#especially in beacon hills

[strapinandstraponyourstrapons]

thinking about liam and theo at a house party drunk as skunks fully clothed in a bathtub together and laughing about how fucked up they are

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

(note, I have not seen the Teen Wolf movie and idk if I will cause everyone says it's so bad - I am saying this based off of random posts I have seen about the movie)

the only in universe canonical reason that Stiles is not in the movie but the Sheriff is and HIS FREAKING JEEP is - Stiles died between the canonical ending of the last season and the beginning of the movie. and there has been enough time since his death that it's not a huge talking point for everyone/the grief is not as fresh, and that is the only reason he's not balls deep in this supernatural mystery while everyone else is

[domesticated-feral]

It's raining. Like the weather that's constantly happening in the teen wolf. Lol.

[many-gay-magpies]

driving me a little insane the more and more i think about it just how much isaac and boyd lowkey switched roles in the middle of season two. someone mentioned it before, i think @thyfggfy, but i didn't really start THINKING ABOUT IT until today for some reason.

like. based off derek's comment and just how they acted together at first, isaac and erica were friends before being turned, meanwhile boyd had NO friends. and isaac really didn't have anyone to keep him in beacon hills (besides scott) after his dad died, meanwhile boyd still has an entire family (who we never meet, granted, but like. they're THERE). and while isaac had an upbringing that would make him more used to the kind of violence caused by people like derek, boyd (again, as far as we can tell, because we basically never heard shit about his childhood except that he had a sister that went missing?) DIDN'T. so with this in mind, it would make sense for boyd to be the one to change loyalties first. it would make sense for him to see how shit derek treats his pack members, be like "yeah im outta here," and go be friends with scott instead. and it would make sense for isaac to be the one to go off with erica in search of a new alpha after they've both finally had enough of derek's bullshit. but instead, it's BOYD who goes with erica in spite the presumed family he's leaving behind and the fact that he's only actually known/been friends with her for a couple months, and it's ISAAC that stays in beacon hills to help scott.

[witchywithwhiskey]

an afternoon of pumpkin picking

pairing: sugar daddy!ransom drysdale x sugar baby!female reader

summary: you've convinced your sugar daddy to take you pumpkin picking—despite his reservations about spending any amount of time on a farm—and the perfectly autumnal date takes a turn when deeper feelings come to light.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, smut, unprotected sex, masturbation (f), guided masturbation, piv sex, outdoor sex, creampie, filming/recording/taking sexual photos, oral sex (m receiving), light bdsm, free use, pussy spanking, panty sniffing, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, pet names (nixie, baby), love confessions (a bit of idiots in love), aftercare, happy ending, so much fluff

word count: 11.6k

a/n: this fic is inspired by this exchange about various babes as sugar daddies taking their sugar babies on fall dates. i loved the idea of ransom being a little grumpy about going pumpkin picking, and then it morphed into this because i decided i wanted to explore their deeper emotional connection so uh it ended up being a lot longer than i expected. but it's also very cozy and smutty and fluffy and perfect for this time of year!!! anyway, i had fun writing this, so i hope y'all enjoy reading it!!

Can’t believe you talked me into this.

The text from your sugar daddy, Ransom Drysdale, arrived on a brisk September morning as you were getting ready for the perfectly autumnal date you’d convinced him to plan. As you read the message, you could practically hear the affectionate exasperation in his tone, which made you smile to yourself.

It had taken quite a bit of your powers of persuasion to get Ransom Drysdale—the heir to the Blood Like Wine Publishing dynasty and the most blue-blooded Boston man you’d ever met—to agree to take you pumpkin picking out in the “boonies,” as he called anywhere beyond the city limits that wasn’t his “ancestral estate” (also his words). 

But since you’d been seeing him for over a year, you knew all of Ransom’s weaknesses. And you’d used them to make a deal with your sugar daddy.

You’re going to have fun, I promise :) Don’t forget our deal.

You certainly hoped Ransom hadn’t forgotten about the arrangement you’d struck that ended up with him taking you pumpkin picking, especially since it was all you could think about that morning as you got ready and did your hair and makeup. Your thoughts kept straying to the deal you’d made, what you’d given him in exchange for the autumnal date of your dreams. 

Ransom Drysdale was a dealmaker by trade, overseeing all publication acquisitions for Blood Like Wine. So after all your normal methods of persuasion had failed to convince him to take you pumpkin picking, you’d offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse. It was one that you knew you both would enjoy, but Ransom especially since it appealed to his nature. 

A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine as you stood inside the walk-in closet of your Beacon Hill townhouse apartment—the one Ransom paid for, of course. 

It had been a gift when you’d accepted his request to be exclusively his sugar baby. He was the only man in your life anymore, and he’d said he wanted to make sure you were taken care of, so he got you the apartment and set up an allowance to make up for the other relationships you’d had to end.

Truthfully, it had been an incredibly easy decision to accept Ransom’s request. He was easily the youngest and handsomest of any man you’d been a sugar baby to—and if you had the tiniest little crush on him, you’d been certain you’d be able to keep it locked down so you didn’t jeopardize your relationship. 

After all, Ransom had been clear when you first met: He wasn’t looking to fall in love.

Unfortunately for you, over the year that you’d been seeing him exclusively, your crush had blossomed into full-blown feelings. It was hard not to care for the grumpy, sarcastic publishing executive. He made you laugh, he made you feel safe, and the sex with him was better than any you’d ever had.

More than a year into seeing him and it got harder and harder to hide the fact that you cared deeply for him. You wanted to bundle yourself in one of his sweaters and stay with him forever—but you knew you couldn’t let on about your feelings. You didn’t want to risk him finding out and ending your relationship because he feared you were falling in love with him…

Of course, there were other ways your relationship could end.

Your fingers toyed with the sleeve of a sweater hanging in your closet as you thought about your sugar daddy. A pit in your stomach opened wide as you considered, yet again, it was probably inevitable that one day he would grow tired of you and move on to someone else. Even if you didn’t tell him how you felt, he could still leave you.

It was what happened with these kinds of relationships—the men left when they got bored or tired. Or when they wanted to settle down. Or when they fell in love with someone else.

Add to that, you were keenly aware that you were getting old enough that a man as young as Ransom—who was in his 40s—might want to soon trade you in for a newer, younger model. 

The thought broke your heart a little, and you had to push it away. You cut off the entire train of thought, knowing that it would lead nowhere good, especially when your sugar daddy was due to pick you up in just a short time. As you went back to getting ready, in your mind, you repeated your mantra to yourself: You would not love Ransom Drysdale.

It was a lie, of course, but you were hoping that if you said it to yourself enough times it would become true. It hadn’t worked yet, though. 

Thankfully, your phone vibrated, distracting you.

Wear that skirt I like. And one of the sweaters you stole from me.

A huff of an affronted laugh escaped you at the brisk tone of Ransom’s message. You hated it when he barked orders at you like you were one of the interns at his office. Sure, technically you were his employee, but he didn’t have to use that tone—especially before a date.

You assumed he was cranky because he still didn’t want to go pumpkin picking, but that didn’t mean you had to put up with it. Or respond at all. Even if you did follow his orders, since that was part of your deal for the day.

Tossing your phone on your bed without replying, you pulled out the skirt he was referring to from your closet. It was a short, flouncy thing that swished dangerously around your thighs, offering tantalizing teases of your ass to anyone who might be looking at your backside. 

Ransom loved it because it afforded him a sneak peek of what lingerie you were wearing. One of his favorite things to gift you as his sugar baby was lingerie. He loved seeing you in it, touching you in it, fucking you in it. And what he liked most was sneaking a peek of your lingerie from those glimpses beneath your flouncy skirt.

On that September morning, you selected a black satin matching set to wear beneath the skirt, then pulled a maroon sweater from the pile in your closet.

He may have been a spoiled, rich man, but Ransom was a gentleman, and if you were cold, he’d give you his sweater—which was how you’d amassed a small hoard of your sugar daddy’s sweaters. You never could bring yourself to give them back once they made their way into your closet. Nor could you bear to wash them. 

In your loneliest moments, you’d pull on one of Ransom’s sweaters and let the expensive scent of his cologne comfort you. He smelled like whiskey and something spicy—something that matched perfectly with the fall and winter. 

You’d never told anyone about wearing Ransom’s sweaters when you were alone in your Beacon Hill apartment, but your sugar daddy knew you’d collected many of them. 

Ransom didn’t seem to mind, though. Or, at least, he never asked for them back. But sometimes, like that day, he’d ask that you wear one for him. It always sent a special thrill through you to wear your sugar daddy’s sweaters, like it meant he was staking a claim on you that was deeper and more like a typical romantic relationship. 

A giddy, happy smile curled your lips as you got dressed and added jewelry before checking to make sure your hair and makeup were still done to your satisfaction. 

You were just pulling on some black mary jane shoes when your phone chimed with another text. 

Let me see, nixie. 

Your traitorous heart fluttered at the nickname. Most of the sugar daddies you’d had relationships with called you by much more common pet names—sweetheart, honey—if they used them at all. But leave it to Ransom to pull a pet name from obscure European folklore. 

You’d had to look it up after the first time he used it, and when you found out it was a kind of river mermaid who lured men to their deaths, you’d laughed to yourself. Ransom had essentially likened you to a siren, and at the time, you’d wondered if he believed you could lure him to his death. It seemed ridiculous, especially when you were the one in danger of getting their heart broken.

Sometimes, when he used that pet name, you wondered if Ransom liked you as much as you liked him. If that was why he’d chosen it, because he worried you’d hurt him somehow. But that was a dangerous thought and you reminded yourself it would only lead to heartbreak. 

You tried not to have a reaction to the nickname. You tried to stop your heart from fluttering and your lips from curving into a smile. But it was impossible.

So to distract yourself, you did as Ransom had asked in his message. You snapped a quick photo of your outfit—the short, flouncy skirt paired with his maroon sweater and your black mary janes. You’d chosen to forgo tights because September in Massachusetts could get warm, especially with the sun shining as brightly as it was outside your window.

You sent the photo and began gathering your things to wait for Ransom to arrive for your date, but his response came back quicker than you expected.

Pretty, but I want to see it in person. I’m outside.

Your heart gave another flutter at the compliment, then flipped entirely when he said he was outside. Bounding to your bedroom window that overlooked the cobblestone streets of Beacon Hill, you grinned when you saw Ransom’s silver 1972 BMW coupe parked outside your door. 

Ransom might not be as excited for your pumpkin picking date as you were, but he was early. That had to mean something, right? 

You didn’t let that thought flourish any further, pushing it aside as you grabbed your keys and phone and shoved them in the bag you’d picked to match your outfit. Then you were flouncing down the stairs of your townhouse to the front door and pushing through it, pausing only to lock it behind you.

When you turned to the street, you were struck with the sight of Ransom Drysdale leaning against his BMW, a to-go cup of coffee in his hand. Your heart raced and your belly swooped—it felt like your entire body was having a visceral reaction to seeing Ransom dressed in an autumnal outfit that suited him so well.

A golden brown wool coat hung off Ransom’s broad shoulders, slightly obscuring the worn cream-colored cable knit sweater that covered his expansive chest. A purple and gold scarf with some kind of intricate design hung casually around his neck, adding to the look that was completed by dark slacks, brown loafers and a pair of sunglasses with gold rims that matched the rings he wore on his hands.

Despite his sunglasses, you could feel Ransom’s eyes on you and you bit your lip against a giddy grin, worried that your schoolgirl crush on your sugar daddy would show plain as day on your face if you let it slip free. Instead, you gave him an exaggerated onceover before letting out a low whistle of appreciation as you stepped into the narrow sidewalk lining the cobblestone street.

“Quit gawking and c’mere, nixie,” Ransom growled, using his free hand to grab your waist and pull you into him. 

You landed against his broad, muscular chest with a light, “oomph,” and instantly wound your arms around his shoulders, enjoying the way he felt so steady and solid against you. 

“You love it when I check you out, don’t you, daddy?” you teased in a soft voice meant only for him. 

The street wasn’t busy, but it was so narrow that if any of your neighbors had their windows open to let in the crisp September air, they’d easily be able to overhear you. And you didn’t want anyone else hearing you call Ransom ‘daddy’—that was just for him.

“I do,” Ransom admitted in a rumbling voice, matching your low tone. “And I love looking at you in your pretty little outfit I picked out…” He trailed off, ducking down closer to you and nudging your nose to tilt your head back, ghosting his mouth over your lips teasingly when you canted your face to meet his. “But daddy needs a kiss, baby.”

The words were barely past his lips before you were surging up onto your tiptoes and kissing Ransom. He tasted like black coffee and cinnamon, and you couldn’t get enough of it. When his tongue slid across your lower lip seeking entrance, you were helpless to do anything but open for him, moaning softly as he plunged into your mouth.

The kiss had started out chaste enough for the sidewalk of Beacon Hill, but Ransom seemed to be as ravenous as you felt, hooking his arms around your waist and bending you backward with the intensity of his need to devour you. 

It had your head spinning with pleasure, but you still gave him as good as you got, kissing him back with just as much fervor, your leg rising of its own accord to hook around his thigh beneath his open coat.

Gradually, Ransom slowed the kiss until his mouth was decadently nibbling on your lower lip before licking the sting of his teeth away. Then, finally, he pulled away and you were able to drag in a deep breath, trying to get your head on straight as you lowered your leg back to the sidewalk. 

“Get in the car, nixie,” Ransom growled, though there was no anger in his tone, only a desirous heat that you recognized, since it was swirling warmly in the depths of your core. “Before I decide I’d rather take you back inside your apartment and fuck you in nothing but my sweater instead of taking you pumpkin picking.”

His free hand slid down your back and he groped the soft curve of your ass shamelessly over your skirt, right there on the street. Still, you couldn’t help but melt at his rough handling, a gasp escaping as his fingers dug ruthlessly into your flesh. 

For just a second, you debated whether you wanted Ransom to deliver on his threat, but decided against it. The prospect of seeing your sugar daddy going pumpkin picking was too good to pass up.

“Ok, ok, I’m getting in the car,” you huffed on a laugh, your voice breathy in a way you couldn’t help as you squirmed away from Ransom’s groping hand. Your sugar daddy chuckled, but let you go, then turned to open the door of his BMW for you.

He waited until you were settled on the soft leather seat, your seatbelt buckled across your lap, then leaned into the car and handed you the coffee he’d been holding. You took it with no small amount of surprise, having assumed it was his own coffee.

“For you, your favorite,” he murmured before brushing a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry for being short with you this morning.”

A stunned expression froze on your face, his words spinning around in your mind so loudly, you barely heard the thump of the car door closing. Your eyes flicked up to watch Ransom cross in front of the car, your heart racing like you’d just sprinted an entire marathon.

It was then that you knew, unequivocally, without any doubt, that you loved Ransom Drysdale. 

Your sugar daddy slid smoothly into the driver’s seat and pulled his door shut before glancing at you. You gave him a weak smile, trying to hid the fact that you felt like a bomb had just been dropped inside your heart, and his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

“Don’t tell me they fucked up your drink,” he fumed, shoving his keys in the ignition and starting his BMW. He threw an arm around the back of your seat, his chest close enough to your shoulder that you could feel the warmth radiating from him as he carefully backed up, then maneuvered onto the street. All the while, he was muttering, “It’s a fucking pumpkin spice latte, they must make thousands of them a day. How can they fuck it up?”

When he merged into traffic at the end of the street heading in the direction of the local coffee shop, Ransom finally pulled his arm away from the back of your seat. You grabbed his hand before he could put it back on the wheel, squeezing it to get his attention.

“The latte’s fine, Ran—it’s perfect,” you assured him, even though you hadn’t taken a sip yet. Some of the anger drained from his expression and he executed a u-turn to turn in the other direction of the coffee shop, but his jaw was still ticking with annoyance and you searched for an explanation that wasn’t the truth. When you couldn’t think of anything else, you blurted, “I was just surprised you remembered my favorite coffee.”

“Of course I remembered,” he said after a moment of silence. His voice was gruff, like he didn’t know what to do with his sweet gesture being addressed so directly, but his mood seemed to lighten, his annoyance forgotten. Slipping his hand from your fingers, he settled his palm firmly on your thigh, giving you a playful squeeze as he shot you a smirk. “Though I don’t think that sugary nonsense should really be called coffee,” he snarked, giving your leg another squeeze to let you know he was only teasing.

