make sure you feel me dripping out of you all fucking night."

And then—he snaps.

His hips slam flush against yours, his cock pulsing deep inside, and with one last growl—he spills into you.

Hot. Thick. Endless.

Mingi shudders, his arms tightening around you, holding you so close, so deep, like he’s afraid to let go.

For a moment, there’s only breathing.

Heavy, ragged, shared.

Then—his lips find your back.

Soft. Lingering. Adoring.

Trailing from your shoulder blades, down your spine, pressing worship into every inch of you.

But he’s not done.

Because he’s still hard.

Still throbbing inside you, still not ready to let you go.

And when you shift slightly, whimpering from the over-sensitivity, Mingi groans, his hands already starting to move again.

"Baby—" His voice is wrecked, pleading, lips tracing up your back, kissing over the fresh marks he left. "One more. Please."

You shiver as he presses closer, hips rolling against your ass, his cock still thick, still needy.

"I’ve been thinking about this all night," he whispers, begging, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "May I?"

His fingers slide to your waist, gentle but firm, already preparing to bend you over again.

"Please, baby. Just one more."

And when you give the smallest, neediest nod—

He takes you again. Mingi doesn’t waste a second.

The second your breathy “yes” leaves your lips, he grins, dark and wrecked, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls out—

Only to slam right back in.

A choked gasp rips from your throat, your arms barely holding you up against the balcony railing as he sets a pace that’s somehow even harder, rougher, filthier than before.

And he loves it.

Loves how your body shudders beneath him, how your nails scrape at the railing, how you’re still so sensitive, still so desperate for more.

His hands slide up your body, over your spine, your shoulders—before gripping your throat again, tilting your head back so his lips can graze your ear.

"You like the view, baby?" His voice is teasing, cocky, but so wrecked with lust.

Through your gasps and moans, you manage a shaky, “Y-Yes—”

Mingi chuckles.

Dark. Low. Dangerous.

His pace doesn’t falter, doesn’t slow—if anything, he drives into you harder, deeper, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing through the night.

"Yeah?" His grip tightens, voice thick with amusement. "I like the view too."

He drags his teeth over your shoulder, then bites down, groaning when you whimper at the sting.

"The view of your ass bouncing against me."

A sharp smack lands on your skin, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"The way your body shudders when I’m fully inside you."

Another slap, then his fingers spread over the mark, rubbing it in, soothing and teasing all at once.

His hips snap forward, relentless, and he chuckles again when you sob his name.

"So fucking beautiful."

Mingi snaps.

Your moans, the way your body tightens around him, the way you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know— it’s too much.

His grip tightens, his nails digging into your hips, holding you in place as he slams into you with reckless force.

No more teasing.

No more playing around.

Just raw, unrestrained need.

His voice is a wrecked growl, spilling from his lips with no filter, no shame.

"Fuck—look at you." His head tilts back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he watches the way your body shakes, trembles, comes undone for him. "Look at how you take it. Fucking made for me."

His hips snap harder, faster, deeper, and he loses himself in it.

The sound of your skin meeting.

The filthy squelch every time he bottoms out.

The way you clutch at the railing like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

And then—you whimper.

“M-Mingi—”

Your voice shatters, high and breathless, and when he feels you tighten around him, trembling, needing—

He completely fucking breaks.

"Cum, baby." His hand slides down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles. "Give it to me. Let me feel you."

You gasp, moan, sob—

And then—you shatter.

Hard.

Your whole body locks up, legs shaking, head tilting back onto his shoulder as a wrecked, helpless scream leaves your lips.

And that’s it for him.

Mingi slams deep one last time, groaning your name, filling you up so much you can feel the heat pooling inside you.

His arms tighten around you, holding you up as you both tremble, completely fucking ruined.

For a moment, there’s just breathing.

Then—his lips find your neck.

Soft. Lingering. Addicted.

And he exhales, still inside you, still completely lost in you.

"Fuck, baby."

Mingi is still inside you, still throbbing, still completely wrecked— yet somehow, his hunger hasn’t dimmed.

His forehead presses against your shoulder, his breath ragged, his arms locked tight around your waist as he tries to regain control.

But he can’t.

Because you’re still so tight, still so wet, still fucking dripping with everything he’s already given you.

A deep, wrecked groan leaves his lips, his hands gripping your waist as he barely pulls back—just enough to push into you again, slow, deliberate, teasing.

And then, he laughs.

"Fuck." His voice is hoarse, ruined, a hint of pure disbelief under all that need. "I’ve never been this hard for three rounds…"

He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into your waist, his lips pressing against your shoulder like he’s trying to ground himself.

"What are you doing to me, damn?" His tone is playful but wrecked, like he’s actually scared of how bad he wants you.

His hands slide up your sides, over your stomach, his touch lingering, possessive.

Then—his lips find your neck again, tracing over the fresh marks he left.

"How good you looked in that dress…" He nips at your skin, groaning when you shiver. "I wanted to rip it off in an instant."

Then, his voice drops, teasing but urgent.

"But… we have to be back in ten, if we don’t want to raise suspicions."

Yet, despite his words—he still doesn’t pull out.

Instead, his grip tightens.

And before you can even process it—

Mingi moves.

Swift. Sudden. Strong.

He lifts you off the railing, one arm hooking under your knees, the other around your back, carrying you like you weigh nothing.

And then—he’s striding back into the room, straight toward the desk.

"But I’m not fucking done with you yet."

And the second he reaches it—he sets you down, spreads your legs, and ruins you all over again.

Mingi doesn’t waste a second.

Gripping your thighs, your waist, your throat—he doesn’t know where to touch first because he wants all of you at once.

His lips crash into yours, desperate, messy, hot, his tongue claiming every whimper, every moan as he pushes you back against the cool wood.

And then—his hands move.

One gripping your hip.

The other sliding lower.

And when his fingers find your clit, slick and swollen from everything he’s already done to you—

You whimper.

Mingi groans into your mouth, eating every sound, his fingers teasing, circling, slow at first—before pressing down, rubbing rough and deep.

"You’re still so fucking wet, baby." His voice is thick with pure obsession, his breath hot against your lips.

And then—he pulls out of you completely.

Just to watch the way his cum drips out of you, pooling onto the desk.

"Fuck." His jaw clenches, his thumb sliding down to collect some of the mess—before he shoves it back inside you, pushing it deep.

You cry out, thighs trembling, hands clutching at his arms, his shoulders, anything to ground yourself.

And that’s when he loses it.

Mingi doesn’t ease back in.

He slams into you with one brutal stroke, knocking the breath from your lungs, his hands pinning you down as he sets a pace that’s relentless, unhinged, completely desperate.

Your body jolts with every thrust, the desk creaking beneath you, his cock hitting deep—too deep, just right.

And then—his lips are on yours again.

Messy. Sloppy. Ruined.

Like he’s trying to distract you from the fact that his hand is sliding down once again.

And then—you feel it.

His fingers press against your clit.

Teasing. Circling. Ruining you.

And you try to pull away, shaking your head, already too close, already too sensitive—

But Mingi doesn’t let you.

"Shh, baby," he whispers, his lips dragging over yours, catching your moans, swallowing every sound. "Let me make you fall apart one more time."

His fingers rub rougher, deeper, filthier.

And then—you break.. for what seems the 3rd time.

Your entire body shudders, seizes, collapses, your climax hitting you so hard you lose all sense of time, of space, of anything but him.

And then—you feel it.

The pressure—the release—the heat flooding between your thighs as your body gives in completely.

And when Mingi realizes what just happened— that you squirted all over-

His hips stutter, his whole body tensing, his breath catching in his throat.

His cock pulses inside you, spilling every last drop of cum he has, his groan deep, broken, completely fucking ruined.

For a moment, there’s nothing but breathing.

Heavy. Ragged. Shared.

Then—his lips press against your forehead, soft and lingering.

And he exhales, whispering—

"I don’t think I can ever get enough of you."

Mingi pulls away just slightly, his chest still heaving as he looks down at you. For a brief moment, his expression softens, almost tender. His fingers graze your thighs gently before he slowly pulls your panties back up, his touch surprisingly delicate after everything that just happened.