You huffed an exasperated laugh and settled your free hand on top of his, holding onto him while he drove skillfully through the busy streets of Boston, heading toward the city limits. 

Ransom’s joke washed away the remnants of whatever tension your revelation, and your need to hide it from him, had caused between the two of you. Of course, you still felt the knowledge that you loved him hovering at the edge of your mind, but it was easy to sink into Ransom’s comforting presence and, if not entirely forget about it, at least more easily pretend you didn’t know you were in love with your sugar daddy.

On the drive, you made conversation with Ransom, asking him about his work and his family. He’d spent time with them the previous weekend and hadn’t seen you as a result. But he skipped quickly over the family party he’d attended and instead focused on telling you about some of the books he’d acquired for Blood Like Wine. 

You didn’t like Ransom’s family, based on what little you knew about them. And you didn’t feel even a little bit bad about it because you were certain they’d never like you, especially considering how you’d met Ransom. But it still made you sad to think about him facing them alone. Your heart thumped with sympathy and you curled your fingers more possessively around his hand on your thigh.

Ransom shot you a lopsided smile and turned the conversation around on you, asking about what books you’d been reading, and how the rest of your hobbies were going. He didn’t need to ask about your work because he’d made sure you didn’t need a job other than keeping him company—and especially didn’t need any other sugar daddies. 

So you told him about what you were reading and all the other things you did to occupy your time while he listened and asked questions. He especially loved hearing your opinions on the Blood Like Wine books he’d acquired. 

A little over an hour outside the city, Ransom’s BMW pulled into a gravel driveway beside a large sign that read Johnson’s Family Farm. There were smaller signs lining the drive advertising the farm’s apple orchards, hayrides, farm stand, and, of course, the pumpkin patch. 

Beyond the windows of Ransom’s BMW, you could see the farm sprawling out toward the distant horizon, plenty of picturesque little red buildings and beautiful fields filled with various fruits and vegetables. But there was something off about the farm, and it took you a moment to realize what it was: The whole place was deserted. 

It was a little early in the day, just after lunch time, but you were still surprised by how empty the parking lot was. And you didn’t even see any workers, or cars that might belong to them. It was just Ransom’s BMW and the deserted farm.

“Where is everyone?” you asked, turning in your seat to Ransom. “Are you sure they’re open?” It was the weekend, they must’ve been open, but you couldn’t make sense of why no one was there.

Ransom snorted, giving you a devious smirk as he put the car in park and turned it off. 

“I bought out the farm for a couple hours, it’s just us and the pumpkins, nixie,” he explained, squeezing your thigh one last time before stepping out of the car and rounding the front to open your door for you. 

You stepped out onto the gravel in a bit of a daze, still shocked by his words. You knew Ransom was wealthy—he was a high-level executive at one of the most successful prestige publishers in the country, not to mention the money he inherited from his family—but him buying out an entire farm just for your date was one of the most extravagant things he’d ever done. Your mind reeled as you tried to fathom how much that would even cost.

Ransom curled a finger beneath your chin and tipped your face up to look at him. He’d taken off his sunglasses, so you were met with the sight of his sparkling blue eyes. Paired with his devastatingly handsome smirk, your knees instantly went weak and your mouth parted in a wordless plea for him to kiss you.

He dropped a quick peck to your lips that was over too soon and swept his thumb across your cheek in a soothing gesture, your surprise melting into happiness as you realized you got to have Ransom all to yourself on your date. 

“C’mon, nixie, did you really think I’d agree to go pumpkin picking—to go tromping through the dirt on a farm,” he scoffed, his tone warm even if it was a little derisive. “And deal with hordes of screaming children and their families?” 

Ransom raised an eyebrow at you and you couldn’t help but snort a laugh as you rolled your eyes. You didn’t even need to answer, because of course Ransom wouldn’t want to deal with anyone else while he was enduring the absolute torture of going pumpkin picking. But then his next words distracted you from thinking about how spoiled he was.

“Besides, I haven’t forgotten our deal. I have plans for you, and we needed the farm all to ourselves for them,” he teased, his smirk turning impish as he ducked down and captured your lips in another quick kiss. 

Your heart was racing with excitement, your mind turning over his words and wondering what he could have planned for you while Ransom grabbed your hand and led you into the farm. You shook your head to clear it of all the naughty thoughts that had popped into your mind, and focused on your sugar daddy, who was following the signs toward the pumpkin patch with a grim acceptance in his expression.

The September sun was warm on your shoulders, but there was a cool breeze, the lingering chill of the morning clinging to the day and you curled around Ransom’s arm while you walked. You tried to distract your sugar daddy from the eventuality of leaving the nice dirt path to wade into the pumpkin patch by chattering about fond memories you had of going apple picking and exploring corn mazes with friends when you were younger. 

When you got to the area where you could pick your own pumpkins, Ransom paused at the edge, using your clasped hands to pull you to a stop alongside him. Your chatter cut off mid-sentence and you looked curiously to your sugar daddy, finding his brows lowered over his stormy blue eyes as he considered the haphazard spread of soft soil, scattered hay and orange pumpkins.

“I still don’t really see the point of this,” he muttered, giving the pumpkin patch a dubious look.

You couldn’t help but smile, thinking Ransom looked younger than his years in that moment—like a kid who was being introduced to something new and didn’t trust that they were going to like it. 

You curled into Ransom’s chest, your arms twining around his neck while his settled easily around your waist. You looked up at him and waited to speak until he dragged his gaze from the pumpkin patch behind you to meet your eyes.

“Normally, the point would be to take some pumpkins home and carve them,” you explained patiently. Ransom narrowed his eyes on you suspiciously, as if he believed you were going to try to convince him to do such an unfathomably pedestrian thing, and the corners of your mouth flickered as you suppressed an even wider smiler. “But something tells me even my powers of persuasion aren’t strong enough to get you to do that.”

Ransom only snorted, his eyes flicking disdainfully to the pumpkins over your shoulder then back at you. “Definitely not.” 

But there was a curiosity buried deep in his gaze, and you wondered if one day—if you were together long enough—he might be willing to try some pumpkin carving. 

Surprisingly, you could picture it. Ransom with his worn, threadbare sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows, grimacing as he yanked pumpkin guts from inside a big, orange gourd. It almost made you giggle to think about.

Instead, you shook your head to clear the image from your thoughts, not wanting to get your hopes up that Ransom would be a fixture in your life long enough that you could convince him to carve pumpkins with you. 

Although, maybe if you offered to blow him while he did… You shook your head again and met Ransom’s curious gaze, giving him a bright smile that was only a little bit fake.

“Then we can just pick out a couple pumpkins for my front steps,” you said sunnily, bouncing up onto your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Ransom’s cheek. “They’re pretty decorations whether we carve them or not.” 

You began to pull away, intent on starting your search for the perfect pumpkins, but Ransom’s arms tightened around your waist, like he didn’t want to let go yet.

“You’d be a much prettier decoration than any of these gourds, nixie,” he murmured, and you turned your face to him in surprise at the gruffness in his tone. There was some emotion laced through his voice that you couldn’t place, and before you could puzzle it out, Ransom’s mouth caught yours, sending your thoughts scattering as he kissed you deeply.

When you finally broke away for a breath, your body was buzzing with awareness of Ransom’s and a warmth that had nothing to do with the bright September sun had bloomed between your thighs. You had half a mind to drag Ransom back to the car and have him do something about what he’d started, but you were determined to go pumpkin picking. 

Pushing aside the distracting hum of desire filling your body, you pulled away from Ransom’s warmth and began carefully stepping through the pumpkin patch. The smell of earth and the distinct scent of pumpkins surrounded you, calming some of the buzzy heat Ransom had stirred up, and you were able to focus on your search for the perfect pumpkins.

Once Ransom got over the fact that he would have to walk through the dirt in his nice loafers—which took a few moments of complaining—he began picking his way through the pumpkins. He kept calling out to you when he’d found one that was particularly deformed or ugly in some way, trying to claim they had “character.” But you knew he was just being a pest to make you laugh and smile.

To his credit, he was making you laugh, and the smile on your face was so wide it hurt a little. 

Every time he held up a terrible pumpkin like it was a prize catch, you shook your head at him, but your laughter echoed across the fields of the farm. And you couldn’t help but notice that Ransom seemed to be having fun, too, his own smile staying fixed on his handsome face as you both made your way through the pumpkin patch.

“What about this one?” Ransom called, from a little ways away, having wandered off in a different direction. “Now this is a pumpkin.”

You stood up from where you’d been bent over, looking at some moderately sized pumpkins to find Ransom standing beside a massive orange thing. It was almost as high as Ransom’s waist, tipped on its side, but as you looked harder, something about it seemed off.

First, it was clearly meant to be part of a display set up by the farm, since it stood in front of an artfully arranged stack of hay bales that were topped with smaller pumpkins. The rest of the field stretched out behind the setup, and you suspected it had been constructed in an attempt to give visitors to the farm a photo op, where families or groups of friends could pose for the perfect autumnal pictures. 

But as you walked closer to Ransom, and smoothed your hands over the large pumpkin, you realized something else was off about the gourd.

“Ran,” you started dryly, cutting your eyes to him, finding him admiring the pumpkin. “This isn’t a real pumpkin—it’s fake, for the photo op,” you said, waving your hand at the whole display.

Ransom seemed confused for a moment, then looked at the bales of hay arranged behind it as if he was seeing them for the first time. Since you were closer, you could see a little sign that had the name of the farm tacked into the hay, and had to give it to Johnson’s Family Farm—they seemed to know what they were doing.

“Figures the first pumpkin I actually like is fake,” Ransom muttered, turning to you and wrapping his arms around your waist as he curled his big body around yours. 

You bit your lip against a laugh and stroked your fingers through his soft brown hair. “Don’t worry, Ran, I’m sure we’ll find something you like.” 

His thick arms squeezed you tight and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, holding onto one another. It was a sweet moment—until Ransom’s hands began to wander down your back, stroking down your spine to the swell of your ass. But he didn’t stop there. His hands slid further down and under your skirt, groping your thighs shamelessly and kneading the soft flesh of your ass.

“Remind me again about the deal we made, nixie,” Ransom rumbled, his tone thick with lust as he used his big hands to pull you closer, his bulge pressing into your stomach. 

Your mind was swimming with desire, your body arched into the bigger form of your sugar daddy, but you managed to remember the words of the agreement you’d made—the one that had finally convinced Ransom it would be worth it to take you pumpkin picking.

“I have to do everything you say,” you recited the terms of your deal, your voice breathless with excitement. “And you can do anything you want with me.”

Ransom made a rumbling sound deep in his chest, the vibrations teasing your nipples through your sweater and sheer lingerie. Your breasts felt heavy, aching to be touched, but you kept your arms around Ransom’s broad shoulders, waiting to see what he’d do. 

“I think it’s time for you to pay up, baby,” Ransom murmured, walking you backward until your ass collided with the big, fake pumpkin. “I wanna take some pictures of my pretty sugar baby on the biggest pumpkin in the patch.” 

The plastic was cold against your bare thighs and you sucked in a gasp, your body tensing in Ransom’s grip.

He seemed to understand your plight, though, because he uncurled himself from around your body—after giving your ass a lingering squeeze. 

Straightening, Ransom’s eyes caught yours, his blue gaze sparkling with mischief and a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth as he shrugged out of his wool coat. He swung it around behind you, laying it down on the pumpkin before his hands fell to your hips.

“Need a boost?” he asked, his lips curving into a deviously handsome smirk as his hands settled on your hips.

Truthfully, you didn’t need the help. The pumpkin was only a little higher than your ass, and you could have easily hopped up onto it. But arousal was slinking through your body, making you feel heavy and achy and you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have Ransom’s hands on you for a little longer.

“Yes, please, daddy,” you said sweetly, giving Ransom your most charming smile and enjoying the way his eyes darkened at the honorific. 

Ransom pressed close to you, his expensive cologne filling your senses as he pinned you against the pumpkin under the guise of helping you. But you could feel the hard, thick length in his slacks digging into your soft belly and you knew he was enjoying the excuse to hold you just as much as you were. 

Slowly, he eased you up onto the pumpkin, the wool of his coat scratchy against the back of your bare thighs, but much warmer and softer than the cold plastic of the decoration. 

When he settled you right where he wanted you, it took all your self-control not to spread your legs for Ransom. You bit your lip against a sultry smile and kept your legs closed, trying to look nice for the photos he was going to take.

Still, you couldn’t help but murmur a breathy, “Thank you, daddy,” that had your blood running even hotter through your veins. 

Ransom seemed just as affected as you, but he managed to hold himself together, dropping a quick kiss to your lips before rumbling, “Good girl, nixie.” 

Then he was stepping away, taking his warmth and delicious scent with him as he retreated a few paces and pulled out his phone. You arranged yourself in a pretty pose on the pumpkin, smiling for Ransom’s camera, and adjusting your legs or arms or the tilt of your head as he asked. 

You’d been a little worried that giving Ransom free reign to order you around would lead to him barking commands at you like you were a dog. But he’d taken your words about not liking being talked to like that to heart—no doubt helped by the reminder of his text going unanswered that morning—and he kept his voice warm and light as he guided you through the poses he wanted for the photos he was taking.

It was more fun than you expected. You’d never done any kind of photoshoot, and you found yourself enjoying Ransom’s gentle commands helping you pose for him. He took so many photos of you perched on that fake pumpkin, you began to wonder what he planned to do with them. 

But then his directions took a new turn, and you couldn’t help the smirk that curved your lips.

“Now spread your legs,” Ransom urged, bending down so he was crouched in the field, being careful not to let his pants touch the dirt. “Put your feet up—yeah, just like that.” Ransom’s eyes sparkled in the bright September sunshine as he watched you shift into the pose he wanted, his mouth pulled wide in a wolfish grin. “Let daddy see what’s under that pretty skirt of yours.”

Leaning back on your hands, you lifted your knees and spread them wide, balancing precariously on top of the big, fake pumpkin. Your skirt fell around your hips, baring your black silk panties for Ransom’s camera. Even a few paces away, you could hear his inhale of breath when he got his first glimpse of the thin slip of fabric barely covering your glistening slit. 

Excited thrills zipped through your body, more wetness gathering between your thighs as you watched Ransom’s blue eyes darken. Your pussy was so close to being on full display in broad daylight, and even though you knew the farm was deserted, the possibility of somehow being caught still made the tension in you crackle deliciously. 

But that was the fun of following Ransom’s orders—you’d known from the moment you offered it up for the deal that he would have you doing something naughty. You just hoped, as your core ached to be filled, that your sugar daddy would end the teasing soon and fuck you over the pumpkin he had you sitting on.

“Rub your pussy, baby,” Ransom rumbled, his voice pitching lower. “Let me see you make a mess of your pretty panties—all for me.”

His tone was drenched in a desire that made you even wetter, your body responding to his voice alone. You were so gone for him, you didn’t even care that no other man had ever made you wet just from his voice. You just wanted him to keep talking—keep ordering you to do more filthy things. 

Putting all your weight on one hand, you slipped the other between your thighs, using two fingers to rub your clit through your black silk panties. You suspected they were expensive, just like all the lingerie Ransom had gifted you, but you didn’t think about how much they cost. You only stared into Ransom’s camera and let your eyes go heavy-lidded, your mouth dropping open in a silent moan as pleasure pulsed through your body.

“Good girl, nixie,” Ransom purred, shifting closer but staying down on his haunches. Soft clicks of a camera shudder came from his phone as he took photo after photo, capturing the way your fingers dipped down to your slit and pushed your panties ever so slightly into your dripping hole. “Fuck—yeah, just like that, rub that pretty pussy like a good little slut for daddy.”

A whimper slipped from your lips and a shudder wracked your whole body at the pleasure that suffused your entire being. Your fingers teased your wet slit while Ransom watched, his phone camera trained on you while he took photos of your lewd actions. It was headier than you would’ve expected, your thoughts scattering as your hips rocked gently, pressing your cunt against your fingers instinctively.

“Daddy, ‘m so empty,” you wailed softly, pushing your fingers into your pussy through your panties, whining desperately when they couldn’t go deep enough. The black satin was soaked in your juices, feeling good as it slipped against your wet lower lips, but you hated it in that moment because it was the only thing stopping you from being filled. “P-please, daddy!”

One of Ransom’s hands dropped from his phone to palm his dick through his pants, and you whimpered louder with a wordless plea. You opened your eyes wider and pouted your lips, imploring him to put you out of your misery—either by giving you another order, or by sinking his fat cock into your aching pussy.

Ransom’s features darkened with desire, his handsome face twisting into an expression that was almost a scowl as he rose from his crouch to tower over where you were perched. Your own expression lightened and turned hopeful, sure he was going to tuck his phone away and fill you up, but instead, he chuckled darkly. 

Skimming his free hand down your inner thigh, he groped you briefly, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. But then he ignored your pussy entirely and instead tugged on the hem of your sweater.

“Pull up your shirt, nixie, show me your slutty body,” Ransom rasped, his voice hoarse with his own need while he palmed his dick again, keeping his phone camera trained on you.

You whined and squirmed pathetically at the quick tease of his touch, but followed his order all the same. You tugged the hem of your sweater up, catching it between your teeth to keep it from falling down again before you went back to rubbing your pussy. 

You knew how you must’ve looked—your legs spread wide, your shirt pulled up to show off both parts of your black silk matching set and your hand pressed between your thighs, rubbing your pussy shamelessly. You must’ve looked like a perfect little whore for Ransom, and by the way his eyes sparkled and his mouth curved into a satisfied smirk, he loved it.

“Good girl, nixie,” he murmured, soft clicks of the camera shutter coming from his phone as he took even more photos while he stood over you. “You’re such a good little slut for me, baby, such a perfectly obedient girl.” His eyes flicked from his phone screen to your eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good to do everything daddy tells you?” 

With the soft cotton of your sweater in your mouth, you couldn’t speak, so you nodded, holding Ransom’s gaze as you did so. You wanted him to see it was the truth—it did feel good to do what he told you. Because you trusted him. You knew he’d never tell you to do anything that might hurt you. 

Something shifted in Ransom’s eyes as he read your expression—something that looked a lot like surprise melting into a profound awareness that seemed to frighten him. As you watched, his eyes hardened just a little bit, the hand holding his phone dropping out of the way as he stared at you intensely.

“Are you sure you can handle it, sugar baby, doing everything I tell you?” he asked, a harshness in his tone that spoke to an underlying animosity you knew wasn’t truly directed at you. 

You realized all of a sudden that you’d tipped your hand. You’d shown Ransom you trusted him, and, in the process, shown him that your feelings for him were deeper than they should be between a sugar baby their sugar daddy. His question was a challenge, and an offering of an escape at the same time. 

But, for all that you’d avoided showing Ransom how you truly felt about him, you simply couldn’t run away from him. If you’d been able to do that, you would’ve parted ways with your sugar daddy already. 

So you held Ransom’s glinting blue gaze and nodded resolutely. His expression hardened further. 

“Spank your pussy,” Ransom growled, his voice sounding as rough as the gravel in the farm’s parking lot. “Show me what a dirty little slut you are and slap your cunt as hard as you can.” 

Your whole body quivered with anticipation as you drew back your hand from your wet, puffy pussy. Your silk panties were soaking wet, and you knew the flimsy fabric wouldn’t protect your sensitive slit from the sting of the spank, but Ransom gave you an order, and you intended to follow it—to show him how much you trusted him, and cared for him.

Using the flat of your fingers, you slapped your cunt as Ransom instructed, as hard as you could manage. Electrifying pain streaked through your body, making you cry out and arch violently on the pumpkin you were perched on, your other hand gripping tightly to Ransom’s wool coat to keep you balanced. A deep, blazing pleasure nipped at the sensation’s heels and your cry devolved quickly into a debauched moan that was muffled by the sweater in your mouth. 

It took you a moment to force your gaze back to Ransom, his eyes swirling with so many emotions, you didn’t have a hope of discerning them. But he held his phone up again, no doubt framing you within the screen and said in a gruff voice, “Again.”

That time, since you were expecting it, it was easier to brace for the sting of pain and the burning pleasure that swept the smarting tingle away. But your body still responded, your spine curving and your legs shaking wildly, your lips falling open in another muted moan as your teeth clung to the sweater so it didn’t slip free from your mouth. 

Ransom’s camera captured the whole thing—you knew because he watched the screen instead of you, his mouth twisting into a depraved smirk.

“Does it feel good, baby?” Ransom rumbled, some of the warmth you typically heard in your sugar daddy’s voice seeping back into his words. He must’ve heard it, too, because his next words were harsher. “Does it feel good to spank your pussy like the dirty little slut she is?

“Uh huh,” you mumbled around the sweater in your mouth. You tried to tell him it felt good, but the words came out entirely garbled, though Ransom seemed to understand. 

“Are you gonna come from slapping your naughty cunt?” he asked, his eyes darkening with hungry intent as he watched your face, waiting for your response.

Your pussy pulsed at his filthy question, and you thought maybe it was possible to come from spanking your puffy slit, especially if your fingers caught your clit with each slap. But truthfully, you didn’t know—you’d never tried. So you answered Ransom honestly, muttering, “Ionno,” around the sweater in your mouth.

Ransom huffed an impatient sound and reached for you to tug the sweater free from your teeth, his actions gentle even despite his obvious annoyance. “Say that again.”

“I-I don’t know,” you whispered. “I can try.”

The expression on Ransom’s face shifted again, but it became even more unreadable. He held your gaze for a moment, as if he was searching for something, though you didn’t know what. 

“You want to try?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tentative.

You acted instinctively, pushing yourself up so you were no longer balancing on your hand and reaching past Ransom’s phone to grab his sweater to pull him down for a kiss. Your lips moved sweetly against his for a moment, before you pulled back and stared deeply into his eyes. 

“I want to do everything you tell me to do,” you said, reciting the words of the deal you’d struck with Ransom, but changing them just a little, to tell him again that you wanted him, you trusted him. “I want you to do anything you want with me.” 

A look of something almost like fury flitted across Ransom’s face, and then he was surging forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, as if he meant to brand you with his mouth. You moaned into him, which only seemed to make him kiss you harder, his tongue pushing past your lips to sweep into you as if he owned you. 

In that moment, if he’d asked, you would have told him he did.

Just as suddenly as he’d kissed you, Ransom pulled away and he shoved his phone in the pocket of his expensive slacks. Then, before you’d even recovered from his kiss, he grabbed your hips and spun you to the side, guiding your shoulders down so you were laying draped sideways across the big pumpkin. 

“Panties off,” he growled, his voice a low rumbling contrast to the sharp clinking of his belt buckle as he undid his pants. “Give ‘em to me.” 

You were quick to follow his orders, hooking your fingers in the black silk panties and shoving them down your legs, pulling them off and then handing them to Ransom. You watched your sugar daddy hold them up to his face and take a deep breath, inhaling your scent as his other hand dove into his boxer briefs. 

Because your head was hanging over the side of the fake pumpkin beneath your back, you had a front row seat to Ransom’s big hand stroking his hard length, your mouth watering with the desire to taste him on your tongue. A whine slipped from your lips and you squirmed, getting Ransom’s attention.

He chuckled darkly, tucking your panties into the pocket of his slacks that didn’t hold his phone and then shoved them and his boxer briefs down. His thick, fat cock fell on your face, making you flinch in surprise at the slight slap of it against your skin. But in the next breath, you were tilting your face up and kissing him affectionately, murmuring in contentment when his musky taste hit your tongue. 

“Such a perfect little slut, baby,” Ransom rasped, his praise drenched in that warm tone that had your heart beating happily in your chest. He wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and slapped it gently on your smiling lips. “Open your mouth and spread your legs.” 

Immediately, you did as Ransom said, parting your thighs and opening your mouth wide, then waiting for what came next. You weren’t surprised when Ransom didn’t waste any time before pushing the tip of his cock past your lips.  

He let out a low, filthy groan as he thrust deep in your mouth, pressing into your throat until you could feel him bulging in the front of your neck. He held there, his balls nestled against your nose while you swallowed around him, trying to get used to the intrusion while he groaned obscenely at how good you felt. 

“Fuck yeah, baby, take daddy’s cock in your pretty little throat,” he rumbled, his hand wrapping around the front of your throat and pressing down lightly, grunting when he felt himself twitching inside you. “You’re such a perfect little slut, ’s like you were made for me—all for me.” 

You moaned around Ransom’s cock, hoping he took the sound for the agreement it was as you lay beneath him, your hips squirming and your pussy fluttering in the cool September air. Your wiggling seemed to get Ransom’s attention and he leaned over you, his big hand sliding between your thighs to rub your already messy pussy.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmured, his voice sounding like sunshine with the affection clear in his tone. “You still wanna see if you can come from getting your pussy spanked?” he asked, a smirk in his words. 

You nodded as best you could, your hips squirming and bucking, practically begging for him without using a single word—not that you could utter any with his cock buried so deeply in your throat. 

His fingers slid teasingly against your clit and you bucked harder, grinding against him as best you could. 

Your antics made Ransom laugh quietly as he muttered, “Alright, baby,” in a placating voice. 

That was the only warning you got—that and his hand disappearing from your pussy. Ransom’s big hand came down on your pussy sharply, the flat of his fingers spanking your pussy much harder than you. Still, you could feel he was holding back from using all his strength, only giving it to you as hard as he knew you could take.

And take it you did. 

A muffled scream clawed its way up your throat and slipped past your lips to be muffled against Ransom’s balls as white-hot pain flooded your body, followed closely by the all-consuming burn of pleasure. A tremor shook your limbs and you choked on Ransom’s cock, your throat squeezing him tight enough to wring a grunt from him. 

“Fuck—did that feel good, baby?” he rumbled, his fingers dipping into your hole and rubbing your juices all over your pussy, paying special attention to your clit. “Do you like it when daddy spanks your slutty pussy? Because you’re squeezing my cock like you want me to do it again.” 

His voice was drenched in warmth and humor and you whined in response as you planted your feet on the curve of the fake pumpkin and bucked your hips up against his hand, pleasure coiling tight in your core. You knew it was only a matter of a few more smacks from Ransom’s hand before that coil was snapping and you were going to come from him spanking your pussy. 

“That sounds like a yes, but I wanna feel you nod, baby,” Ransom murmured, his other hand petting your cheek softly. 

You couldn’t see him from the angle you were at, but you could hear the smile in his tone and you melted a little, your legs falling open wider as you nodded for him. 

“Good girl,” he praised, his fingers stroking over the bulge in your throat while his others rubbled your clit, making your tight channel squeeze his cock tighter. “And what do you do if it’s too much? Show daddy,” he urged as his fingers trailed lower, until they dipped into your black satin bra and swirled around your nipples until they were stiff peaks. 

Meanwhile, you reached back and patted the outside of Ransom’s thigh three times, the sign you’d established with him early on in your relationship for when you needed a break but didn’t have the capacity to use words. 

“Good, you’re such a good girl,” he purred. His hand kept sliding lower down your body until he reached your thighs. He grabbed your soft flesh and pushed your legs open even wider. “Now, let’s see if we can make your pretty pussy come just from being spanked while I fuck your slutty mouth.” 

You barely had a chance to moan your agreement before Ransom’s hand came down on your cunt again, the sharp, slick sound of his fingers slapping your wet flesh meeting your ears before the stinging pain and scorching pleasure sent your thoughts skittering away. 

He rubbed your clit roughly and moved his hips, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, grunting and groaning at the feel of your moans vibrating through him and your throat squeezing him every time he slapped your pussy. 

Ransom fell into a rhythm, spanking your pussy as hard as he thought you could handle, his fingers catching your clit every time, and fucking your throat while you lay draped over the big, fake pumpkin in that deserted pumpkin patch. 

You were at the mercy of Ransom, and he seemed to know it just as much as you did—and he didn’t take it for granted. His hands were purposeful with every touch, every spank, his hips never pushing too hard against your head as he fucked your mouth. It was filthy and dirty and yet you could feel the depth of his caring in everything he did to you.

It wasn’t long before you were pushed to the precipice of your release, your body trembling uncontrollably, the coil in your core wound so tight, you knew it would snap any second. 

Ransom must’ve felt it too, because he started up a constant refrain of, “Good girl, baby, come for me—come for daddy, baby. You’re doing so good, wanna watch your pretty pussy come, baby, c’mon, lemme see.” His words were so sweet and warm and wicked, you were unable to do anything but follow his gentle command. 

On the next slap to your cunt, the coil of pleasure in your belly snapped, and your entire body went tight with white-hot tension before it burst free into decimating waves of pleasure. Ransom’s cock muffled your scream as you came, your hips bucking and pussy convulsing beneath his warm palm as you rubbed your soaking wet slit against him. 

You were so consumed by your release, you didn’t notice the way Ransom had frozen, and you barely felt him pulling his cock free from your mouth. You only knew that suddenly you were able to pull in deep breaths and smell the crisp scent of the pumpkin patch. 

Your head spun when Ransom gently pushed you to sit up and hauled you off the pumpkin, your feet hitting the soft soil of the field and your knees nearly buckling as your body still shivered from the waves of pleasure rolling through you. 

Ransom sat heavily on his wool coat still draped haphazardly over the top of the pumpkin, his hands greedily grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap. Your knees bracketed his thighs while his hands grabbed your ass and guided you to sit up. Then you felt the tip of his cock slide against your still fluttering hole and you moaned, your head dropping back like you didn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore.

“Can’t fucking believe you came from getting your pussy spanked, baby,” Ransom was mumbling, his big hands changing the angle of your hips until the head of his cock was pressed to your entrance. “Gotta feel it, gotta…” He cut off on a grunt when he pushed into your slick, pulsing pussy, his hands shifting to your hips so he could pull you down onto his hard, throbbing length.

Your hands found Ransom’s biceps and you held onto him, your fingers tangling in the thick weave of his cable knit sweater as you quickly sank down on his cock. He was so thick and long, it stung a little to impale yourself so fast without any kind of preparation, but you didn’t care. You were too greedy for his cock to take your time, a deep, primal instinct driving you to take him as fast as you could while your mind was still reeling from your first release. 

“Oh fu-uck,” Ransom groaned brokenly, his head falling against your chest. You could feel his face pressing into your sternum, his heavy exhale ghosting between the swells of your breasts. It was against your bare skin, your heart racing just beneath the surface, that Ransom confessed, “I love you, nixie.” 

At his words, you went deathly still. For an unending moment, your mind reeled and you tried to be certain you’d heard Ransom correctly. You were sure you couldn’t have.

It didn’t seem like he realized what he’d said until he felt you stiffen in his lap. Then, Ransom sat up slowly, his gaze sharp as it raked over your face, trying to gauge your reaction. 

Licking your lips to bide you time to find your voice, you forced yourself to ask the question your heart needed an answer to. 

“Do you mean it?”

Ransom’s expression tightened, his eyes going even more wary, but he nodded��a quick, dip of his chin—and you sucked in a breath.

A tingling warmth started at the top of your head and cascaded through your body, filling you with a bright, fizzling feeling. It took a moment for you to recognize it was happiness. But not just happiness—it was pure, unfiltered joy. 

Your sugar daddy loved you. Ransom Drysdale loved you. 

His expression was growing more and more distant with every second that passed without you responding and you couldn’t have that. 

Squealing in delight, you launched yourself at him—not that it was such a far distance, considering you were in his lap—and he let out a soft, “oof,” when you collided with his chest, your arms winding around his neck and squeezing him tight.

“I love you, too, Ran,” you confessed on an exhale. It felt so good to get the words off your chest, that you repeated them. “I love you.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ransom said on a sigh of relief as he gathered you tighter against his chest. One of his arms wrapped around your lower back while the other braced against your spine so his hand could cup the back of your neck. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, nixie.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t love you back?” you asked softly before pressing a kiss to Ransom’s soft cheek because you couldn’t help yourself. The scent of his cologne filled your senses and you smiled against his jaw, kissing him again and again, like you’d never get enough of it. 

“Wasn’t sure,” he admitted gruffly. 