A teasing smirk crosses his lips, his eyes glinting with mischief. "You’re going to have to hold it in for a little longer," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear as he gives you a playful squeeze. "We’ve got an hour before we can head back and continue where we left off... don’t think I forgot what I’ve got planned for you."

He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours with a mix of intensity and something softer, something more endearing. His fingers brush your cheek before he adds with a quiet chuckle, "I don’t know how you’re going to resist me for that long... but I’ll be watching." he says as he zips up his suit pants, just like nothing happened.

And just like that, the tension shifts. It's still there—intense, electric—but there's a teasing playfulness in the air, as though he’s giving you a taste of something more, something that’ll come later.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet

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[motheroffeline]

Infatuation (pt. 2)

Happy late Valentine's Day guys! I would have posted this yesterday, but I was kinda busy sooo yeah here it is lol.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI!!!, extremely dark, oral (m receiving), sex, photographer!OC!character!Ari x Dom!Aaron Pierre, nicknames (daddy, baby, etc.), explicit name calling (dumbass, bitch, slut,etc...), bondage with zip ties, squirting, fingering (f receiving), humiliation, dubious consent, omniscient third person, and mentions of blackmail. Taglist: @kaylalb @alexinmotion @ovohanna24 @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @honeys-archives @fairygoround Summary: Ari leaves the right-wing room of the venue with a sullen faced Aaron Pierre which gives reason for suspicion. But, after knowing what Ari has on him, he declares that he will take a "momentary" break from the limelight and cameras to reconnect with nature. In reality, Ari plans to condition him into being her personal object. But will she always be in control?

(The story will pick up at Ari's house to clear up any confusion.)

______________________________________________________________

"Mmmmmmm, I'm sucking this dick good ain't I daddy?" Ari had immediately demanded that Aaron strip naked when they went into her house. It wasn't like Aaron was a weak man, he was over twice the size of Ari and could have cracked her head but why didn't he? Pure shock. The idea of someone close to him betraying him in such a manner left him completely stock still regarding how to handle the situation.

Aaron lets out a guttural moan as Ari deepthroats him, licking and sucking his dick like it was all she could do in life. They were out in the woods nobody knew where he was, and the press would lay off for a while because he announced his hiatus. "What was this bitch up to?" He thought to himself as he stared down into her dark brown eyes as she completely devoured him. Her braids had come unraveled because of how aggressively she was bobbing her head up and down.

"Didn't know you'd be a silent lover, Mr. Pierre. You could at least say something." Cocky, Ari was very cocky about the way she thought he was wrapped around her finger. Those beautiful everchanging eyes would close in arousal and then open with horror at the sight of Ari on her knees.

He was deep in thought and the cusp of cumming all over Ari's face, but he continued to think and think when suddenly it came to him: he would pretend to engage in her sick game. Ari wasn't a normal young woman by any means, going behind anybody's back and stealing information was a fucked up thing to do. In short words, the bitch was crazy and not in a wannabe way either.

"Ari, fuck, keep doing that thing with your tongue, please? I'll be a good boy... ah, I'm gonna cum on your face." He said with genuine arousal as Ari smirked around his length. Some dark part of him wanted to fuck her throat like a fleshlight and tie her down, really give her what she wants. In a blur, he had reluctantly pushed Ari away from him. She was on her back lying on the floor like there was nothing in the world to worry about, staring at him saying "try me" with her eyes.

Everybody that knew Aaron knew that it was very hard to make him angry and even harder to get him to physically engage with anybody, but this was a different situation he had found himself in. This woman had interrupted the flow of his career and his life because she wanted to fuck around and fuck around, he would do with her.

Recognition flashed in Ari's eyes as she stared at the 6'3" man who was no longer entertaining her antics. There was a stark contrast in his eyes, a look of pure determination and sadism brewing just underneath it all. She started to back away from him, but he just walked closer and closer backing her up against the wall.

"Enough is a fucking enough, Ari. I'm tired of this blackmail shit and the childish shit, all of it! You're making me go crazy with how fucked up it all is. Threatening my damn family and then me are you right out of your fucking mind? Like I wouldn't fight back or some shit some time or another well the novelty is gone now, dumbass. I cannot live the rest of my life knowing that you may be doing this to other people. I gotta deal with this shit, now!"

Ari was truly frightened at the deepness of his voice and the conviction in his words as he set his eyes on her. She hurriedly got up from the floor and tried to run somewhere, anywhere but he caught her by the wrist with a bruising grip. She kicked and screamed but he dragged her all the same with a passive look in his eye.

Aaron dragged her into her bedroom unknowingly and pushed her on the bed. Coldness seeped in through the windows making the bed railing cold against her back as he forced her against it. After a long time of silence, Aaron finally said, "I'm gonna tie yo ass up." Sweat dripped unto Ari's nose and she could determine what would happen if she were to be bound by the pure glee in his eyes.

He paced out of the bedroom ignoring Ari chastising and cursing him because what she said didn't even matter now... no, not really. After some time of looking through Ari's cluttered pantry and in her kitchen drawer he finally found a pack of zip ties. Ari was crumpled up on the bed like he left her and it sent a surge of arousal right to his dick at the tears running down her face.

"Nahhh don't cry now, bitch! You wasn't doing that shit when you made me eat you out at the party, you wasn't doing that shit when you was sucking my dick today. You really scared? I personally don't give a fuck. Now, if you get up and decide that you wanna run I'll slap the shit out of you and I don't even hit women but I'll make an exception for you, Ari... Goddamn monster..."

Ari shivered as Aaron secured her arms and legs with the zip ties, his eyes gleaming with something she thought only belonged to her. Deep blue and hazel eyes stared at her through thick lashes observing her every struggle through the zip ties. Her eyes darted across her room hoping that something or someone would save her, but the situation was hopeless.

Aaron practically shrugged off his clothes as he got on top of the bed with Ari and she drooled at the sight of his dick hanging between his legs, balls swinging like a pendulum. She was conflicted on how to feel: turned on by how he was taking action or scared of what those actions would be. He ripped the panties off of her and the fabric breaking against her skin caused Ari let out a mortifying scream. Upon her scream, Aaron smiled and pushed two fingers inside of her core which caused her to moan.

He stroked her g spot, his fingers rubbing against the shallow part that she could never find with her own fingers. Drool ran onto her pillowcase as he dug her out with his fingers trying to draw an orgasm out of her. The way Aaron was looking at her made her clit jump with arousal and she felt herself humping against his fingers.

"M'so good, gonna cum on your fingers.. ahh, right there, right there up some more, please? You feel so good.." Ari felt embarrassed as the muddled moans left her mouth but she couldn't stop them from coming out because of how perfect everything felt even knowing that she was tied up turned her on.

"You soaking up my fingers real good... hear that shit? I know you about to cum go ahead and do that for me baby so I can fuck you." His voice pushed her over the edge and she squirted all over his fingers and the pressure pushed the two intrusions out. Aaron began to rapidly slap her clit with restrained force causing her to form a little puddle beneath where she lay.

He slapped his dick on her mound before rubbing the head in her arousal and pushed in so slowly that Ari could feel every single inch. It was like something she had never felt before and she found herself squirming as he pushed more of himself in. His dick was really splitting her open and she knew in that moment that her ass was his now in a whole lot of ways.

"The fuck you running from, Ari? You want this dick that's why you did all that dumbassery with the photos and the personal information because why else would you go do it? I bet your mama them ashamed they raised a slut like you. But, you love it don't you, Ari? This feeling of being completely. taken. over." He gently thrusted inside her three times, and it already felt like she was being pushed over the edge for a second time. He was digging her shit out like he hadn't fucking anyone in a while, turning her out like it was his job to do it.

After every thrust, his balls would smack against her clit making her yelp but she couldn't even touch him with the way her hands were bound. He flipped Ari over on her stomach and drove his dick back in with a passion hitting every single spot inside of her that had her vision blurry with tears. The bed was creaking as he fucked into her, his brows furrowed with pure, unadulterated lust as he felt Ari's walls flutter around him.

"Ohhh shit! You better cum on this dick, bitch. Mmmm, give me that shit. You thought it was cool didn't you? Blackmail me and then fuck me the rest of your life, right? Well, as you can see the shit didn't work and it never would have. Didn't nobody tell you not to go chasing after every dream? Now look at you, dream turned into a nightmare didn't it?" Ari came around his dick as he kept fucking into her at a punishing pace because he had not yet cum.