You giggled at the sheepishness in his tone, pulling back until you could see his face. He was blushing a little, a tiny bit of pink tinging his cheeks and making him look adorable. You couldn’t help yourself from cupping his handsome face in your hands and leaning forward to brush a sweet kiss to his mouth. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmured, in between teasing kisses. “I love you when you’re grumbling about going pumpkin picking, and I love you when you’re spanking my pussy, and I love you when you’re bringing me my favorite coffee because you remembered what I liked.” 

You kept kissing him until Ransom was chuckling, his hand squeezing the back of your neck in an affectionate gesture. He reeled you in for a deeper kiss, cutting off your list of all the times you’d loved him. But you and Ransom were smiling too much to kiss properly, your teeth knocking against each other and making you both laugh even more. 

Your joyful laughter soon devolved into soft moans and grunts when Ransom rocked his hips, shifting his cock even deeper inside you. Your fingers threaded through his soft brown hair and you clung to him while you rolled your hips, grinding down on his stiff length until you were breathless with renewed desire.

“Fuck, nixie—nixie, ‘m not gonna last much longer,” Ransom groaned, his arms tightening around your back and holding you pinned against his chest while he fucked up into you. “Your pussy’s too perfect—too fucking warm and tight and good for me.” 

“Come inside me, Ran,” you whispered heatedly, feeling his cock twitch at your suggestion. You moaned softly in his ear. Your clit was grinding against the base of Ransom’s cock, and it wouldn’t be long before you came for a second time. “Please, daddy, fill me up—wanna feel your come leaking from my pussy while we’re picking pumpkins, daddy, please,” you begged in a pathetic whine.

“I love you—fuck, I love you so fucking much, nixie,” Ransom growled, pressing his face to your cheek and nudging you to the side until his mouth found yours. He kissed you so long and so deeply, it made your head spin, and he fucked you all the while, pounding into your cunt hard enough that the pleasure he gave you was edged with just enough delicious pain that you were falling off the edge and coming in no time.

Ransom swallowed your screams of pleasure as you came, your pussy clenching his cock hard enough that he followed right after, grunting into your mouth so that it was your turn to muffle his sounds with your lips. 

Coming at the same time was heady and all-consuming and you were so happy you felt like you could float away if it wasn’t for Ransom’s arms holding you so tightly to his chest. And you were glad for it, because you didn’t want to float away unless he came with you.

The two of you gradually eased down from your highs together, still kissing, still murmuring your love for one another as if you could pass the words between your lips as easily as you exchanged breaths.

Finally, your rocking bodies gently stilled and your racing hearts returned to steady, normal drumbeats. The September sun was bright, keeping you warm from the chill in the air as you snuggled into your sugar daddy—the man that you loved, and who loved you in return.

Your head was still spinning and trying to process everything you’d both admitted while laying against Ransom’s chest, your fingers playing idly with a loose thread in his sweater, when he finally broke the comfortable silence that had fallen.

“If we carve up some of these pumpkins, do I really have to clean out all the guts with my bare hands?”

His question, and the almost whining tone in his voice, had you choking on a surprised laugh. You leaned back, looking into Ransom’s face to see if he was joking, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was giving the pumpkin patch another dubious look, making you laugh again as you shook your head at him.

“No, you could wear gloves, and there’s usually a scoop that comes in the pumpkin carving kits at the store,” you explained to him, your tone filled with humor even as you kept it even and patient. “You don’t have to touch the pumpkin guts if you don’t want to.”

Your fingers stroked through the hair at the nape of his neck and he seemed to relax, though whether it was from your assurance or your touch, you couldn’t tell. You suspected it was both.

After a moment, Ransom seemed to reach some sort of decision because he heaved a deep sigh and met your gaze. His blue eyes were shimmering in the bright afternoon sunlight, and the affection in his gaze warmed you despite the chill in the air. 

“Alright, let’s find some pumpkins worth carving,” he said, though his grim tone made it sound like he was suggesting you both walk into battle. 

A smile spread across your face and you giggled happily. “You mean it?”

“Of course, nixie,” Ransom rumbled, leaning in and brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do to make you happy—I thought that was clear when I agreed to an afternoon of pumpkin picking.” 

You laughed softly, ghosting your lips over his in a teasing gesture as your heart fluttered in your chest, happiness swooping through your belly. But still, his words didn’t exactly match up to your memory of events, especially given everything you’d done to get him to agree to the date—including the deal you’d made.

“Silly me, and here I thought it was because of the deal we made,” you murmured. 

“Mm, nope,” Ransom said, popping the ‘p’ in nope. “Woulda taken you pumpkin picking even without the deal—just liked watching you convince me.” He brushed feather-light kisses along your jaw, making you hum happily at the soft press of his lips after you snorted at his comment. “But now that you mention it, our arrangement extends to the pumpkin carving portion of this date, yeah?” 

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, having a hard time following the conversation when he sucked gently on the spot just beneath your ear that had your head falling to the side to give him better access. You shook your head lightly and found the words to form a proper response. “Sure, it lasts as long as the date does.”

You felt Ransom’s mouth curve as he smirked against the side of your neck. “Good,” he purred, kissing down your throat until he got to the line of your sweater. “Gonna make you suck my cock while I clean out our pumpkins.”

Buzzy excitement and warm desie flooded through you at his words and it was your turn to smile. You remembered that you’d considered offering to blow him to get him to carve pumpkins just that morning, so you obviously had nothing against his suggestion. You were eager for it to become a reality.

“Whatever you say, daddy,” you murmured in your sweetest voice. 

Ransom huffed an amused laugh before his mouth found yours again. 

The two of you kissed for a little while longer, until your knees and hips started to protest sitting in the same position on that big, fake pumpkin for so long. Ransom helped you down from his lap and towed you back toward the farm stand, so you could clean up in the nice employee bathroom—though he refused to give you your panties back.

You spent the rest of the early afternoon picking out pumpkins with Ransom, then he carried them back to his BMW and put them in the trunk. While he drove you both back to the city, he gave you his phone and told you to pick out your favorite of the photos he’d taken of you. 

You asked him if he only wanted you to pick from the lewd photos, and he told you to also pick one of the pictures he’d taken of you with your clothes covering you. When you asked him what it was for, he told you he wanted to frame it and put it on his desk in his office. Your heart fluttered when he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, admitting he missed you while he was at work.

If you hadn’t already known you were in love with him, you would’ve known then, your heart squeezing in happiness while your fingers tightened around his. Since you didn’t have to hold back your emotions anymore, you told him how much you loved him, and he responded by repeating the words and kissing your hand again.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at your townhouse apartment in Beacon Hill, cleaning out and carving the pumpkins you’d picked before putting candles in them and setting them on the steps outside your front door. Before the date was over, you even got Ransom Drysdale—your sugar daddy and the man that you loved—to admit he had fun. 

Of course, you had to promise you’d never tell anyone. But you assured him you could keep it secret, so long as he loved you. He grinned, and promised you he always would, then he sealed the deal with a kiss. 

And that was how an afternoon of pumpkin picking turned into a beautiful life together.

thanks for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡♡♡

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Something I need to see more in fics is Derek absolutely owning the argents. I really dislike it in fics when he has to beg Chris and Allison to work with him. Especially when they’re like “oh we are here to keep you in check”

Like no, beacon hills is his home, his family has bleed and died for beacon hills for centuries. That land bends to Derek’s will, and if he doesn’t want hunters on his land, beacon hills will make it so.

He owes the argents nothing, not his allegiance, not even his understanding. “Oh Chris didn’t know that Kate would” stfu. Christ argent still perpetuates the bigotry of being a hunter.

Give me alpha Derek hale, continuing on the legacy of his family. Having the hale pack, marrying stiles. Having a happy ending.

Anyway that’s my rant for the day 🫢

[soulofapatrick]

Falling Into You - Stiles Stilinski x Female Reader 

Summary: you and stiles finally give into your unknown crush on each other

Words: 2.6K

Warning: Heated makeout session; if you squint there's dry humping

Y/N’s POV

Living with Stiles has been far from boring. Ever since my dad was killed and my younger brother - Isaac - went to live with Derek, Sheriff Noah Stilinski graciously opened his home to me. That meant living with Stiles too, and let me tell you, it has been anything but dull. Stiles has this knack for turning even the most mundane day into a storytelling session filled with the antics he and Scott get up to. 

I’ve grown to love it here. The Stilinski house is like a second home, and the sheriff is like a second dad to me. He’s been incredibly supportive, especially during the tough times. And then there’s Stiles. He’s… well, he’s Stiles. Quirky, witty and always wearing that mischievous grin. 

Lately, though, something’s shifted. I’ve caught myself stealing glances at Stiles when he’s not looking. His passion for solving mysteries, his loyalty to his friends—there’s something undeniably endearing about him. Maybe it’s the way he cares for everyone around him, or the way he throws himself into every insane situation without hesitation. But it's more than that. There's a warmth in his laughter, a genuineness in his concern, that makes my heart flutter a bit faster. And as much as I try to ignore it, I can't deny that a crush has been slowly blossoming. 

Living under the same roof, it’s hard to keep these feelings under wraps. I find myself wanting to spend more time around him, hoping for moments where it’s just the two of us, away from the chaotic everyday that is Beacon Hills. Yet, I’m also terrified. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if it ruins our friendship or makes things awkward while living with him? 

Stiles is currently sat cross legged on my bed, looking so engrossed in whatever supernatural mystery he's delving into. His dedication is admirable, even if it means sacrificing proper posture for the sake of research. I can't help but steal glances at him every now and then, admiring the furrow in his brow as he concentrates. 

I wish I could tell him how I feel. But the fear of ruining what we currently have, the fear of changing the dynamic between us, it’s suffocating. So instead, I go back to focusing on my assignment, the words blurring on the page as my thought drift back to him. 

The room is quiet except for the clicking of keys and the occasional muttered comment from Stiles. As I sit at my desk, trying to concentrate on the assignment in front of me, my mind wandering again—this time an entirely different scenario and it’s one that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. 

I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to set aside the fear and uncertainty, to sit next to Stiles and lean in, closing the distance between us. What would it be like to press my lips against Stiles’? Would they be as soft as they look, as warm as his laugh? My heart races at the mere thought, a flurry of emotions dancing within me. 

I picture the moment vividly: closing the space between us, feeling the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, and the anticipation before our lips meet. I imagine his hands, tentative yet steady, finding their place on my skin, maybe on the curve of my cheek or the small of my back. How would it feel to have his touch ignite a thousand sparks, to feel the electricity between us? 

There’s a mix of longing and hesitation, the desire to experience that connection, yet the fear of disrupting the comfortable equilibrium we've found in our friendship. But in my mind's eye, it's a beautiful chaos—a leap into the unknown, a chance to explore something deeper, something that might exist beyond our late-night conversations and shared moments.

Before I can continue imagining me and Stiles the said boy breaks my thoughts, “Hey Y/N! Come here,” He speaks, excitement in his voice but his eyes never once leaving the screen. 

I force myself out of the reverie, blinking away the vivid daydreams as Stiles called out to me. His excitement is palpable, contagious even, and I push aside the rush of emotions to focus on the present. 

I rise from my chair, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness as I make my way to where Stiles is seated. He’s still hunched over the laptop, his attention entirely captured by the screen. With a careful step, I settle on the bed behind him, leaning over him enough to rest my chin on his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s got him so intrigued. 

His warmth seeps through the fabric of his shirt, radiating against my chest, a sensation I try desperately to ignore. The scent that envelopes me—a blend of old books, faint traces of motor oil and a lingering hint of coffee—should be distracting, but it’s oddly comforting. It’s quintessentially Stiles, a unique combination that feels inexplicably familiar and reassuring. 

I glance at the screen, feigning interest in whatever supernatural phenomenon has grabbed his attention. But truthfully, my focus wavers between trying to understand what he’s showing me and the proximity between us. His presence feels magnetic, drawing me in, yet I fight the urge to let my thoughts drift into forbidden territory. 

“Look at this,” He exclaims, pointing to a section on the screen. His enthusiasm is infectious, and for a moment, I forget the inner turmoil, getting lost in his excitement. 

Stiles is engrossed in explaining something on the screen, his energy palpable. I try my best to keep up, nodding along as he talks, but the proximity between us amplifies every emotion within me. 

Suddenly, he turns his head, excitement lighting up his russet eyes as he tries to make a point. His words trail off mid-sentence, and in that suspended moment, our faces are unexpected close. I feel his breath, warm against my skin, a sensation that sends a shiver down my spine. 

As if in slow motion, I notice every tiny detail—the freckles scattered across his pale skin, the way his eyes dart down to my lips for the briefest moment before meeting my gaze again. My breath catches in my throat, and I’m sure he can heart the erratic beat of my heart. There's a shift in the air, an unspoken tension that crackles between us. His cheeks flush with colour, a shade of red that matches the intensity of my own emotions. I can't tear my gaze away from him, from the way his eyes flicker between mine and the way his lips part, as if searching for words that elude him. 

For a moment, time seems suspended, our silent exchange speaking volumes. I feel a surge of courage and vulnerability intertwine within me, a silent plea for something more, a leap into the unknown. 

But just as quickly as the moment arrives, it slips away. Stiles blinks, breaking the trance, and clears his throat, shifting slightly away. "Um, sorry, got carried away there," he stammers, his voice a tad higher than usual.

The air feels charged with an awkward tension, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. I try to ease the discomfort by standing up, intending to head back to my desk and salvage what’s left of our usual camaraderie. But before I can even take a step, Stiles’ hand shoots out, wrapped around my wrist in a swift motion that catches me off guard. 

Caught off guard by the sudden proximity, I stumble and practically find myself in Stiles's lap. His warmth envelopes me, and for a moment, our heartbeats synchronise in a chaotic rhythm that seems to echo the unspoken emotions between us. 

Stiles’ eyes lock onto mine, a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability swirling within their depths. His tongue darts out to wet his pretty pink lips, a nervous gesture that betrays the intensity of the moment. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, his hand finds the back of my neck, drawing me closer. 

In that heartbeat before our lips meet, the world around us seems to still. His touch sends a surge of electricity through me, igniting a fire that I didn’t know was simmering within. And then, finally, our lips touch in a kiss that feels both anticipated and inevitable. 

As our embrace intensifies, the laptop becomes a mere afterthought, pushed aside to make way for the burgeoning heat between us. Stiles's movements are deliberate, his hands finding my hips with a confident touch, guiding me to straddle his lap as our bodies mold together. 

The kiss deepens, the connection between us sparking a newfound intensity. Stiles’ hands, warm against my skin, slip under the fabric of my teeshirt, sending shivers cascading down my spine. His touch is electric, fingers tracing patterns along my hips, a gentle yet possessive hold that ignites a fire within me. I tangle my fingers in his messy hair, feeling the soft strands between my fingertips as I tilt his head back slightly, deepening the kiss. There’s a dominance in his action, a confidence that surprises me but also excites me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. 

His lips move with purpose, fervent and seeking, a silent demand for more as our breaths mingle in the shared space between us. Each movement, each touch, feels like an unspoken confession of desires long kept hidden. 

My heart races as I lean into him, relishing the sensation of his lips against mine, the way his body responds to my touch. And as I lose myself in the passion of the moment, it becomes clear that Stiles, despite his usual playful demeanour, possesses a commanding presence that takes my breath away. 

As the intensity of the moment heightens, Stiles’ touch remains both from and reassuring, his hands guiding me with a tenderness that contrasts his newfound dominance. With a gentle yet firm pressure, his long, nimble fingers press against my back, coaxing me to lower myself onto him. There’s an undeniable pull in his touch, drawing me closer until I’m lying atop him, our chests pressing together in a shared rhythm. Our breaths mingle in the small space between y=us, the heat of the moment making the air around us feel charged. 

His chest rises and falls with each breath, syncing with mine, creating an unspoken harmony. The sensation of our bodies pressed together sends jolt through me, an electric current that ignites every nerve ending. 

As I rest against him, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat against mine, a rush of emotions floods over me—desire mingled with a newfound intimacy, vulnerability meshed with a sense of comfort in this uncharted territory. 

Stiles's gaze holds a mixture of passion and tenderness, a silent understanding passing between us in the shared silence. His fingers trace gentle patterns along my back, a gesture that speaks volumes, conveying a reassurance amidst the fervour of the moment. His lips part as if to speak but instead, in a very Stiles fashion, a torrent of words spill out in a hurried stream. 

“I-I've wanted to do this for so long, and I'm sorry, I should've asked, I mean, I wanted to ask, but then this moment happened, and I just... I didn't want to ruin it, but I should’ve—" He babbles, the words tumbling out faster than I can comprehend. His apology mixes with an admission that he’s wanted this as much as I have, and amidst his rambling, I can’t help but laugh softly, finding the sudden flood of words endearing. 

Before his apologies and explanations can continue, I decide to silence him the best way I know how. With a gentle yet decisive motion, I cup his face in both hands, capturing his lips in a kiss that speaks volumes, stealing away his words and replacing them with the silent language of our shared desires. 

The kiss is deliberate interruption, a way to convey everything I’ve been feeling in a single moment. It’s a tender yet firm assertion, an assurance that words are unnecessary amidst the eloquence of our connection. 

As our lips meet, I feel a shift in the air, the nervous energy dissipating into something more serene. Stiles’ initial surprise melts into a reciprocated warmth, and soon, the kiss becomes a dance of shared affection and unspoken apologies. In that suspended moment, the kiss becomes a story of its own—a narrative of unspoken emotions conveyed through the gentle meeting of our lips. Stiles's initial surprise gives way to a newfound ease, his lips molding against mine with a familiarity that feels surprisingly natural yet exhilaratingly new.

His touch, tender yet assured, ignites a cascade of sensations. His hands explore, tracing the contours of my back, sending tingles racing along my skin. There’s a delicate balance in his touch, a mix of reverence and longing that speaks volumes about the dept of his emotions. 

As our kiss deepens, I’m enveloped in a whirlwind of emotions. Stiles’ lips against mine feel like a discovery—a blend of softness and fervour, an unspoken language that surpasses any verbal communication. Each movement of our lips is a revelation, a testament to the unspoken connection between us. His closeness has a gravitational pull, drawing me in and enveloping me in a sense of security and desire. In this moment, I feel cherished, desired, and seen in a way that goes beyond mere words. 

The intensity of our kiss, a universe of emotions contained within, is abruptly interrupted by the jarring ring of Stiles’ phone. Startled, we break apart, a shared groan escaping both of us as the moment fractures, replacing by the intrusion of reality. Stiles fumbles for his phone, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. With a sigh, he answers and puts it on speaker, revealing Scott’s urgent voice on the other end, asking if Stiles had found any leads. 

As Stiles responds to Scott’s inquiries, I take the opportunity to sit back up, adjusting my position so that I’m straddling his waist. The shift seems to catch Stiles of guard, his breath hitching slightly, and I can feel the bulge pressing against my ass. I watch as Stiles bites his lip, a subtle attempt to suppress any involuntary sounds, his focus divided between the phone call and me, shifting on his lap. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment, and I can see a hint of frustration at the interruption, mixed with a smouldering intensity that sends a thrill through me. 

Leaning closer, I offer an apologetic smile, silently acknowledging the disruption but unable to resist teasing him but grinding my hips against his, pretending to get more comfortable on his lap. I notice the way his breath catches again and his hands dart for my hips unsure if they want to stop my hips or help me roll them against that growing bulge. 

“Sh-shit,” A moan escapes him and Scott falls silent as Stiles’ cheeks bloom a pretty shade of red, “Fuck, I gotta go, talk later.” And with that Stiles is hanging up, practically throwing his phone on the floor and in one quick moment has us flipped over so I’m laying underneath him. 

“Hi.” I breathe quietly, an ache between my legs. 

“Don’t you ‘hi’ me you little tease.” He grumbles, leaning on his elbows either side of my head. 

“What you gonna do about it?” I challenge, loving the gleam in his eyes. 

Stiles chuckles softly, his eyes dancing with mischief as he leans closer, his breath brushing against my lips. 

"Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what you've started."

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[murdrdocs]

stiles needs his dick sucked fr fr

like he works sooo hard time and time again to protect his friends and beacon hills and he just needs to blow off some steam you know.

he just needs to stand there, arms crossed over his chest, gaze a little hard as he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. he's thinking, staring at the board in front of him, putting together the final pieces of the latest crime to be nearly solved.

you're being patient as can be, swinging your legs as you lay on the bed behind him, eyes focused entirely on his frame even if you can only see the back. he starts talking to you, or maybe more so to himself. murmuring connections, letting rhetorical questions fall out into the air, only for him to answer it himself just a second or so later.

your patience starts to wear thin, especially when he scratches his jaw and his back muscles flex. he turns around to face you, pink lips already forming a questions directed at you this time. but there's no time, not when you're already over there, on your knees with your hands at the waistband of his sweatpants.

stiles only has enough sense to say "woah", his hands resting over yours. "are you––? do you wanna––?"

each question is left unsaid, but you nod anyway, waiting for stiles' consent to continue. which comes in the form of a nod, and his hands leaving yours. he lets you dig your hands under the elastic. he lets you pull his sweats and briefs down.

he watches as you take the leaking head on his tip into your mouth, lips puckered around him, tongue flicking out to lick the precum off. when you pull away, there's just enough saliva there to add a glisten, entrancing both you and stiles. you look at him, he looks at you, and then he looks back down to watch your mouth work.

[lycoperdales]

There is something so special in the bond between Derek and Scott, especially the aspects that are not so overt.

The fact that Derek lost his entire family, found a newly bitten little shit and said “we’re brothers now”.

When Derek said he’d kill Scott for protecting Jackson, then not even two seconds later he’s catching bullets to protect Scott from hunters.

Scott near killing himself out of guilt when he thought Derek had died.

Scott being the first to know something was going on with Derek because Derek wasn’t responding to texts. Implying that Scott just checks up on him regularly???

Derek snapping out of Kate’s manipulations just to run to Scott.

Scott admitting to missing Derek.

Derek saying Scott reminds him of his mother.

The FUCKING PRIDE in Derek’s eyes when Scott was learning to be an alpha for Liam.

Scott being acutely aware of Derek’s health problems and his progress with relying on guns.

Derek saying that he came back to Beacon Hills for Scott (+the fact that Scott just goes to hug Derek as soon as he can when they reunite in 6B).

The brotherhood is real with this one.

[ateotd-izzy]

it’s nice to have a friend - stiles stilinski x fem!reader

“you been stressed out lately, yeah, me too”

summary: you didn’t have many friends in middle school, not until you met a boy one afternoon. it was nice to have a friend. especially one that lasted as long as stiles did.

“something gave you the nerve to touch my hand”

notes: friends to lovers (obv), it’s just very sweet and fluffy, i just love him sm :3

“it’s nice to have a friend”

☾

the first time you met stiles stilinski was on a cold winter afternoon back in the seventh grade.

snow in beacon hills wasn’t common at all, so you weren’t exactly prepared for the freezing weather.

and to top it all off, while you were in school, you had lost your gloves at some point during the day.

so now you were walking home with the fear that you were going to lose your hands to frostbite.

as you walked, you noticed the boy walking on the sidewalk next to you looking at you while you rubbed your hands together.

“you could borrow one of mine if you’d like.” he suddenly spoke and you turned to look at him.

“what?” 13-year-olds didn’t exactly always have the best manners.

he pulled one of his gloves off of his hand and held it out to you. “you don’t wanna get hypothermia. i did a science report on it, like, two years ago. it’s not cool.”

“who are you?” you asked as you took the glove and slipped it onto your hand.

“oh, right, i’m stiles.” he held out his bare hand to you.

“y/n.” you smiled, shaking his hand with your own non-gloved hand. “sheriff stilinski’s your dad, right?”

“yup.” stiles nodded with a smile. “are you doing anything this afternoon?”

“no… why?”

“wanna hang out?”

this strange and very sweet boy who you had just met was asking to hang out with you.

“what would we do?” you asked curiously as the two of you walked.

“i have a bunch of video games.”

you smiled. “yeah, sounds like fun.”

so stiles walked you to his house where the two of you hung out playing video games in his living room until his dad got home.

by then you had lost track of time and had to go home.

“see you tomorrow, y/n.” stiles smiled from the door as you walked down onto the sidewalk.

“see ya, stiles.”

the next day wasn’t as cold. the snow had all melted and it was warm enough to not have to wear too many layers.

at school, stiles sat at the desk next to yours first period and discreetly passed you a note when the teacher wasn’t looking.

you carefully unfolded it to see his messy handwriting across the lines on the paper.

wanna hang out with me and scott today?

it’s nice to have a friend

five years later you sat beside stiles on the hood of his jeep.

he had parked on the cliff side so the two of you could watch the sunset.

the sky before you was a soft, light pink as the sun had begun sinking behind the horizon.

this night was one where the two of you were free of the troubles of werewolves, banshees, dread doctors and theo raeken, who had recently been sent to hell.

you’d had a crush on the boy sitting beside you, your best friend, for the last two years at least. around the time where all the werewolf troubles began back in your sophomore year.

and this night in particular, you didn’t have a curfew. your parents thought you were staying at stiles’ house for the night, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

most nights you would sneak out when it came to supernatural stuff, but this time it was just you and stiles hanging out.

“wanna play 20 questions?” you asked as the sky began to grow darker, but the pink and orange stayed.

“why? we practically know everything about each other.” stiles chuckled and you shrugged.

“we haven’t been able to just hang out like this lately.” you pointed out. “there’s always been something else.”

so stiles agreed to the game and the two of you played. most of the questions were silly, stuff about movies and games that you already knew the answers to.

but some of the questions were more real. about school and college, or scott’s lycanthropy.

then stiles told you, unprovoked, about how stressed out he had been lately. with theo, donovan, the dread doctors, scott, and the overwhelming fear that everyone was going to leave him behind.

“yeah, i get it. i absolutely get it.” you bumped his shoulder with your own. “but you don’t need to worry. you’ll always have me.”

stiles smiled as he looked at you beside him, while you looked back at the sunset.

he looked down at your hand, which was sitting on the hood of his jeep in between the two of you.

and slowly, despite his nerves jittering, he moved his hand from his leg and sat it beside yours, your fingers brushing against his.

stiles didn’t know that small touch sent what felt like a jolt of electricity through your body and butterflies into your stomach.

then, while looking forward, stiles moved his hand even closer and sat his on top of yours.

your lips fought back the smile that was growing on your face, and stiles saw it from his peripheral vision as he laced your fingers together.

he held your hand tightly in his and you put your head on his shoulder as the sun disappeared from sight.

“i like you, stiles.” you spoke softly and stiles didn’t answer. for a moment you thought you had messed something up, so you lifted your head off his shoulder.

then stiles said the same thing. “i like you, too.”

and then he kissed you.

it’s nice to have a friend

“stiles, put me down!” you exclaimed, your arms wrapped around his neck tightly in fear that he would drop you.

he laughed but slowly helped you stand on the porch.

your hands trailed up his body until they were sitting on his shoulders before you kissed him.

his hands moved to hold your hips and yours drifted up to the sides of his face.

you pulled back and smiled.

“come on, mrs. stilinski, into the house we go.” stiles pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door.

you and stiles had gotten married just a month ago, not long after you had finished college and he started in the fbi.

as the two of you walked into your house, you took stiles’ hand in yours and intertwined your fingers.

you had moved out of beacon hills and now lived somewhere where it snowed a lot more frequently. that made you happy, because snow always reminded you of the day you first met stiles.

you watched the snow fall outside through the kitchen window while you started to make dinner.

“babe,” you called for stiles from the kitchen and he was before you in a flash.

“yeah?”

“you wanna watch a movie while we eat?” you asked and his face lit up the same way it would back when you were teenagers.

“star wars?” he asked, quirking his eyebrows and pressing his lips together, his own little pleading face.

“sure.” you chuckled and turned to grab something from the fridge.

stiles’ arms wrapped their way around your middle from behind and his chin sat on your shoulder. kissing your cheek, stiles smiled as he hugged you tightly.

“you want help with dinner?” he mumbled against your neck.

“yeah.” you lifted one of your hands back to brush through his hair. “you want to help?”

“of course.” he pressed a few slow kisses to your neck before slowly letting go of you and moving to the counter. “what are we making?”

it’s nice to have a friend

tags: @brvceyamada

[andreafmn]

Ours | Derek Hale Oneshot

Word Count: 3.5K Requested by @gracelynn318: "Derek or Stiles finding out that their significant other (the reader) is pregnant and they try to keep it secret for as long as possible" Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms (vomiting, nausea, fatigue)

Summary: Derek Hale and (Y/N) have been together for a long time, and they didn't know something was missing from their lives until it arrived unexpectedly. And all they want to do is revel in the moment for as long as they can, by themselves.

A/N: this story follows 0% of canon, just the character's names. will admit. I am a horrible Teen Wolf fan that has yet to see season 5 and 6, and I've also yet to watch the movie. So, definitely an AU 😬also, be on the lookout for tonight or tomorrow for another surprise regarding this request 😉😉

Derek had noticed the change long before (Y/N) had. Long before she knew why she spent her days expelling her meals down the toilet drain, before she understood why her body craved more food than she could keep down, before she had even noticed that a month had passed and her period had not arrived. 

It came late at night. The soft putter of a heartbeat that felt so far that it could have been confused with the sound of rain against the pavement. They had been lying in bed, the exhaustion of living in Beacon Hills the only thing they needed to crash at night. But the sound had been bothering Derek. The continuous rhythm didn’t allow the wolf to lose himself in much-needed slumber. The sound kept him up, especially from where it was coming from. 

“(Y/N),” he whispered, running his hand up and down her arm to wake her. “(Y/N), baby, wake up.” 

“Mm,” she groaned groggily, cuddling to his body tightly. “Go to sleep, Derek.” 

 “(Y/N), I gotta ask you something. Wake up.” 

“We can talk in the morning,” she whined. “I’m tired right now.” 

“It’s important,” he chuckled softly. “I need your complete focus.” 

With a loud exhale, (Y/N) sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The sheet fell from her torso, and the coldness of the night made her skin erupt in goosebumps. She rarely got angry with Derek, but she was coming quite close at that very moment. “You better have a good reason to wake me, Der,” she said. “I’m so tired I might just put off killing you until tomorrow.” 

“Listen, please,” he said. “When was the last time you got your period?” 

“What?” the girl questioned. “You seriously just woke me up to ask about my cycle?” 

“More or less. Just answer. Did you get it last month?” 

It took her a moment to think. The grogginess of being woken up still clutched her mind, and recounting the past weeks was hard. But her body startled awake as she realized she had not gotten her shark week in a month and a half. That fact alone did not scare her. She had always been irregular, and in moments of stress, it was more likely than not that she skipped a cycle. The problem was that not only had she missed a period, she had been feeling sick for the past three weeks. And the math was not too hard to do. 

“I-I didn’t,” she stammered. “W-why are you asking?”

“Oh my god,” he answered. “Oh my god!” 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

Instead of answering, Derek pressed his ear to her stomach until he could hear the sound clearly. Alongside (Y/N)’s quickening heartbeat, a quieter, steady pattern joined. It was too indistinguishable now. “You’re pregnant,” he said. So quiet he wasn’t sure if he had said it at all. “There’s a baby in there. Our baby.” 

“Pregnant…” (Y/N) could not believe the word even as it rolled out of her tongue. “I can’t believe it.” 

“We’ll go to Deaton tomorrow, but I’m certain. I can hear their heart beating in there.” 

(Y/N)’s mind was reeling. Pregnant, she thought to herself. The word felt foreign. So did her body. Derek had noticed the change before her. How could she not have known that a life was growing inside her? How could she ever be a mother when she did not even know herself?  

Without realizing it, tears fell down her cheeks. She felt weak and panicked. The strong woman that had faced the biggest dangers and far scarier monsters trembled with the thought of a life depending on her for survival. It was one thing to volunteer to protect the members of the pack. They were old enough to fend for themselves. It was another to be responsible for the life and survival of another human. 

“Hey,” Derek called. His voice sounded like it was underwater. So far away that she could barely hear it. “Baby, what’s going on?” 

She hadn’t noticed that she had stood from the bed and was pacing around their room. Her breathing was shallow, and her chest heaved as she took in short breaths, trying to steady herself. Tears kept falling faster than she could wipe them away. They warmed her cheeks before the air turned them cold. It was the only thing that grounded her. 