As Ari felt his throbbing dick against her walls and the veins rubbing against her insides a growing irony began to form inside of her head: the secluded nature of her house wasn't really helping her right now and the fact that she got the zip ties prior because she thought that she would be tying him up. It was like her life was being written to go exactly the way she didn't want it to go.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum in this pussy. Hope you on birth control, Ari." He grumbled as he thrusted into her for a last time, completely filled her to the brim with his seed as she whined from the full feeling.

Aaron pushed Ari back on her back and stared at her for like 10 minutes. The birds were chirping happily outside because it was morning now and the warmth from the windows did nothing to thaw the coolness inside of the house. His eyes were a forest green now with a hint of hazel but the lust never left his gaze and now it was targeted.

"Ari, I'll play the sick game with you since it seems like you got everything set up for us to play it. I know you still got them photos on your laptop and stuff but it's ight. Everytime I see you going out of your way to try to defame me and fuck with my family I'll do something even worse than this. Just play with me and see what happens, Ari."

To be truthful, Ari found herself wanting to test his boundaries all over again.

[11queensupreme11]

Hi! So, I actually don't know if I sent this ask cuz I wanted to send it at like 2 o'clock in the morning, and I also had the idea for the ask in what might have been a dream. Overall I am very confused, so if I did send this already or answered an ask similar to this then please ignore this 😅

So I was wondering what would happen if, in the cheating au, Percy does kill herself, but cu suddenly wakes up to when she first arrived, like in the isekai asks a while back. How insane would he be? Cuz I don't think he could just wait till the day he originally met her, and would just attack the greeks to get her back

oh i like this! back to the cú chulainn cheating au hehe (my fav au for him so far lol) and oooooooh another isekai to the past thing!!!!!!!

when cú chulainn wakes up back in his old room in his father's palace, he's gonna be confused. but then he gets the shock of his life when he sees what date it is; it wasn't just percy's "birthday" but also the year she was "born"

considering that they've been married for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years, he definitely knows about her arrival. she most likely told him what it was like, so he 100% knows to go straight to the bifrost to find her, knocks out the guards, and arrives just in time for her to fall out and catches her in his arms (awwww how romantic 💖)

this poor man is STRUGGLING not to get emotional. she's got bed hair, wearing the most ridiculous midgardian pajamas he's ever seen, and she looks lost af, but she looks absolutely BEAUTIFUL for him and he's in love all over again 🥺💖💖💖💖 he has to force himself not to be too forward; he has a chance to fix things again and he can't squander it by freaking her out.

so he plays along, acting just as clueless as her. he certainly has no idea how she got here, but he might as well take some responsibility and help the poor girl out! so he takes her back to the otherworld (the section of valhalla where the celtic pantheon resides). lugh is absolutely flabbergasted as to why his son's demanding they take in a mortal girl with an aura concerningly similar to poseidon, but he allows it thx to cú chulainn's insistence.

he tries to horde her in the palace LMAO 😭😭😭 just like the good ol days i guess. anyway, he becomes her friend and protector, the only person she can trust in this scary new universe. and he pretends to be helpful and try to find a way for her back home, when he's actually not. every day he comes with more grim news, "i'm sorry percy, no progress today", "i'm sorry, there was nothing new i could find", "i'm sorry, but things aren't looking so good..." he's trying to slowly ease her into the idea of giving on returning to that fucked up universe she calls "home", to break down every bit of hope she has left.

meanwhile, he tries to rizz her up LMAO 😭😭😭😭 but he actually knows what he's doing! this dude's a whore who slept with like... half of ireland, he is absolutely good at charming ladies. showing up shirtless and sweaty, getting in close to hear, touching her, rubbing her soothingly, etc. any girl would've swooned. the issue is that it's percy he's trying to rizz up 💀💀💀💀 percy who traveled through an entire labyrinth for days on end with a party of people who ALL liked her (anthonius, rachel, ethan) and didn't realize it 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

but it's okay cuz he knows how dense his silly (future) wife is, so he's not too irked. i know some ppl would think he'd be going insane rn, but nope! why would he fret? all the yans are out of the way, NOBODY knows of her existence aside from lugh and a few others, and he is the ONLY person she fully trusts. everything is going his way, he just needs to bide his time.

the most pressing matter is the issue of her soul. she's only got about a year before the first crack happens and she has to suffer agonizing pains 24/7, and then another year before she's obliterated for good. THAT'S his greatest worry, because he doesn't want percy to be in pain. his plan is to ascend into godhood and then ascend percy next to be his immortal wife and goddess in order to tackle the soul issue. forcing an ascension would make her hate him and he doesn't want that.

so he NEEDS her to fall in love with him fast so that the idea of eternity together wouldn't be so daunting to her. fortunately for him, getting her to fall would be easy when she's so isolated and he's the only other constant in her life 💖

also, you best believe he's never EVER going to cheat again. he's learned his lesson in the worst way possible, and he cannot ever put his beloved through that again.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Alright, jumping on the bandwagon...

 

AGSZC + Turks & Rufus

Do they know what a tampon actually looks like andor how one is used?

Zack, that's not candy—!!!

tbh im asking this only because i suddenly remembered a post where people were talking about tampons & how boys at their school would flinch away from them & some threw one & they scattered like bugs at just the idea a packaged tampon would touch them like r u srs

also someone said some boys at their school just? didn't even know? what they looked like? at. all. they thought a novelty pen thing was an actual tampon & were doing that 'tryina be funny' thing where it's 1 pt. taunting 1 pt. laughing at their own jokes which reminded me too much of my school & wow memories of stupid in need of repression ow

also also tbh it all reminded me of an old commercial where the male teacher confiscates (?) a girls tampon an is like 'hope you brought enough for the class' to which she replies 'enough for the girls' & every male you can see is confused as fuck which seems like it wouldn't but does actually, sadly track

and that's why you got this ask. 🎉

 

*Zack is digging inside Angeal's desk like a raccoon in a trash can, then he triumphantly pulls out a colorful box*

Zack: Sweet! What flavor are these? Can I have one?

Angeal: .....

Zack: ? :)

*Angeal places a hand on Zack's forehead. Maybe he has a fever. Maybe—somewhere, somehow—this is the result of brain damage No fever. This is just how Zack is*

Angeal: Zack. Those are tampons.

Zack: Huh?? You mean for, like, periods and stuff? Why do you have these? And why do they look like candy?

Angeal: I keep them on hand in case someone needs them. And they do not look like candy.

*Zack pulls out a bright blue wrapped tampon*

Zack: Could've fooled me.

*Genesis strolls in*

Genesis: Those look delicious. What flavor are they?

Angeal: What the fuck were you guys doing in health class?? They're tampons.

Genesis, recoiling, scandalized: Goddess, is that what they are? I could've sworn they were a delicacy.

Angeal: You two give small-town country boys a bad name. Sephiroth, at his grown age, knows better.

*Right on cue, Sephiroth walks in*

Sephiroth: Why do you have menstrual products?

Angeal: Aha! See? Maturity. Intelligence. Common sense—

*He stops mid-sentence as Sephiroth pulls a condom from his drawer and starts unwrapping it*

Angeal:

Sephiroth: This is bubblegum, yes?

(Meanwhile, in an entirely separate tragedy unfolding elsewhere)

Cissnei: Hey, do you have a tampon?

Shotgun: Yeah, here.

*Just as she hands it to her, Reno walks by and snatches it*

Reno: Ha! Too slow! You snooze, you lose!

*He unwraps it confidently and takes a bite*

Cissnei:

Shotgun:

Reno, chewing: This is not a marshmallow.

[ragnarokhound]

hey wife. happy (late) valentine’s day!

Here’s a new crack jaytim scenario: Tim moves into a new apartment but can’t be bothered to build his bed frame. He hires a task rabbit and Jason shows up. Cue meet cute/dirty dirty sex/both/etc

Could also have an epilogue where jason hires a taskrabbit to kill the joker. It is Gotham, after all!

hello my love U_U it's been far too long - happy valentines to you too! <333

Oh my god. I hadn't heard of task rabbit before now. I'm delighted by this, it's so 'plumber comes to clean my pipes ;)))'. 'Task rabbit comes to build my bed, then [redacted] me until I [redacted] all over [redacted]'.

Tim's working from home, he's got this huge project that he's crunching for, but he's also just moved and hasn't had the time to unpack or anything. Handyman Jason gets booked by this well-off shut in, experiences a full 'bitch, you live like this?' moment that has Tim flushing in embarrassment but also indignation. 'Come on man i JUST MOVED'.

For extra goofs and a cuter, slower burn, their first meet cute is more a meet ugly. Tim tries to hire a different task rabbit handyman to come in for the bookshelf he can't figure out (he's got another deadline), then for the bathroom sink when it's suddenly fucked (no idea what to do, he could figure it out but at what cost), and then for the fucking hOLe iN thE CEiLiNG thAt oPEnS UP (they said it was an old building but COME ON) - but it's ALWAYS JASON. EVERY TIME.

By the third time, Tim is resigned to always getting laughed at behind his back by him, esp because Jason is good at everything so fuck it. FUCK IT. Meanwhile, Jason is thinking 'i can fix him' 'and also his apartment' every time he comes over. I like to think that the first time they kiss, Tim has called for help doing a two-man job - but not through the service. Jason gave him his personal number ;)

[fairytales-and-folklore]

What To Do When Your Emotionally Constipated Werewolf Boyfriend Gets Cursed By A Witch: A Guide

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: What To Do When Your Emotionally Constipated Werewolf Boyfriend Gets Cursed By A Witch: A Guide

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Derek gets cursed by a coven of witches with an inability to lie and a compulsion to blurt out whatever he's thinking and feeling at any given moment. The ironic thing is, everything he says is incredibly nice, heartfelt, and affectionate, leaving his packmates wondering: who are you and what have you done with our emotionally constipated surly alpha?

"Hey, maybe true love's kiss will break your curse," Stiles jokes one night when they're all crowded around the dinner table sharing Italian takeaway. Derek practically shoves his entire fist into his mouth to stop himself from blurting out, maybe you should give it a try. Luckily, Stiles is too busy screeching about burning his tongue on a scalding mouthful of mozzarella to notice.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh as he approaches the clearing along the mountainside, home to one of the most powerful covens Beacon Hills has ever seen, swathed in protection spells so thick it's a wonder he'd been able to track them down at all. He hopes like hell they'll be able to fix this, because otherwise, he is so, so screwed.

Mother.

Fucking.

Witches.

• • •

It starts at a pack meeting late one night in mid-October, all twelve of them crowded around the living room of the reconstructed Hale house in varying states of worry and boredom, half-empty pizza boxes scattered across coffee tables and couch cushions, trying to figure out how to solve the recent problem of witches in Beacon Hills.

According to Derek, a powerful coven has encroached upon their territory, stirring up mayhem all over town — people disappearing and reappearing at random, animals transfigured into objects and vice versa (that was a wild day at the cat café), townsfolk spontaneously sprouting mythical appendages (unicorn horns, fairy wings, mermaid scales, the works) and not taking any notice until they pass by a shop window and everyone rushes out to compliment them on their SFX skills, and, of course, the occasional body-swap. All in all, it's been relatively harmless, more like practical jokes in the spirit of the season than anything truly nefarious, but Scott figures it's best they put a stop to it before someone gets hurt.

Derek and Scott had been reluctant when Stiles first pitched the idea of a co-alpha blended pack dynamic, but so far, it's been working out surprisingly well. They've been seeing eye to eye on things a lot more lately, the pack growing stronger, learning to trust and rely on one another, now that they're one united front. And on the days where they clash, Stiles, self-appointed emissary, is quick to jump in and mediate. Derek had always assumed that Stiles would be biased and favor Scott, but he's actually quite good at balancing between the two of them, seeing the merit of both of their sides, translating miscommunications in a way both Derek and Scott can understand.

Today, however, is not one of those days. Scott's arguing for one plan of attack, Derek for another — one of them says something monumentally stupid just to bruise the other's ego, and just like that, all hell breaks loose, tempers flaring, insults flying. Stiles, bless him, makes a valiant attempt to intervene, but he's so overwhelmed by the looming threat of mercurial magic-wielders that he ends up interjecting his own panic into the situation, and suddenly it's the lacrosse locker room all over again, pacing back and forth until he's just an anxiety-ridden blur, freaking out over what horrible thing the witches might be planning.

"The full moon falls on Halloween this year, and a whole-ass coven of powerful witches just happens to show up in Beacon Hills?" he frets, words tumbling out of his mouth so fast it's a wonder he doesn't run out of breath. "You can't tell me that's just a coincidence. What if they're planning some kind of ritualistic sacrifice?"

"Stiles, I highly doubt that could happen twice in the same—" Allison interjects in an attempt to soothe his nerves, but Stiles just barrels on like he hadn't heard her.

"I've seen Hocus Pocus! I know what they're after!" he practically shouts. "It's the virgin thing all over again, and in case it isn't obvious, I still haven't fixed that particular problem. Seriously, how many times is my life going to become a fuck or die trope?"

Derek blinks a couple of times, lips parting slightly as he watches Stiles's frantic pacing come to a sudden halt.

"That settles it," Stiles declares with a decisive nod. "I need to have sex. Right now. Someone needs to sex me right fucking now."

There's a scuffle of laughter from the far side of the room, and then Erica's shouting, "Derek will do it!" at the same time Jackson snickers, "Derek, that's your cue."

Derek closes his eyes and lets out a weary sigh. Of course they'd jump all over that. Of course. Because somehow, over the span of the past couple of years,nearly everyone in the pack has gotten it into their heads that Stiles and Derek have got a thing for each other, and apparently, they're feeling particularly cocky today. 

He supposes he should be used to it by now. Derek has lost count of the amount of times he's caught them all muttering things like Jesus Christ, just fuck each other already and get a goddamn room under their breath every time the two of them start going at it, throwing empty threats and half-hearted insults at each other in the weirdest brand of flirting anyone has ever seen, or the way they all make gagging noises claiming they're choking on the thick layer of sexual tension permeating the air every time Stiles and Derek so much as glance in each other's direction.

Or the way Erica had full-on cackled that one time she'd caught Derek burying his face into a pillow that Stiles had spent the entire pack meeting holding, fidgeting with it until he'd unraveled the threading in one of the corners.

It's fine, Derek thinks. He's got a sewing kit around here somewhere, he can mend it later. He is a little concerned, though. He thinks maybe Stiles had just been nervous about the topics addressed during the meeting, scared for his father's safety at the idea of yet another potential threat, but he doesn't smell any hint of fear on the fabric. It just smells good. Like Stiles. Like pack. Like home. 

And— there's a hint of something else there too, something that Derek can't quite place, but it's making his heart do this funny flipping thing inside his chest.

"Oh my god, you guys are so stupid for each other, it's sickening," Erica says, but her tone is playful, almost fond. 

"What?" Derek says distractedly, like he's genuinely surprised to find himself with company.

Erica rolls her eyes. 

"The pillow, Derek," she says, pointing at it like it's incriminating evidence. Derek wraps his arms around it and pulls it closer to his chest, tucking it under his chin.

"The fucking pillow Stiles used as a goddamn boner shield all meeting," Erica smirks. "You do know why he had it, don't you? Come on, you can't tell me you didn't do it on purpose."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Derek snaps, but it's less heated and more defensive than anything else, and suddenly he won't look her in the eye. 

Erica heaves a theatrical sigh. 

"Next time you show up for a pack meeting straight after a workout, make sure you remember to put on a fucking shirt so Stiles doesn't have a heart attack, will you?"

And then she's laughing again, whipping around the corner and strolling up the stairs to her and Boyd's room, before Derek can do more than splutter.

Derek pushes the memory out of his mind, filing it away under things we refuse to talk about, along with the rest of the ever-growing mountain of Stiles-related incidents.

He's about to laugh it off, roll his eyes and tell them all to shut the fuck up as usual, but instead, what comes out of his mouth is—

"Okay."

Spoken in the softest fucking cadence he didn't even know he possessed.