And Derek. Always Derek. 

He had gotten off the bed, and within a second, he was wrapping his arms around her. The warmth from his skin calmed her. It brought her senses back to the moment, steadying her rampant heart. 

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” he spoke into the crook of her neck. “Tell me what I can do to make it better.”  

“I’m scared, Derek,” she sighed, tightening her grip around him. “A baby. Here. Now.”  

“Why not here?” Derek smiled, his hands running through her hair. “Why not now? With you as their mother, that baby could be born underground, and they would be the luckiest child in the world.” 

“How could you be so sure?” (Y/N) cried. “I forget things all the time, I’m clumsy, I can barely redeem myself when it comes to fighting. If it weren’t for my weapons, I wouldn’t bring much to the fight against our enemies. What good would I be to protect a child? How could I be entrusted with their entire upbringing?” 

“Oh, (Y/N). You’re far more valuable than what you bring to a fight.” His hands cradled her face, the green of his eyes boring into hers. “You are the most caring person I know. If it weren’t for you, I would have killed half of the pack by now. You’re smart. You’re funny. And if anyone should be terrified of becoming a parent, it should be me.” 

“Come on,” she scoffed jokingly, her tears finally subsiding. “You’d be an amazing father. Temperamental, but great nonetheless.” 

“Well, I’m glad it at least got you laughing,” he grinned. “How about we just take this one day at a time, baby? Make sure we take things slow. Tell people on our own time. Instead of going to the doctor, we buy a pregnancy test at the pharmacy; confirm what I already know.” 

“But if you can hear the heartbeat, I am sure all the other wolves will, too,” she worried. “How am I supposed to take things as they come when everyone will know the second they come here?” 

“Then, I won’t let anyone back here,” he smiled. “I’ll have them meet me at the warehouse or at Argent’s place. We can say you’re sick with something and won’t be there. Or that you went to visit family out of state –I don’t know. The point is, we can do this, baby. I know we can.” 

“Well, I do admire your tenacity,” she chuckled, kissing his lips softly and hugging him again. “One day at a time, right?” 

“One day at a time.” 

And it worked. For two months, at least. 

That very morning, he went out and returned home with five pregnancy tests and a bouquet of flowers. And five minutes later, they all showed an array of dark pink plus signs and the word Pregnant on them. Just like that, it had been confirmed. A new baby Hale would be coming to Beacon Hills in eight months. 

They were excited. Of course, they were. But they couldn’t help the terror that overtook them as well. Bringing a new life into their world was a scary thought. The fact that anyone with knowledge of their child could use them against them was terrifying. Still, they wanted that baby more than anything they had wanted before. 

The child that grew inside of (Y/N) was the tangible representation of their love. Evidence that everything life had thrown at them had not been able to push them apart, not for a second. They had been through hell and back, always together, and they had come out of every single occasion stronger than before. That baby was the final piece to their equation. 

The next day, they went to the first available OB/GYN about an hour from the town. The doctor confirmed what they already knew, adding the new fact that she was around seven weeks along. The process was more than uncomfortable, but the result was well worth it. A tiny blob appeared on the screen, and the sound of a rapid heartbeat filled their ears. It made tears well up in their eyes. That tiny thing would soon turn into their baby. And even though it didn’t even have a distinguishable shape, they had fallen in love with them. 

At first, they thought they would pass the first trimester in bliss. That they would only grow more and more excited as the days passed. And they would have. Had it not been for all the symptoms that overtook (Y/N). 

She spent most of her day hunched over the toilet seat, emptying whatever was in her stomach. Even when she thought she could keep food down, an hour or two later, she would be in the bathroom letting it out. And if she wasn’t vomiting, she was ransacked with deep waves of nausea. Then, her breasts started to swell, painful jabs running through her every few days. In addition to heartburn and fatigue, it made her question just how worth it a baby could be. 

But Derek had been attentive as ever, if not a little overbearing. He had kept his promise of moving where the meetings were held, claiming that the loft was under renovation while (Y/N) was out of town for a bit. It wasn’t a complete lie, though. He used his downtime to clean up around the house and fix things he had put off for far too long. 

He fed her saltine crackers and electrolyte drinks, rubbed her back, and held her hair, and he loved her. Every day and every night, he loved her. Even when he had to stay up cleaning the bathroom or he had to carry her back to bed. He loved her through everything. 

“You did this to me,” she had groaned one day. “All I want is to eat chips and pickles, but I can’t keep anything down.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he responded, drawing circles on her back as he cradled her body in the bathroom. “Hopefully, in a week, it’ll subside. You’re almost out of the first trimester, and the morning sickness should get better.”

“Stop reading pregnancy books,” she whined. “By the time this bun is fully baked, you’ll know more than me.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Derek chuckled but swallowed his laughter as (Y/N) gifted him an angry scowl. “Okay, okay. I think the ten books I’ve read will do.”

(Y/N) remained quiet and threw her head against his chest. His arms snaked around her body, a comfort she allowed herself to sink into. The warmth from his body felt nice against her shivering skin. But just his presence was enough to comfort her, regardless of the words she spoke. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been snappy these past few days,” she sighed. Her eyes closed as he wrapped his arms tighter around her, her head falling against his chest. “I love this baby, and I love you, but I don’t love puking all the time. And peeing all the time. And being tired all the time. I want to fast forward to the next few months.” 

“Hey, you can be snappy with me all you want. I can take it,” he said with a smile. “I will be right here every step of the way because I love you. More than you could ever know.” 

“Even when I’m all big and bloated?” (Y/N) chuckled, her hands falling onto the growing small bump. “They're already trying to deform my body.” 

“Well, at least you’re glowing.”

“No,” she sighed. “That’s just sweat.”

“Then you look beautiful covered in sweat,” he laughed. “Now, let’s get you to bed. Alright?” 

(Y/N) could only nod and wrap her arms around his neck as he carried her back to bed, laying right next to her. Even if he couldn’t take this discomfort away, he was trying his best to make things better for her. 

Another week passed, and things started to shift. The woman would only occasionally feel the need to throw up her food, but the constant nausea and heartburn had subsided. And once (Y/N) saw her baby's small fingers and feet in their 12-week ultrasound, she knew it had all been worth it. 

She also knew they couldn’t keep the secret to themselves any longer. 

The pack had become angsty. Wondering when (Y/N) would be coming back from her supposed trip. Two and a half months was far too long to just be with family. With no imminent danger in sight, they had too much time to check up on everyone else. 

“I think it’s time we tell them,” (Y/N) told Derek as they watched a movie. She cradled her small bump, something she had unconsciously started to do. “We’re almost at the five-month mark, and I think it’ll be too hard to hide.”

“Do we really?” he groaned. “I can just keep you hidden here until the nine months are up. They don’t have to know a thing.”

“You would really keep the mother of your child sequestered in these walls until I give birth?”

“Maybe even more,” he shrugged. “Maybe I’ll keep you here forever.”

“You’re quite funny, Mr. Hale,” she chuckled. “But they are our friends —our family. They deserve to know there’s one more person to protect.”

“I’ve just really liked this time,” he sighed. His chin rested on her shoulder, his beard tickling her exposed skin. “You know, just you and me. Basking in the time we won’t have once everyone knows and once the baby is here. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, (Y/N). A family of my own, that I can love and protect. A home that’s ours.”

“And we will have that,” she smiled. “We’re just allowing more love in. The best part, at the end of the day, we can just kick them out.” 

“When you put it that way,” he laughed before kissing her lips, savoring her. “Alright, fine. We’ll tell them next Saturday.” 

“Thank you, Der. It’s gonna be great.”

And it should have. 

Had it not been for the million things that went wrong that week. The A/C was busted for a total of four days, a pipe burst in one of the bathrooms, the paint they had ordered for the nursery had been put on back order, and the Camaro had to be taken into the shop for tuning. Thing after thing occurred, piling onto an already stressful time. 

Nevertheless, the week came and went. And before either of them knew it, Saturday had rolled in. 

To say (Y/N) was nervous was an understatement. For some reason, anxiety was taking over her body. Its claws dug themselves deep into her being. It made her veins run cold and her heart speed. She didn’t know how any of them would react to the baby. Even to the fact that they had kept it from them for so long. And although Derek tried his best to calm her worries, they had already made a home inside her head. 

“God, what if they hate the fact that I’m pregnant?” (Y/N) worried as she laid out more food than necessary on the kitchen counter. “What if they find the idea of bringing a child into a messed up world to be the worst thing ever?” 

“Who cares, baby? It’s our child,” Derek tried to reassure. “We are the ones that will be raising them. The ones to protect them. Always and forever.

“But they say it takes a village, Der. And that is one thing that I know is true. I mean, at some point, we will need their help.”

“And you really think we won’t have it,” he said, rounding the kitchen island. His hands traveled her body and, in one swift move, had her sitting on the counter. At eye level, he could stare directly into her glossy eyes. “We have been through everything with these people. Even the ones I hated at the beginning have become my closest friends. I’m 100% sure they’ll be thrilled that you’re pregnant.”

He snaked his hand to her chin, pulling her down for a soft kiss. But once their lips made contact, it was too much of a temptation to keep it chaste. Soon enough, their tongues danced together, and their hands pulled each other closer. It left them breathless and excited, wanting —needing more. 

“Uh, we can come back if it’s a bad time,” Stiles’ voice rang through the apartment, startling them apart. “But you guys did invite us here. So, it’s kind of bad on you guys.” 

“No. Yes! I mean, it’s not a bad time,” (Y/N) chuckled as she jumped off the counter, hiding her stomach with a comically large bowl. “We just got carried away, I guess.”

“The one day they decide to show up on time,” Derek grumbled under his breath. “Come in, why don’t you?” 

Before they knew it, the apartment was filled with werewolves, a banshee, other werehumans and supernatural beings, and their very own abominable snowman. The couple remained in the kitchen as everyone situated themselves, whispering under their breath what the best way to go about it would be. 

“Not to be pushy,” Peter called out. “But if you guys only called us over for some food, I have better things to do than hang around children all day.”

“You do know we’re all well above the age of eighteen, right?” Isaac retorted. “It’s been quite some time since we have been children.” 

“You’re still younger than me, correct?” 

“Well, yeah…” 

“Then children,” he said. “So, what is it? Am I staying, or am I leaving?” 

“Settle down, Peter,” Derek responded, biting back the urge to roll his eyes. “We do have something important to announce to everyone and would very much appreciate it if you just listen.” 

“Fine,” he frowned. “But you have ten minutes of my time before I decide to leave.” 

“All we need is a couple of seconds, really,” (Y/N) said with a smile on her face so sweet no one dared say anything else. “I’m sure you heard that I was away for a while and that we were undergoing renovations here. Which, as you can tell by the lack of changes, was not true. Derek lied on my behalf and moved any necessary meetings out of our home because I needed this time to myself as I underwent a sort of change in my life.” 

“Oh my god, you’re dying,” Stiles worried. “Is it cancer? Is it at least treatable?” 

“It’s nothing like that, Stiles,” she reassured with a soft chuckle. “But thank you for worrying. It’s just as life-changing but not necessarily life-threatening. At least, I’m hoping it’s not. But you could never be sure until…” 

“(Y/N), you’re rambling,” Derek whispered in her ear. “It’s nothing bad.”

“You’re pregnant!” Lydia exclaimed, a bright smile adorning her face. 

“How would you know that?” Malia questioned. “I thought you predicted death, not new life.” 

“It’s common sense,” she shrugged, disregarding the comment. “She’s been hiding for months. The place smells like paint, and nothing in this room is painted, so I can only assume it’s a bedroom. And she hasn’t stepped out from behind the island that just so happens to cover her stomach. Two and two always makes four.” 

“Except on this occasion, it made three,” (Y/N) chuckled. She walked around the counter and joined Derek’s side, her bump finally on display for everyone to see. “But, yes, Lydia, I am pregnant. Almost five months now.” 

A shower of ‘holy crap’s and ‘oh my god’s rained over them as, one by one, the pack got to their feet and hugged the couple in congratulations. They rejoiced together and started planning how to spoil little baby Hale even before they were born. Every single person was as excited and overjoyed as Derek and (Y/N) were, anxious for when the baby was born. 

Well, except Peter. 

“Yeah, next time you have these kinds of news, little nephew, make sure to make it an email,” he grumbled, looking at his watch. “Can’t believe I canceled evening plans for a pregnancy announcement.” 

“We love you too, Peter,” (Y/N) laughed. “Maybe if you leave now, you can still make it to whatever it is that you had planned.” 

“I’m already here,” he shrugged as he sat back down on the sofa. “Might as well take advantage of the free food.” 

“Ignore him,” Derek told her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “He can’t take this moment away from us. It’s all ours.” 

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[dcangel]

can you do another stiles smut?

Thinking about road head with stiles...

Stiles was the one who gave you those eyes; the kind that you do a double take at from across the room when you were with the pack, already onto the third night in a row of trying to figure out the mysteries of the latest supernatural threat.

But why would you even think to question it? Right now the rest of the pack thought you two had left because you simply told them you were tired and couldn't think straight—but that might've been because stiles was occupying your mind.

You hopped in the passenger seat and thought it was going to be a quick ride to his house—his dad had yet another late night shift thanks to the disappearances that certain people seemed to know more about than others—but when you realized you weren't on those familiar roads, you started thinking. Was stiles going to take you to the lookout point that overlooked beacon hills?

Honestly, it wouldn't surprise you if he just pulled over to have you on the side of the isolated back roads. It wouldn't be the first time you two went at it in the Jeep, you just felt bad for your friends with heightened senses that might've smelt the lingering aroma.

He didn't put his hand on your thigh like usual, not until you grabbed his hand and innocently intertwined your fingers did he pull away after pressing a light kiss to the back of your hand and rest his on the exposed skin of your thigh. Innocent enough, right?

Wrong. You couldn't have been anymore wrong. It didn't take long for his fingers to slide up the smooth skin, the side of his pinky and palm rubbing your jean-clad heat. Each time his knuckle nudged you in just the right spot, your hips twitched — more like bucked.

And it took even less time for you to unbutton them, his fingers soon pumping in and out of the wetness he smiled at when he felt it through your panties. Neither of you had even said a word, just small huffs that could be separated into either a laugh or a muffled moan, of course you were the one tallying up the latter category.

His index and middle fingers curled upward in come hither motions while his other hand remained on the wheel. He would've loved to see your face; the way you chewed your bottom lip, eying his hand and the way his fingers disappeared inside you before you threw your head backward against the head rest. Good thing the road was empty, because he may or may not have driven over the double yellow lines a few times.

You noticed the way his hips shifted a bit uncomfortably, but he hadn't said anything. At first, you thought that maybe he was a little uncomfortable with you, but you somehow hadn't found the bulge he was readjusting every now and then — leaving none of his hands to steer the wheel.

You didn't want to stop his rhythmic movements, especially since you had just started to feel a little something building now, but at the same time you also got your pleasure from pleasing him. You appreciated that stiles wasn't needy in the sense that when he was pleasing you he would stop and tell you it was his turn because he couldn't wait any longer.

Instead, he never said anything about it and as far as you knew, he didn't even think about it—having said so to you multiple times before.

But that didn't mean stiles was never needy, because stiles knew how to be needy and whiny in just the right ways to get whatever he wanted from you, and you'd easily comply.

"Stiles... wanna touch you." You breathed out, unaware that these are some of the first words spoken since you two got in the Jeep together.

"You are." He pressed his fingers upward in a pulsing motion, stifling a laugh at his own humor.

You rolled your eyes, at first you started to because of his bad joke, but they rolled further back at the feeling of his fingers pressing that spot inside you. "No, just—stiles, please..?" You said in that tone. That airy, whiny tone that sounded like your every word contained a soft moan of its own; the one that had him biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about fighting it, but knowing he'd give up eventually, so he just allowed himself to cut straight to the chase.

He gave your cunt if few more quick, harsh pumps and when he pulled his fingers back for what you thought would be another one, he didn't thrust them back in. Your body missed the touch, but your mind left no time to process as you had already unbuckled and leaned partially over the center console. Your ribs leaned against the edge while your elbow propped you up.