The room falls dead silent. Everyone stops what they're doing and just stares at him. Derek's heart picks up speed as his brain catches up with his stupid, stupid mouth. His eyes widen like he can't believe he just said that out loud, like he had absolutely no control over it. Because truthfully, he hadn't. He chances a look over at Stiles, and— if he wasn't so shocked and terrified by what had just happened, he'd have laughed, because Stiles has got his mouth hanging open comically wide, eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline as he fixes Derek with an incredulous stare.

And then Stiles bursts out laughing.

"Oh my god," he says, practically wheezing, hand clutched over his heart. "You really had me going there for a minute. You're messing with me, just like Danny. I've never heard you joke like that before."

And then everyone else starts laughing, and Derek forces himself to join in, pointedly avoiding the looks of what the fuck plastered all over Boyd, Isaac, and Erica's faces, internally screaming his own chorus of what the ever-loving fuck because that definitely hadn't been a joke and Derek definitely hadn't mean to say that out loud.

Amidst his panic, the query who the fuck is Danny? nettles at the back of his mind, and he can't decide if he's more offended by the fact that someone else propositioned Stiles for sex, or that the fact that they weren't actually serious about it.

• • •

At first, Stiles assumes it's a practical joke, or some kind of bizarre six-months-late April Fool's prank. It has to be, because over the course of the week that follows, Derek stops being a sarcastic asshole toward Stiles, and instead, starts showering him in compliments. Stiles is just going about his life, cracking self-deprecating jokes, but instead of smirking and adding an insulting quip of his own, Derek has started to become like, aggressively nice, getting almost angry whenever Stiles insults himself.

"God, I'm so stupid," Stiles sighs as he crosses out the wrong answer to a math problem he'd been working on at Derek's kitchen table.

"Hey, don't talk about yourself like that," Derek growls, brow furrowed like he's genuinely offended by Stiles's offhand remark. "You're one of the smartest people I've ever met."

Stiles stares at him, highlighter cap falling out of his open mouth.

Derek blinks a few times in rapid succession, dropping the stack of playing cards he'd been shuffling for their upcoming game night onto the kitchen counter with a deafening clatter. He looks just as surprised as Stiles feels.

"Uh…thanks, man," Stiles manages, a tell-tale blush prickling the back of his neck as he buries his nose in his textbook and doesn't resurface for several minutes straight, having retained absolutely nothing on the page.

A few days later finds Lydia, Cora, and Malia all roaring with laughter as Stiles walks them through his intricate twenty-five step plan to get someone to want to sleep with him before the next full moon. Mock-insulted and mostly joking, he says, "What, you don't think there's at least one person out there who wants to get with all of this? I'm a goddamn snack, I'll have you know."

"Shut up. No you're not," Derek snaps, glancing up from the book he'd been pretending to read in the far corner of the living room. And then, like he just can't help himself, immediately follows it up with, "You're a full course meal."

Stiles pauses, staring at him in disbelief. 

Derek suddenly goes very rigid, eyes widening ever so slightly in alarm. He slaps a hand over his mouth, like he's physically restraining himself from saying anything more. 

And then Stiles bursts out laughing. 

"Dude, that's funny. I'm gonna have to start using that," he says, penciling in the pick-up line as step twenty-six.

The thing is, it isn't just compliments. Derek has also started to become, like, weirdly affectionate, in his own gruff, sourwolf way. He's started talking more — Stiles is fairly certain Derek has spoken more over the past week than he has in the past two years — his expressions becoming softer, a wider range of emotions smoothing away the frown lines as he opens up about his past, sharing pieces of family history, little anecdotes and personal stories and random facts about himself. 

Stiles collects them like a memory magpie.

Derek prefers pancakes over waffles. 

Derek likes the color red. 

Derek has the entire Harry Potter series in pristine hardcover. 

Derek used to sit at his grandmother's feet and untangle yarn for her while she knitted him and his siblings cozy winter hats and sweaters. 

And it'd be really endearing if it didn't make Stiles wildly uncomfortable, because this is Derek we're talking about — a guy so emotionally constipated, it looks like it's causing him physical pain. Over the years, Stiles has come to expect a certain dynamic between the two of them, one that straddles the line between half-hearted insults and playful banter, and this whole weird new nice guy routine that Derek has suddenly got going on is starting to make Stiles suspicious.

He starts to get really paranoid, thinking Derek must have somehow found out about his — well, he wouldn't call it a crush, exactly — and is just fucking with him, just to be a dick. Like, maybe he caught Stiles staring at him during pack meetings one too many times, or— oh god, what if he can smell the arousal coming off of him in waves whenever they lock eyes, and he's finally put two and two together after all these years and figured out that the reason Stiles's heartbeat goes haywire every time Derek so much as glances in his direction isn't because he's scared of him, or because he's had too much caffeine.

Or— oh fuck. Maybe Derek had heard him that one time he'd jerked off in the shower to the thought of Derek pressing him up against his bedroom wall, and gasped out Derek's name as he'd, uh, crescendoed, before strolling back into his room wearing nothing but a sated, shit-eating grin and a towel wrapped around his waist, only to find the real Derek sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for him. 

Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin and drops the towel, shouting all manner of colorful obscenities. The look on Derek's face is…interesting. Stiles can practically feel Derek's eyes boring into him, trailing over every inch of him, lingering on the border where his towel meets his hipbones and swallowing thickly, and Stiles can't help but follow the movements, entranced, watching his Adam's apple bob up and down and wondering how it would taste under his tongue, and oh god, now his body thinks it's time for round two and he's tenting his towel and fuck fuck fuck oh no—

And then Derek clears his throat a little louder and more aggressively than normal, and they both avert their eyes, and Stiles controls himself long enough to ask why Derek is here, and then Derek slowly turns his back so that Stiles can hastily get dressed, handing him a slip of paper with a weird symbol on it that he's hoping Stiles can decipher for him.

"So, uh…out of curiosity…exactly how long were you here before I stepped out of the shower?" Stiles asks as Derek grips the frame of his bedroom window, one foot already out on the roof. The crack in his voice is hard to miss.

"Long enough," Derek says cryptically, which could either mean "I heard you" or "you kept me waiting," and Stiles is honestly not sure which one is worse.

A loud crash snaps Stiles back to the present and he looks up to find Erica climbing through his bedroom window, followed swiftly by Boyd and Isaac, tumbling into a heap onto his bedroom floor. Try as they might, the leather-clad trio have never quite managed to replicate Derek's finesse when it comes to breaking and entering.

Before Stiles can get out even so much as a what the fuck, they're rounding on him, talking over each other in a worried frenzy, insisting that there's something very very wrong with Derek. Stiles's heart starts to race, mouth going dry, and he's already going through his mental rolodex of potential cures and fix-its, when they say the most ludicrous thing he's ever heard in his life.

"We think that Derek's been cursed," Erica says.

"By a witch," Isaac clarifies.

"And now he can only say really nice things," Boyd finishes.

"What," Stiles says flatly, and then he's snorting with incredulous laughter.

"I'm sorry, run that by me again. You think Derek's been hit with a…what, a nice guy curse?" he snickers. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"

"You don't understand," Erica says seriously, bracing her hands on either side of Stiles's shoulders. "Tonight, he told us that he's proud of us and that he loves us."

Stiles's mouth drops open in shock.

"And that's not all," Isaac chimes in. "We tested it out. Asked him to tell us how he really feels about Scott, and do you know what he said?"

"What?" Stiles eyes him warily, preparing to launch into a one-man Scott McCall defense party.

"That Scott's a good kid with a heart of gold," Erica scoffs, like it's physically painful for her to recall. "Can you believe that?"

"Holy shit," Stiles says, genuinely stunned.

And suddenly it all clicks into place, the reason Derek has been so unnervingly kind to him these past few days. He's been cursed. Stupid as it sounds, there's no other explanation for it.

"Yeah, so…as you can see, Derek needs help," Erica says, like being nice is some kind of terminal illness.

"And what makes you think I can fix this?" Stiles asks.

"Duh, you're the brains of the pack," Erica grins at him, like it's obvious.

"Derek said that if anyone is clever enough to find the answer, it's you," Boyd tells him. And that's…well, weirdly nice.

• • •

So he researches, and he researches, and he researches, and he doesn't come up with a single damn thing, because never, in the history of witchcraft and wizarding lore, has there ever been a curse that made someone say nice things.

Still, it keeps happening. Derek keeps dropping nice bombs fucking everywhere, every single time he opens his mouth. And it sucks, because it's really starting to have an effect on Stiles. Derek will say something really sweet to him, and he'll find himself starting to give in to that hope he's been harboring for years, and then he has to shake himself really hard and remind himself that it's just the curse talking, that Derek doesn't actually mean anything he's saying. 

Except—

Well…lately, it's like all of their interactions have this weird sort of romantic, sexually charged undercurrent to them, and Stiles can't help but notice that Derek doesn't act like that with anyone else but him.

He'll compliment Lydia on her intellect. Kira on her katana wielding skills. Allison on her archery. He'll tell Cora and Malia how grateful he is to call them family, how brave and strong and resilient they are. He'll tell Isaac, Erica, and Boyd how proud he is that they've come so far and learned so much, not just from him, but from Scott as well, who makes a great leader. He even tells Jackson that he thinks he could go pro in lacrosse, if he wanted to. 

But with Stiles, it's much more frequent, much more specific. Little details he shouldn't notice about him. If Stiles didn't know any better, he'd think Derek was flirting with him. 

"Red is a great color on you." 

"You smell like the forest after it rains."

"Your moles and freckles remind me of star maps." 

"I like the way your smile lights up your eyes."

"You have really soft hands." 

One time, he literally just said the word, "forearms," with a wide-eyed expression on his face before bolting out of the room, leaving Stiles standing alone in the middle of the living room with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a paintbrush held aloft in one hand.

And it all just keeps tumbling out of his mouth like dulcet word vomit, like he's physically incapable of restraining himself. 

Not only that, but Stiles could almost swear he keeps catching Derek just staring at him at random intervals, but whenever he looks up, Derek's gaze quickly shifts away and the tips of his ears redden a little bit like he's embarrassed at having been caught looking at Stiles, and it's like they've switched places, because out of the two of them, Stiles is supposed to be the blushing idiot, the one saying all of these stupidly candid schmaltzy things. Stiles is the one who notices all of Derek's little details, not the other way around. 

It's so unnerving that Stiles starts to wonder whether Derek has been spiked with something even worse, like a love potion. Stiles buckles down and hits the books even harder, losing sleep as he continues to search for a cure.

• • •

They're crowded around the kitchen table one afternoon after classes let out, shooting the shit about what they think the coven could possibly be up to, when talk turns to childhood nostalgia and they all start arguing over which Hogwarts house they'd each get sorted into if they were witches. 

Scott gets a unanimous vote for Gryffindor, but his triumphant smile fades when Erica insists that Stiles belongs in Slytherin with her and Lydia, and that Derek is some kind of Gryffindor/Slytherin hybrid. Isaac thinks they're all squibs. Boyd says that Stiles would get eaten by the giant squid before he even had a chance to be sorted. Stiles gets heated, slapping the table and arguing that Derek is obviously a Hufflepuff. 

"Think about it," he says. "He's all about family, incredibly loyal, selfless to a fault, patient to a fault when it comes to that creepy uncle of his, believes in hard work and fair play, strong sense of upholding justice. Case in point, Derek is the perfect Hufflepuff."

"What the hell is a Hufflepuff?" Derek's sudden interjection makes them all jump, and Stiles chokes on air because there's no way in hell Derek just quoted A Very Potter Musical. Eleven pairs of eyes whip to the doorframe where Derek is standing, balancing half a dozen pizza boxes in one hand, one eyebrow arched like he's seriously reconsidering his choice in packmates. And then his entire frame relaxes, broad smile spreading across his face as he strides toward the kitchen table and sets the stack of boxes down.

"Just kidding. I've got a prefect badge with a black and yellow badger crest on it hidden in my sock drawer," he says, and Stiles doesn't miss the way the tips of his ears burn scarlet after he drops that little anecdote.

"You're all wrong, by the way," he adds, almost as if compelled to keep talking. "If anything, Stiles is a Ravenclaw. Naturally curious, avid learner and researcher, creative and clever. And I mean, sure, he's got some positive Gryffindor and Slytherin qualities, too. We all do. Bravery and cunning kind of comes with the territory. But Stiles is a textbook Ravenclaw. Plus, he looks good in blue."

Derek pauses for a moment, wide-eyed expression fixed to the kitchen floor as he sucks in a steady breath and then very slowly releases it back out through his nostrils. He shakes his head as if to clear it, and then promptly walks out of the kitchen at a quick stride, leaving Stiles staring after him, open-mouthed.

(And if Stiles winds up at the local craft store the following morning, picking out the softest black and yellow yarn he can find and cramming a copy of Knitting For Dummies under his arm so that he can maybe learn how to knit Derek a Hufflepuff scarf for his birthday this year…well, what of it?)

• • •

"Hey, maybe true love's kiss will break your curse," Stiles jokes one night when they're all crowded around the dinner table sharing Italian takeaway.

Derek practically shoves his entire fist into his mouth to stop himself from blurting out, maybe you should give it a try.

Luckily, Stiles is too busy screeching about burning his tongue on a scalding mouthful of mozzarella to notice.

• • •

They're in Derek's living room late one evening, nearly a fortnight after the initial incident. Everyone else has gone home, or gone up to their respective rooms. Everyone except for Stiles, who had opted to stay behind to do a bit more reading in an effort to find a way to cure Derek of what Stiles has been affectionately referring to as the curse of the compliments, tucked away into a leather armchair in the far corner of the room, while Derek sprawls out on the couch, exhausted after a run through the woods.

He doesn't know when he had gotten so comfortable around Stiles, allowed himself to become so vulnerable and unguarded, but he ends up falling asleep, lulled by the sound of Stiles's steady scribbling as he takes notes and hums thoughtfully to himself, altogether missing the affectionate smile that spreads across Stiles's face as he glances up in Derek's direction and falters mid-sentence around a half-formed question. A little shiver winds its way down Derek's spine, and Stiles immediately bolts upright, scattering notes and highlighters everywhere as he moves to wrap Derek in a patchwork quilt draped over the back of the couch.

As Derek drifts into an easy slumber, he dreams about Stiles. It's that same dream he's had countless times before, only this time, there's no impending danger, no kanima stalking around the edges of the swimming pool — just the two of them, clutching one another, breath coming out in heated gusts that spiral over the top of their heads. 

It's all so vivid, like he's reliving it, only through a different lens. He can feel the bruising grip of Stiles's arms as they wind around his torso, the way Stiles's heartbeat crashes against his ribcage, reverberating against his back. In this memory, Stiles isn't holding him up because he has to — because this time, Derek has full control over his body. He twists around in Stiles's arms until they're facing one another, breath ghosting over each other's lips, and then he's backing him up against the edge of the pool, fingertips tracing the curves of his reddened lips before surging forward and capturing him in a kiss.

He can feel everything, the press of Stiles's body against his own as Stiles arches into him, writhes against him, like he can't get close enough. The feel of Stiles's lips and teeth and tongue against his throat as he buries his face into the curve of Derek's shoulder. The way Stiles whispers his name against Derek's ear, desperate and longing, with a soft affection that makes him want to weep. 

And it's all too much, too much, too cruel because it isn't real. 

Derek wakes with a gasp and Stiles's name on the tip of his tongue, only to find the real Stiles hovering over him with a blanket grasped in his outstretched hands, staring down at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open.

"Sorry, I was just—" Stiles falters, taking a cautionary step backward and averting his eyes. "You were shivering. I thought you were cold."

He holds out the blanket like it's a peace offering.

"Oh…uh…thank you," Derek says softly, reaching out to take it and tampering down the electric shock that jolts through his chest as his hand brushes against Stiles's fingertips. 

"And um…you were kind of talking in your sleep?" Stiles poses this next statement as a question, like he's giving Derek an out, eyes cast toward the ceiling as he attacks a phantom itch on the back of his neck.

Derek bolts upright, alarmed.

"What did I say?" he asks, fully aware of how frantic he sounds.

"You, uh…well, you sort of said my name. And you were kind of like, breathing really heavily," Stiles offers, chancing a glance over at Derek. 