Reaching your other hand over, you saw as stiles watched you-rather, your hand—with quick glances between the road and your dainty fingers trailing over the already-strained bulge in his jeans. When you looked up at him, he licked his lips out of nervous or anxious habit, but said nothing as he fixed his gaze on the pavement ahead.

Like stiles, you wasted no time pulled the zipper down and unbuttoning them and opening the fly. Because of his seated position and the obvious lack of ability to move due to the need to maintain at least a few rules of the road and get you both home safe, he couldn't just lift his hips like every other night and allow you pull the denim down.

Slowly, as his wriggled his hips more-albeit unintentionally-his dick had formed a tent in his boxers. You didn't have the patience for teasing or talking things slow, and judging by the sighed moan he let out when you placed a palm on his covered shaft, neither did he.

Your dainty fingers quickly reached under his boxers, finding what they wanted easily. You looked up at him, only your eyes, not tilting your head up at all. You were entranced by him, all of him. The way his brown eyes were wide and his pupils were blown with lust, the way his pale freckled skin had a reddish hue settled on it, the way his short, brown, fluffy hair started to stick to his forehead from the thin coat of sweat.

You liked his current state, but you wanted to make a mess of him. Your hand guided his length from his boxers, freeing him from the confines of the restricting fabric. Your thighs clenched, and you bit your lip.

As soon as your hand touched him, he groaned. Your hand was warm and light on his skin. He mumbled out your name as you began to slowly stroke him.

You turned your body to face him more; the front of your thighs pressing against the center console while your knees situated on the gap between the seat and the center console. Luckily for you, your hair was already tied back. You bent down and placed a kiss on his tip, your lips leaving with a small coating of wet, salty warmth from his precum. Your tongue poked out and cleaned them, also grazing his pink tip.

Stiles wasn’t sure if it was even humanly possible to focus on the road while you went down on him. The way the flat of your tongue dragged up his (almost) painfully hard cock alone was making his hips gyrate, his foot heavy on the excelerator as his lower back arched lightly.

You wrapped your lips around his swollen head, sucking gently as your tongue licked and swirled around the sensitive skin like a lollipop. Unbeknownst to you, one of his hand left the wheel and gentle wrapped around the back of your neck, finding its place from muscle memory. His thumb pressed against the corner of your jaw, right below your ear, from behind, gently coaxing your head downwards.

You complied, slowly taking him in your mouth as your saliva dripped down the rest of his length, as well as your chin. You couldn’t fully get all the way down, because, despite your gag reflex not being as bad as it used to be (thanks to stiles,) you still coughed when his tip nudged your uvula.

The vibrations made his cock twitch, his head falling back momentarily before remembering to keep his eyes on the road. Thank god it was empty tonight.

He must’ve been driving in circles around the outskirts of town, because by the time you had familiarized yourself with his dick hitting the back of your throat, stiles could’ve came right then and there. The tip of your nose nestled against the trimmed patch of curls at his base as you let yourself adjust, hoping you wouldn’t gag again.

Your tongue was flat; pressed against the side of his cock and the bottom of your mouth. Reminding yourself to breathe through your nostrils, you slowly began to move up and down.

“Fuck,” He groaned, “faster.”

You obeyed, bobbing your head up and down quicker. You felt his large hand ravel in your hair, his fingers pressing on your head when he wanted you to take him deeper.

Your eyes watered, your vision becoming blurred, but you literally could not care less. You knew stiles would flip out if he saw your misty eyes, one; because he was constantly weary of accidentally hurting you, and two; once he knew you were okay, he was covertly hooked on seeing you look up at him with glossy doe eyes.

You felt the jeep suddenly speed up, sending your head back and hitting his stomach from the acceleration.

“Shi—Sorry, fuck… just like that.” He murmured, his thumb rubbing across the nape of your neck. You pulled your lips up, leaving them around the swollen tip of his pulsing cock. You knew exactly how to drive him crazy, and he knew it too.

You kissed and licked his tip, sucking lightly in ways that made his eyes roll back and caused him to forget that he was behind the wheel.

the tires trembled on the rumble strip rooted in the double yellow lines, suggesting that the jeep had crossed to the wrong side of the road. you hummed around him at the shaking, making his fingers thread through the hair at your nape, tugging at the soft strands.

suddenly, his attention was brought back to the endangering scenario by the wail of a horn coming from another car. you jumped, letting out a small squeal on his length before reflexively lifting your head. your skull met his forearms that were outstretched in an iron grip on the wheel. his knuckles turning white while he yanked the vehicle to the right, passing the left side tires back over the double yellows. the two cars’ tires produced equal squeals on pavement as they straightened out.

scooting back, you worked your way from under his arms and mostly back into your seat, leaving his neglected cock struggling with the loss of pleasure.

“m-maybe we shouldn’t… do this on the road.” he’d paused to look to you between words.

you hastily nodded. “yeah, no.”

nevertheless, your eyes found his swollen length. “i’m definitely not leaving you like that.”

his teeth scraped at his cheek to conceal a whimper, but it left in the form of his hips shifting. “o-okay.”

[mysticallystilinski]

BLAME IT ON THE ALCOHOL?

a stiles stilinski x fem!reader fic

— ౨ৎ masterlist

CW ! 18 + SMUT ( fingering, p in v intercourse, underage drinking, oral intercourse (f!receiving), bestfriends to fuckers )

lav speaks.. hi!! my requests are ALWAYS open and wanted. i honestly need more inspo!

the beat was loud, in the best way possible. vibrating through yours and stiles bodies, leaving a trail of sound waves wherever you lead. a classic beacon hills party, loud, rowdy, and full of horny teenagers.

it wasn’t usually your cup of tea, but lydia of course forced you to come. she picked out the little burgundy dress, and slight heels that would make all the guys drool over you. doing your makeup to a perfection, with elegance and the most precise perfumes for seductiveness.

heading to the kitchen, you held stiles wrist to ease the risk of not losing him to the large crowds surrounding you guys. “LET’S TAKE SHOTS”, scott yelled. of course he was already drunk, about 4 shots deep approximately. stiles headed to the side of you, grabbing a red solo cup, then another. “hm – y/n, how many shot’s do you want?”

“3 or 4”, you question. he poured you about 2 shots of vodka, and him 3. god, you couldn’t handle the way he did everything more than you. the way he thought he could baby you. grabbing the bottle, you poured about another shot into your cup, and downed it with ease.

stiles eyes widened at this sudden burst of confidence, a slight spark filling his mind but he slowly smirked. “we’re gonna have so much fun tonight”, he chuckled. already the alcohol hitting your system, you gave him a slight smile, and a thumbs up. sounds good sti.

without warning, you left stiles, and the rest of the pack to fend for themselves with the alcohol. heading into the living room, one of your favorite songs came on, especially to grind to. looking around, you were looking for someone to dance with. eyes hazy, landing on stiles from across the room, you slowly made your way over to him.

he was talking to a girl, specifically someone you’ve known had liked him for a while; per the gossip at beacon hills high. “sti — baby, come on let’s dance”, you whined. his eyes widened, and his pants tightened at these words. the girl scoffed, and walked away after hearing those words come out of your mouth.

“oh no! wait”, stiles plead to her, but she just ignored him before heading around a corner. stiles turned to face you with a harsh look on his face, contorted but almost with lust. his hands gripped your waist, slightly but still holding with a grip. leaning down to your ear he spoke, “what was that all about?” it wasn’t that he minded it, it was the fact that you waited till then to pursue the move.

your face showed all your emotions, lust, jealousy, and seduction. facing him, you went to spoke, but were stopped with your own thoughts. lord – he was hot. it was almost like, you couldn’t focus?

you felt his breath, harsh and hot on your neck as his lips were dangerously close to your ear. “it’s- just-”, you tried to speak before he pulled away to make eye contact with you.

was it the alcohol, or are you horny? no, no – you couldn’t think that. he’s just your best friend, nothing else. “hm.. are you going to argue or?”, he laughed. your eyes glistened with lust, looking up into his. he was concerned for a moment, hand on your waist until you went closer into him — slightly brushing up against his bulge.

a short gasp came from his mouth, and before you both knew it, his hands were on your ass and yours entangled in his hair while making out. his lips were colliding with yours in a vastly manner, sweet to the taste but rough to the touch. you felt eyes burning into your skull of the people surrounding you — but god that turned you on even more.

you moaned slightly as his tongue made its way into your mouth, almost intoxicating you. gripping onto his hair, stiles groaned into your mouth which figuratively made you melt.

the truth was there, you wanted to fuck stiles stilinski. and you wanted to do it tonight.

the alcohol was beating through your system, at an exceptionally fast pace as you were already heading up the stairs with stiles close behind you. you didn’t know who’s house it was, but did you care? not really.

stumbling up the steps, surprisingly you and stiles made your way to the guest room in one piece. the door slammed open, then shut when your two bodies were in there. lock clicking, you pulled your dress down your body, leaving you in only a bra and panties.

stiles practically stopped in his tracks, you could tell he wanted you badly. his eyes filled with some type of darkness, a type of harsh emotion even stronger than lust. his lips slightly agape, he walked up to you and brought his hand up to your chin.

making you look at him, your eye contact faltered from the floor to his brown orbs. his moles were ever so prominent all of a sudden, almost making you want to reach out and run your fingers along them in a gaze.

“take off your clothes”, you spoke in a hush. immediately, he obeyed, taking off his dark red flannel, and navy blue jeans from his toned body. left in nothing but his boxers, you two were faced bare, with nothing to say.

thoughts ran through both of your guys minds, the most prominent was if this was a good idea.

but fuck it.

fuck it, and fuck him. without saying anything, stiles walked closer to you, pushing you backward and towards the bed. with him hovering over you, and his hand gripping onto your back, your panties were a sopping mess.

“baby, you look so good, and all for me?”, he groaned. a sigh left your lips in retaliation as he traced kisses down your neck, and collarbone. stiles sucked, and bit lightly on the warm skin beneath him before pushing you completely onto the bed.

your body hit the soft, lonely mattress before stiles had crawled his way on top of you. a linger of him appearing through your dazed eyes as he slowly took away your panties from your aching core.

already, the brush of his fingers on the inner part of your thighs was enough to make your head get thrown back. “sti — please, just do something already”, you whimpered softly. you saw his cocky smirk already brewing, panties thrown to the side.

“beg for it”, he spoke. your breath quickly got caught in your throat at those three words. “beg for it?”, you questioned. “you heard me”.

him saying that practically made you cum on the spot. as soon as your legs clenched together, stiles, being the impatient person he is, forced them open and delved right him.

his tongue worked furiously upon your clit, sucking in sweet motions, and hitting just the right spot. your eyes were rolling, back arched, and you – being a slut only for stiles, were grinding upon his face.

“s- sti- oh my god”, you moaned out. that fueled something in him, something that made him go not just harder, but faster and more precise. you felt him chuckle into your heat, sending a wave of vibrations through your body.

he wouldn’t stop — he couldn’t stop until he made you finish. your hands made their way into his sweat-ridden hair, gripping so tightly that you could almost pull his head away.

as you let out shaky moans, stiles surprised you. he suddenly pushed two fingers inside of your core, nice and deep. you would’ve thought he would be softer, but no – the man was rough. the overstimulation was getting to be too much as his fingers curved and his tongue continued on it’s mindful pace.

“stiles, you’re making me feel so good”, you whimper out. getting to your breaking point, your thighs begin to wrap around his head. taking that as a sign, he released both his tongue, and his fingers from your body. “what the hell sti?”.

but before you could protest any further, he got up and removed his tight boxers. his long cock was just sitting in front of you – of course you felt tempted to put it in. “what?”, he questioned.

your mouth stayed agape as stiles hovered upon your body, cock sitting at your entrance. “well if you’re not going to say anything, then i guess my cock will just have to stay here”, he spoke while slowly rubbing the tip between your folds.

hurriedly, you kept trying to grind, trying to push the head into your heat — but no luck as stiles kept your hips pinned. “i told you earlier, you’re going to have to beg”, but how could you beg when his sweaty hair was sticking to his forehead, and he kept giving you those seductive eyes.

his lips were glossy, specifically from your juices before. stiles noticed you looking at his lips, so he licked them dry. before you could even look at his fingers, he stuck them in his mouth, sucking all the remaining juices from them. “mm — tastes so’fuckin good”.

with you distracted, he slowly made his way inside you, bucking his hips into yours. whimpers came out of your mouth as he surely filled you up.

focusing solely on him got you off, and he never looked better. his eyes rolled back every thrust he made inside of you, with each passing moment his breathing became harder. it was like he couldn’t make eye contact with you — or you would need a plan b

stiles began to rub your clit, no fusses came from your mouth from that action of his. “sti — sti, please you feel so good”, you moaned. in retaliation, you proceeded to pull him closer, forcing his body up to yours. that made your legs go up even higher, hitting a spot unimaginable to any person.

marks made down his back were shown as a force of passion, all scratch marks from you. it was almost like you two were so inaudible from the intense pleasure given to each-other. stiles forced himself to speak, “hm? am i making you feel good, am i hitting all the right spots?”.

that cause a reaction in you, a force of you to finish. you were a moaning mess in his arms, tears forming from stimulation and cries were muffled by the sound of the loud music. just by your sounds, a chain reaction appeared, stiles orgasm hitting him just as hard.

his load shot into you, so far and so deep. panting, and makeup stains were all over your face, along with stiles groaning as well. stiles slid out of you, and fell onto the bed.

“what the fuck just happened?”, you spoke in a whisper.

a silence echoed throughout the room, darkness became persistent, and both sets of eyes felt heavy.

“blame it on the alcohol?”

— ᡣ𐭩

[pilot-boi]

I just want everyone to get back, and after awhile, Nora and Ren start picking up that Weiss is following Jaune more around.

Nora is many things, but oblivious to her friends’ interpersonal relationships she is not.

Hopelessly addicted to syrup in any form? Yes. Mostly only good for hitting things with a big hammer. Definitely. But no one can say she’s blind to the nonsense going on in the lives of her friends.

Especially when it comes to romantic leanings.

Weiss’s crush on Pyrrha, Ruby’s on Penny, Blake’s on Sun, Jaune’s on Weiss- Nora’s seen it all, been there since day one for every pining glance and wistful sigh.

She’d been the first to notice Pyrrha pining after Jaune, and then Jaune pining back until it all went to shit. She’s known since she met him that she’s in love with Lie Ren. And Yang and Blake could not be more smitten if they tried.

So it does not escape her notice that after returning from the Ever After, Weiss simply won’t stop following Jaune around.

Weiss isn’t the only one, of course. Ren, Oscar, and herself have barely left their leader’s side since he returned. Nora doesn’t know about the boys, but she’s more than a little scared that if she lets him out of her sight he’s going walk through a door she can’t follow him through.

Jaune all but admitted that they almost lost him. She can’t bury him again.

So she laughs and slaps his back too hard and ignores how he flinches and his voice cracks with time that didn’t pass. All smiles and fun times from Nora. That’s her job. Better to focus on a potential crush from the ice queen than the decades he spent mourning them while they mourned him.

Ren is better at emotions since his Semblance evolved, but Nora doesn’t want a shortcut. He could probably look at Weiss and figure out exactly what’s going on, but that’s not the point.

Nora doesn’t want answers half as much as she wants a distraction. This is the closest she’s been to normal since Atlas fell.

So espionage it is.

It’s going to take more than a war for Nora to forget the less than suave wooing attempts Jaune made in Beacon, or Weiss’s prickly shut downs of each try. So for the crush to be on the other foot…

Well. It’s interesting enough for Nora to want to look into. Jaune is her family, and he’s fragile these days. She loves Weiss like a sister, but if she breaks his heart, Nora will break her.

She just wants to make sure her intuition is correct. Nora of the past wouldn’t have bothered, opting to shove the two of them into a closet into the ice queen confessed.

There’s a lot of things Nora of the past wouldn’t have bothered with. She’s smarter now, and that wisdom was bought with broken knuckles on gold barriers and stone monuments on sandy hills. So she’s going to make sure.

Nora follows Weiss following Jaune from a discrete distance through an alleyway shaded with draped cloth, close enough to keep them in sight but far enough that she can’t hear what they’re saying.