"Is everything okay?" he asks, shifting into concerned pack dad mode, leaning in closer and placing a comforting hand on Derek's shoulder.

"Whoah, your heart's beating really fast," he breathes, brows narrowed in concern as he searches Derek's face for a fault line, no doubt feeling the erratic thrumming as he presses his fingertips against Derek's collarbone. "You okay? Nervous about something?"

Without missing a beat, and absolutely hating it, Derek says, "Yes."

"You want to talk about it?" Stiles asks softly. "What's got you so worked up?"

You, Derek muses with something caught between a smirk and a grimace. Seconds pass before he comes to the horrifying realization that he's just said that out loud. Stiles pales, absentmindedly digging his fingertips into Derek's shoulder, where he seems to be fused.

"I make you nervous?" he asks, his voice soft, disbelieving.

"Yes," Derek grits out against his will.

"Why—" Stiles pauses, swallowing thickly. "Why do I make you nervous?"

Derek stares at him, eyes wide, wondering how in the hell he's going to get himself out of this one without revealing too much.

"I was dreaming about that night at the pool," he says slowly, choosing his words very carefully. "That's why I said your name."

And technically, technically, it's the truth. Just not all of it.

"Oh," Stiles visibly deflates, a gust of breath he didn't realize he'd been holding rushing out of him. He quickly shakes it off. "Yeah, that's gotta leave you with some pretty heavy PTSD, huh?"

Derek nods, pressing his lips together to keep the truth from spilling out.

"Hey, Derek?" Stiles says suddenly, a heart-clenching combination of guilt, sadness, and determination in his eyes. "You know I wouldn't have just left you there, right? Despite what you might think, I wasn't just looking out for myself that night. Literally the only reason I let you go was because I thought if I could get a hold of Scott, we'd both have more of a fighting chance. And if Scott hadn't showed— I would've held you up all night, if I had to. After everything we've been through, I just…I hope you know that by now." 

And honestly, Derek might as well be back at the bottom of that pool, because right now, he feels like he's drowning. He just stares up at Stiles, not trusting himself to speak, his throat uncomfortably tight, the corners of his eyes prickling.

"And I'm not just saying that to be nice," Stiles continues, cutting through the tension just as easily as he'd created it. "I'm not the one who's under some weird kind of nice guy curse, or anything. Which I know must be an absolute pain in the ass for you, but don't worry, I'm doing everything I can to find a cure, and then you'll be back to the surly, grumpy Sourwolfwe all know and love."

Stiles gives Derek's shoulder a reassuring little squeeze, fixing him with an affectionate half-smile before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and slipping out the front door. Derek stares at the leather armchair scattered with books and leaflets and highlighters until the Stiles-shaped imprint in its cushions fades away, and then he's stalking up to his bedroom, dragging the quilt and the pillow that always smells like Stiles with him and wrapping himself up in it like a burrito.

• • •

Stiles nearly has a heart attack when his bedroom window slides open at a quarter to midnight on the full moon, and Derek comes tumbling inside, a little breathless, but looking determined and resolute. He squares his shoulders, looks Stiles directly in the eye, and says, "Now that I'm no longer cursed and can say this without being compelled to, I've got something I need to tell you."

Stiles prepares for an onslaught of…well, something bad, because that's just his life now, isn't it? That's just been his life for the past several years, ever since the night he decided, hey, looking for half a dead body in the woods sounds like fun and next thing he knows, his best friend is a werewolf, and then everyone around him is a werewolf, or a kanima, or a kitsune, or a banshee, or a darach, or—

What he isn't prepared for is for Derek to start waxing poetic about all the things he likes about Stiles. Because oh right, on top of everything else, there's also witches and Derek has been cursed. Only it's weird, because it's not quite as nice as it has been over the past couple of weeks — in fact, he's pretty sure there's a couple of insults disguised as compliments thrown in there that Stiles doesn't even have time to register because he's just so shocked by what Derek says next.

And I think I might be in love with you.

I think I have been for a while now, I just didn't realize it.

Or maybe I just wasn't willing to admit it.

I guess it took being cursed to finally admit the truth.

And that nervous little laugh he huffs out afterward. Sweet Jesus.

Every inch of Stiles is on fire.

"Oh fuck," he says, a surge of adrenaline burning through his veins like the world's worst shot of fireball whiskey. Derek's smile withers, because yeah, oh fuck isn't exactly at the top of the list of things you want to hear after you've just poured your heart out, and the look Stiles gives him is nothing short of devastating. 

"Oh fuck, I was right," Stiles groans, burying his face into the palms of his hands like he's about to cry. "It's gotten so much worse. You're not just cursed, you're delusional."

It hits Derek like a punch to the gut. He barely registers the blur of red and blue as Stiles bounds off the bed and bolts to his desk, rummaging through haphazard stacks of journals and leather-bound books with spiderwebbed spines. Derek watches him with a kind of cautious curiosity, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

"Don't worry, Derek," Stiles reassures him in a tone that's anything but, shoving the cap of a highlighter off with his teeth and circling a passage in one of the many, many pages of his chicken-scratch notes. "I promise we'll fix this. There's got to be something in here about love potions, because it's clear to me now that you've been spiked with one. We'll catch the witch that did this to you and make them pay."

And just like that, it all clicks into place. The knot coiling in Derek's stomach unclenches, and then he's laughing unabashedly.

"You're such a fucking dumbass sometimes, you know that?" Derek says as his laughter subsides, the gentle fondness of his tone clashing with the bite of his words. "I haven't been spiked with love potion, Stiles. And I told you, I'm not cursed anymore."

Stiles freezes, caught off guard, because it's the first time he's heard Derek's sarcasm in over two weeks, and he kind of hates how much he'd missed it.

"Are…are you sure?" he asks, wincing at how small he sounds.

"Dead certain," Derek replies with a shit-eating grin that shows all of his teeth, looking for all the world like he's physically struggling to hold back his amusement.

And that's when it hits him. If Derek was still cursed, if he'd been poisoned with some kind of love potion, he wouldn't be able to throw insults and sarcastic quips at Stiles. It would go against the very nature of the spell.

Which can only mean one thing: Derek isn't cursed. He's perfectly fine, and he's fucking with him. 

Stiles can't believe he learned two-color brioche for this asshole.

"Fuck you," Stiles says harshly, watching with a sick sort of satisfaction as it wipes the smirk right off of Derek's stupidly handsome face.

"Wait, what?" Derek balks, blinking rapidly like he'd just been struck over the head.

"Fuck you for thinking it's funny to mess with a guy's feelings like this," Stiles spits, hating the pathetic tremor in his voice.

"Stiles, what are you talking about?" Derek asks, eyes wide with worry, like Stiles is the one who's delusional. 

"The way I see it, there's only two options here," Stiles barrels on in spite of the anxiety-fueled adrenaline twisting through his veins, heat rising in his cheeks. "Either you've been cursed or spiked with amortentia or — I don't fucking know, some kind of spell that makes you think you have feelings for me, or you were never actually cursed at all, you've figured out that I'm the one who's in love with you, and you've just been saying all of this nice shit to me to…I don't know, wind me up? Make me look like a jackass? Or maybe you just like hurting people."

That last one stings, lends venom to the bite in Derek's voice.

"Option C," Derek grits out, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Fucking Peter got involved with not one, not two, but seven witches from the same coven, and started a civil war — which explains all of the weird shit that's been happening around town lately, apparently they've been trying to curse him and each other — got caught in his own web of lies and fled the scene, but not before hitting my house to pack supplies so he could skip town. The coven tracked him down, but couldn't follow him inside because of Deaton's protection spells, so they just assumed he was hiding out in there, and placed a curse on the sole proprietor. Little did they know, the house is in my name. So, lucky me, I got the full blast of it."

Stiles gapes at him for a few moments, eyes trained on the rapid rise and fall of Derek's chest as he struggles to recompose himself. Anything involving his creepy, murderous, and now apparently two-timing (seven-timing?) uncle always gets him so riled up.

"So, what? You actually were cursed and that's the reason you've been saying nice shit for the past two weeks?" Stiles asks with crossed arms and narrowed eyes, but his tone is several shades softer than it had been a few moments ago, curiosity piqued. 

Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh, but he can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he says with the tone of someone trying to explain something obvious to someone who's very, very stupid. "It didn't make me say nice shit, Stiles. It made me incapable of lying, like Peter lied to all of them. It made me more open and vulnerable and vocal about the things I already felt, stuff I tried to keep hidden. And it made me realize just how much I hated doing that. Because yeah, it was definitely embarrassing at times, but it was also kind of nice, not having to keep it in anymore. And I realized that everyone around me seemed happier for it, that I was able to make the people I care about feel good, just by being honest with them about how I really felt about them."

"Which is why," Derek sighs, pausing to glance up from the floor and lock eyes with Stiles. "As soon as they broke the curse, I came here…to see you…to tell you that I— what I told you."

All of the air rushes out of Stiles's lungs.

"So everything…" he manages, just barely, to keep the choked disbelief out of his voice. "Everything you've been saying to me these past few weeks…and everything you said to me just now…that was real?"

Derek offers him a small, affectionate smile that nearly breaks him in two.

"Yeah, dumbass. I meant every word."

Stiles stares at him for a moment, rooted to the spot, and Derek can practically hear the cogs turning inside his head as he processes it all and plays catch-up. And then he's smiling, this big, goofy grin spreading across his face as he bounds across the room and throws his arms around Derek's neck with such gusto that he knocks them both backward onto Stiles's bed, swallowing Derek's surprised huff of laughter in a kiss.

[tangledinink]

aw poor swannie :( he must be so confused

For the most part, Swannie is feeling more... numb and tired than confused. There are certainly moments when he's disorientated or doesn't understand what's going on, but he can't really bring himself to care that deeply.

But he does still have his moments. There are occasional bursts of energy from him--

Or, on the other hand, rare moments when he will suddenly go very quiet, very still, very stiff--

The rest of the family quietly thinks of these as "my brother is being fucking possessed by a twelve-year-old child," moments. They may be far from the Lake, but Donatello and Odette's souls are still entwined, and so every now and again, her influence will still rear its head. And yes, in those moments, Swannie is always very confused and very scared.

[tenwhiteandalusians]

so no one was going to tell me if i got literally one episode further tenax drops that he’s the one who saved scorpus from his mom’s pimp AND that he’s intimately familiar with scorpus’ dick when he was younger. guys. guys.

[sylveon-and-velveon]

What if one timeline they lost was due to him becoming a Manotaur because he "became a man" in the eyes of the creatures and his "change" was complete?

[co27]

i guess my question is why DOES nuance immediately become looked down upon when it comes to that one webcomic

[nerdyfangirlingbooks]

I've had a stupid merlin au idea stuck in my head for days now and I know I'll never get around to writing it the way I want it written but I kinda wanna try anyway even though I am 100% of the target audience

[jils-things]

since i have laras permission to post shit he made heres another favorite old art done by her ☝️☝️

this literally summarizes everything there is to know about these guys

[emmg]

Swapped sugar daddy anon crawling back into ur inbox, (I am continuing to write the beginning of their relationship, and ngl my respect for fic writers has tripled. I have no idea how you do this I feel like a 5 yr old smacking 2 barbies together and yelling kiss) and apologies for how long this is but I’ve been thinking about how everything eventually blows up in their faces and I kinda want it to be a pregnancy scare in her final year? They’ve been seeing each other for a few years now, and they get a little relaxed about things, they’re exclusive and she’s on the pill so they don’t have to worry about it. Until her period is several weeks late so she takes a test just in case and suddenly they really do. And oh god she wants kids, especially Emmrich’s kids, but not right now??? She doesn’t want to have to juggle pregnancy/a baby while writing and defending her thesis. They haven’t even talked about kids yet even if she’s pretty sure he wants them? He hasn’t acknowledged her hints about marriage, is it because he doesn’t want to marry her? She’s so scared about what this means and she needs Emmrich’s support and why is he being so weird and cagey about this? Does he think she’s trying to baby trap him? (She doesn’t know but he wouldn’t mind, he’d probably say thank you)

And Emmrich is in crisis mode. Now, he is a pro choice king so whatever rook wants is what happens, but also oh god he wants this child sooo bad. He’s always wanted kids but he’d kinda given up on it at this point and add in that it’s Rooks baby? a little piece of their love made physical (Don’t think too hard about how she doesn’t really love you Emmrich). An excuse to still see her sometimes, even if it means watching her eventually move on and marry and start a family with someone else. Even if she doesn’t want to be involved he could keep this little part of her (its only for a second, but he thinks he’d give her anything she asked for, he’d pay off her student loans, he’d buy her a fucking house, if she let him have this even if she walks away from it) but she can’t know that. He’d never forgive himself if he pressured her into this no matter how much he wants it. And he realises how completely and utterly fucked he is. Rook is the love of his life but he isn’t hers and there’s no way that this can continue as it is. If she keeps the baby she’ll never really be able to leave him behind, and is he selfish enough to ruin her life like that? He’s already bought the last three years with fancy restaurants and expensive gifts, what can he possibly offer her that’s worth the rest of her life?

I’m still not 100% sure about how it all comes out but I imagine that it's probably a fight, their first big real fight, about how rook feels like Emmrich’s being avoidant and unsupportive and Emmrich is fighting for his life bc internally he’s hanging on by a thread, like why is she treating this like their relationship is actually real? He’s trying to build up some emotional distance bc no matter how this goes he’s kinda fucked and he wants to make sure that he makes it through this at least somewhat emotionally intact. I think rook eventually calls him out on this, saying something about how she thought he was serious about this, about her, how she thought they were gonna get married but how he’s acting is making her rethink that bc it doesn’t seem like he is very serious about her right now. And he says something about how of course he wants to marry her but he wouldn’t put her in that position bc he knows it would be unfair to ask her for that. And rook is like what the actual fuck are you talking about Emmrich? And Emmrich is crying at this point, quietly and very prettily but he is crying. And this is when the misunderstanding comes out, where Emmrich is like “I know you don’t actually love me and I don’t expect you to, but I would appreciate it if we could discuss this situation without pretending that you do.” and this is when rook starts to put the pieces together and is like “wait do u think i'm only with you for your money” and Emmrich’s like “yes? Why else would you be dating me?”

I have absolutely zero ideas on how this is actually resolved but i know that emmrich 100% ugly sobs at some point. And realistically he’s probably still quite insecure about whether or not rook actually does love him but i feel like they work it out eventually and get married and are disgustingly happy together.

Also idk if they keep the baby or not, but they absolutely have at least 1 kid at some point.

BABYYYYYY I am ON MY KNEES begging you to publish this because I have read and re-read it so many times that I’m basically in a parasocial relationship with your asks. At this point, just reading your ideas is activating my primal hunger instincts. I’m starving. I am THIS CLOSE to organizing a fandom-wide intervention where we collectively cyberbully you into dropping this holy manuscript.

The way I flatlined at "pro-choice king"—like, I ascended. I left my body. LMAO

Listen, I am normally violently allergic to the "and they lived happily ever after with 2.5 kids and a suburban mortgage" trope. I break out in hives. I see it, and suddenly the book I loved turns into a mid-tier Hallmark movie where the protagonist goes from slaying demons to clutching her stomach and whispering “oh my god.” Like, girl. GIRL. No. Keep that away from me. Anyway, thanks for attending my TED Talk.

BUT. FUCKING. EMMRICH VOLKARIN. This man was engineered in a lab to be a father. He was born for it. I go absolutely rabid over the idea of him having a daughter. He is so girl-dad-coded that it’s spiritual. Rook so much as mentions her period is late, and this man is weeping.

He’s already drafting a will.

He's calling his lawyer.

He’s distributing his gold bars.

He’s making her his sole life insurance beneficiary.

"And rook is like what the actual fuck are you talking about Emmrich?" — lmfao nah for real. What did you think these last three years were? And Emmrich does that Gob face from Arrested Development, you know the one:

I want him to cry and then I want them to fuck and then I want him to cry while they fuck. That's it, your honor.

[arolesbianism]

Working more on the local group of Synchronized Light and hoo boy. There's smth wrong with these guys.

[val-the-protoss-simp]

God damn. The memory of this blog haunts me like the ghost of a rich husband I murdered two decades ago and then burried in my basement