She happened to be passing by as they returned from a market trip that Weiss offered to accompany him on, and decided to tag along. Nora isn’t an idiot, she knows a date when she sees one. Odds are Jaune didn’t, bless his heart, but (and there’s a twinge of guilt) after decades living in a storybook how good would anyone be at social cues?

Jaune says something off-hand and Weiss giggles, covering her mouth with a hand. She snarks right back at him, resting her hand on his elbow and smiling. The tips of his ears turn red and he grins, rubbing the back of his neck.

Nora’s eyebrows raise. She hasn’t seen him act this way since Beacon. Not with Weiss, either. With Pyrrha.

The duo’s conversation seems to meander into the more serious and their stroll slows to a stop. Nora ducks into a doorway. When she peeks back out, they two are just standing there, heedless of the crowd bustling around them. Jaune stands a head taller than most of the passers, and he appears to be frozen.

Wait.

Oh no.

Oh no! The crowd! They’ve been trying to get him acclimated back to people, but this amount is clearly more than he’s ready for. Gods what was she thinking letting him-

Nora is about run to him from her hiding place when Jaune starts moving. No… not just moving, he’s being shepherded from the street. Weiss has one hand on his back and the other at his elbow and is ushering him off the busy street.

Jaune is all but a puppet in her hands, shaking and distant, eyes a million miles away. Nora follows the two of them slowly, no longer trying to keep a low profile. Espionage be damned, if Jaune needs her she’s willing to endure Weiss yelling.

Eventually she finds them in an alley off the main road. There’s no traffic here, just a few empty crates.

He’s sitting against a wall, head between his knees. Weiss is next to him. Her dress is covered in sand and schmutz, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Nora watches as she takes one of Jaune’s hands and places it on her chest.

Exaggerated breathing, in and out. She’s letting him feel her heartbeat, Nora realizes. The hand that isn’t holding his is rubbing circles into his back. A breath in, a breath out. And all through it Weiss is keeping up a dialogue of murmurs.

Her eyes don’t leave him even as his shudders turn to full on shakes and he comes back to his body in a flail of panic, lashing out at perceived enemies. Weiss doesn’t try to restrain him, just keeps holding his hand and murmuring quiet words.

Jaune calms, and his breath comes back to him in a choking sob. He curls into himself even tighter, leaning towards Weiss but not touching her, and Nora’s heart clenches. What did that place do to her brother who craves physical affection like a starving man craves food?

Weiss shuffles closer and rests an arm around him (as much as she can) still holding his one hand. Her thumb rubs across his knuckles and Nora can see Jaune press into the contact like it’s the only thing binding him to the planet.

Maybe it is.

She’s intruding. This moment isn’t for her.

Nora slips away from the alleyway and back to the Academy. It’s not how she would’ve liked to confirm it, but in a way her espionage was a success. It lightens something in her to know her intuition was correct. Despite everything, she’s still Nora.

And she couldn’t ask for better hands than Weiss to hold her leader’s bleeding heart.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

I am a sucker for fics where Stiles and the Sheriff were aware of the supernatural before Scott was even bitten; especially if Stiles was involved in some way (creature, protector, etc, just not a hunter). What are some good ones? (Preferably Sterek)

Hi @eevylynn! I got you.

The Sheriff's Son by kariberri13

(2/3 I 2,986 I Teen)

Derek moves his pack to Beacon Hills where his life changes forever.

Of Stab Wounds and Misunderstandings by undercoverbastard

(1/1 I 9,514 I General)

It was around the age of 16 that Stiles finally started to come to terms with the implications of his words and he had made peace with it. On occasion, he thought that maybe they’d be able to work past whatever issues his soulmate had with him, but when even Scott would forlornly glance at his bicep with those big round, pitiful eyes - he knew. So he accepted it!

But one good thing that came out of that whole situation was Lydia. When Stiles had swiftly redirected himself down the opposite end of the hall and ducked into a somewhat empty classroom to escape prying eyes and laughing jeers over the words stamped across his skin, Lydia had followed. She stayed quiet, let Stiles collect himself and get a hold of his breathing again, then calmly said, “Fuck fate.”

[ellswritings]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Derek Hale x Reader

TW: Mentions of blood and death, werewolfy things, Stiles being an absolute spaz, age gap, Jennifer Blake (cause she’s a warning on her own), major feels, and a tiny bit of angst, some bad words. I think that it y’all. Once again, let me know if I missed something!

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

There have always been two constants in Y/N L/N life when it came to living in Beacon Hills, life threatening creatures and the possibility of her imminent death. When she became friends with Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall in Kindergarten, she wasn’t completely aware of what she signed up for. Most people would think the constant Star Wars marathons with Stiles and lacrosse training with Scott would’ve drove her away early on, but she stayed. Not that they’d let her leave even if she tried. Having them as her best friends has always been a blessing and a curse. She would do anything for them, but she didn’t know anything included becoming a supernatural creature.

A werewolf to be precise.

The night of the dance their sophomore year, Y/N had seen Lydia walk out of the dance in which she assumed was in search of Jackson. But when she saw the blonde boy lingering in the hallways, she had a feeling something was off. When she went in search of the girl and found her at the lacrosse field, there was no escaping their inevitable fate. That was one of the many times Y/N thought she’d meet her end. Watching Peter Hale run towards them at fully speed before taking a nice bite out of their skin was not on her bucket list for the evening.

Since then there have been plenty adventures for the “McCall Pack” as she’d like to call it. Allison’s grandfather Gerard coming to town, the Kanima, Derek and his pack trying to kill Lydia, then finding out it was Jackson, only to have him turn into a werewolf and run off to London. There might have been a couple kidnappings and restraining order somewhere in there, but those are minor details.

And, of course, with a new year comes new threats. There has been a recent string of kidnappings that turned into murders that none of them have been able to solve yet. They’ve tried as a group to brainstorm, meeting at Derek’s new loft every so often to get the entire groups opinion, but nothing has come out of it. Well, besides spending extra time with the Alpha. That’s an aspect Y/N didn’t mind in the slightest.

She had no issues making herself at home in his loft, despite his halfhearted protests. No one could understand how Y/N had the ability to just throw her feet up on his coffee table and not get her throat ripped out. It’s either she has no regard for her life, or Derek has a soft spot for her which is something no one saw coming.

The two have always had an interesting relationship. Y/N enjoys arguing, similar to Stiles hence why they get along so well. She loves getting under Derek’s skin and pushing every button she knows he has. It’s almost as if she goes out of her way to try and get a reaction out of him. No one blames her really, it gets entertaining hearing them go at it. Especially for Stiles.

Whenever anyone needs to ask Derek for a favor, the first person they send his way is Y/N. For one, they’ve only ever heard the word “yes” come out of his mouth when talking to her, and she’s the most likely one not to flinch if she has to kill him. She has a conscious, it’s just not always active.

Y/N rides up to Beacon Hills High on her motorcycle before parking in the thin spot near the bike rack. She carefully takes off her helmet, smoothing down any stray pieces of hair that might’ve fallen out of place. She had been told to go to Derek’s the night before to ask him if he’s found anything out about their new lethal friend, the only issue is when she got there, she could hear her new teacher Jennifer Blake in the apartment with him. She felt the urge to completely kick the door down and interrupt whatever conversation was happening, but she practiced a high level of self-restraint. She knew Derek was aware of her being there. He could smell her the same way she could him. But the hot white rage that filled Y/N’s chest forced her to walk away and ride angrily back to Stiles’s place.

Scott and Stiles watch their friend from the steps at the entrance to the school. Her ever present frown is a little troubling as it is much more prominent than usual. They didn’t get the full details about what angered her so much the night before, but it’s clearly still bothering her. She takes the keys out of her bike before stomping up to them. When she notices them staring at her, she lifts an eyebrow, “Something you wanna say?” She challenges. Both boys look at each other and simultaneously shoot her a fake smile.

“You– you look nice today,” Stiles comments awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “Did you uh– did you do something new with your hair?”

Y/N stared at him blankly while Scott mentally facepalms at his friends attempt at covering up their concern. She simply shakes her head, looping her arms through both of theirs. “I’m fine if that’s what you guys are wondering. Derek was busy last night so I just came back to the house. That’s it,” she explains shortly, leaving no room for questions.

Scott scrunches his nose and a look of realization dawns on his face. It quickly morphs into disgust the more he thinks about it and Stiles furrows his eyebrows curiously. He looks over Y/N’s head and waits for his other best friend to clue him in on what’s got him all bothered. Scott makes sure Y/N’s more focused on weaving through the crowd before mouthing “She’s jealous” over to Stiles.

“I’m gonna grab my notebook real quick,” she tells them. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she reaches her locker, Stiles leans over to attempt a discreet conversation with Scott. “What do you mean she’s jealous?” He asks in a whisper. “Jealous of what?”

“I don’t know,” Scott answers, watching Y/N carefully. “But I’m assuming it had something to do with what happened at Derek’s last night.”

“Why would she be jealous over something with Derek?” Stiles scoffs, his eyebrows furrowed.

Scott shoots him a pointed look. Stiles is an absolute genius when it comes to certain topics, but girls and social cues are not one of them. His jaw drops slightly when he realizes what Scott’s implying. He rapidly shakes his head, flailing his arms in the air. “No– no, uh-uh. There’s no way. Absolutely not.”

“It’s not like you can stop it,” Scott chuckles. “If she likes him, she likes him.”

“Oh God,” Stiles groans disgustedly. “Out of all people? Sourwolf? Really?”

Scott shrugs with an amused smile as Y/N turns to start walking back, “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Okay, but does it have to want him?” Stiles continues to complain. “And if she’s jealous that means there was someone else there last night. Who? Because last I checked, Derek is a very acquired taste.”

“How would I know?” Scott replies. “Now shut up before she realizes we’re talking about her.”

The three of them made a pact awhile back that they wouldn’t eavesdrop on each other’s private conversations unless they were in danger. So they knew it would be safe to have said discussion despite Y/N’s enhanced hearing.

“You guys ready?” She asks.

Both nod vigorously, trying to hide their gossip, but their desperation to seem normal gives them away. Y/N simply rolls her eyes and says nothing. She once again links their arms together as they head towards their English class. No one needs werewolf senses to see how tense and angry Y/N got at the sight of Ms. Blake. The fury behind her eyes is one everyone in the pack has had to face at one point or another. Scott vividly remembers those eyes when Issac stole the last piece of her banana bread from when they went to the bakery they all love, and she threw him clear across his house.

Y/N separates herself from the boys, taking her spot next to Alison and Lydia while the boys sit down behind them. It’s a miracle how they all ended up in the same class. Y/N opens up her notebook, choosing to doodle rather than pay attention to whatever Ms. Blake is writing on the whit board in front of them. Alison looks at Y/N’s drawing with curiosity and smiles, “That’s really good,” she compliments.

It’s her beginning sketch to one of her favorite book characters, Sirius Black from Harry Potter. Y/N tries to muster a genuine grin, “Thanks,” she replies.

Alison isn’t clueless though. She can feel the difference in Y/N’s attitude from how she acts on a regular basis. She squints her eyes trying to silently figure it out before turning back to Scott who already knows what she’s wondering. What all of them were wondering. Who got Y/N so riled up? They know she’s jealous of something that happened with Derek, but who could she be jealous of?

“Alright, good morning everyone!” Jennifer greets with a smile that makes Y/N’s blood boil. She brings a hand up to play with her helix piercing to prevent her claws which will no doubt make an appearance by the end of this class. “Today, we're going to delve deeper into Shakespeare's Othello. I want you to focus on the themes of jealousy and manipulation that are littered throughout the text.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow on her teacher. The word “jealousy” feeling like a direct hit on their current situation. She cracks her neck before flipping to the page in their text book. She slouches in her chair, leg bouncing up and down. She quickly begins to run out of patience hearing the teachers heels click every time she takes a step.

“Y/N,” Jennifer calls out. “Why don’t you go ahead and start us off by reading the first paragraph?”

The grip Y/N has on her pencil tightens. There it is. Scott can not only smell it, but he can see it with his own eyes. The tension is more than palpable. Jennifer was the one at Derek’s last night. Y/N tilts her head, “Why can’t someone else do it?” She deflects coldly. “Lydia for example is quite the fan of our troubled poet.”

The challenge in her voice makes Jennifer hold back her own glare. She should’ve known Y/N would be the student to give her trouble from the beginning. The class shifts uncomfortably from the sudden chill in the air. “Y/N, it’s important for everyone to participate. Please, read the passage,” she requests with forced patience.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,” the (h/c) haired girl answers, folding her hands together as she leans on the desk. “I have crippling anxiety when it comes to reading in front of people. You wouldn’t want to do something to cause a breakdown would you?” She asks in the most taunting voice possible.

Lydia and Alison both stare at their friend with confusion. Stiles has to sink low in his chair to hide the inevitable laughter that’s about to come out of his mouth. While Scott just covers his face with his hands, waiting for World War Y/N to take place in his English class.

Jennifer quirks an eyebrow, “Did you not just do the school play of Beauty and the Beast last month? Where you played Belle? The lead role?”

Silence.

“That’s different, Ms. Blake,” Y/N corrects. “Not that I’d expect you to understand, but playing a character and who I am in real life is completely separate.”

“Well, that’s perfect then,” she nods. “Why don’t you go ahead and read it in character for us?”

A strong scent of copper fills Scott’s nose. He glances down and sees Y/N’s claws dug deep into her thigh. Stiles notices Scott’s wide eyes and glances where he’s looking. When he sees the wide open wound his face turns pale white before he shuffles in his chair.

“What a fantastic idea,” Y/N quips sarcastically before glancing down at the page below her. As she begins to read, the passive aggressiveness in her tone is evident. “O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on."

Her eyes lock with Jennifer's, and she can't help but add, under her breath but loud enough for her friends to pick up on, "How fitting"

Jennifer's expression hardens, but she maintains her composure. She leans on her desk while looking Y/N in the eye, “I would like a word with you after class Miss L/N,” she says coolly before continuing on with her lesson.

The glare on Y/N’s face never fades. She burns holes into the back of Jennifer’s head. Scott grew increasingly more worried that her eyes would flash, giving away her secret for all to see. All four of her friends exchange worried glances. Y/N’s never really been one to get in trouble on her own accord. She’s gotten detention, but ninety percent of the times it’s because Scott and Stiles roped her into it. The boys take it upon themselves to text Lydia and Alison, informing them of their theory of what is causing Y/N’s sudden aggression.

Lydia purses her lips together as she reads the texts. She leans back to whisper to Stiles, “This should be interesting…”

The rest of the class drags on, time ticking fairly slow. Y/N doesn’t say much, but the nasty looks she shoots cut more deeply than any words ever could. Halfway through the period, Stiles places his hand on her back to help keep her calm, which she wouldn’t admit, helped a lot. When the bell finally rings, the students begin to file out. Y/N stays behind, her anger barely contained. Scott, Stiles, Alison, and Lydia linger outside the door, trying to listen in on the upcoming confrontation.

Y/N rolls her eyes as she slings her bag over her shoulder. She approaches Jennifer’s desk with a sickly sweet smile. The teacher doesn’t buy it though. “Y/N, what is going on with you today?” She questions firmly, feigning concern for the younger girl.

Y/N shakes her head, producing the most innocent face she could. “Going on with me? Nothing at all, Miss Blake. I am doing just dandy. Why do you ask?"

Jennifer bites the inside of her cheek, narrowing her eyes, but she manages to keep her tone measured. "Your behavior today has been disruptive and disrespectful. You are a talented and well-read young woman. I expected more from you."

Y/N chuckles, leaning more of her weight on her left side, popping her hip to show just how much she truly cares about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do, given your high standards and all. It must be exhausting to keep up appearances,” she comments with a deceptive charm.

The older woman’s nostrils flare, knowing exactly what she’s trying to get at. Of course this is what her behavior is all about. Jennifer takes a deep breath, “Y/N, your comments today were out of line. This isn’t about keeping up appearances, it’s about maintaining respect in the classroom."

Y/N walks closer to her desk with a sly smile. She traces her finger up the wood, rubbing the dust in between her fingers. “Respect? Funny you should mention that. It seems respect is a bit... selective around here."

Jennifer's patience finally snaps, though she tries to mask it with a strained smile. “Y/N, your insinuations are inappropriate. Whatever issues you think exist, this isn't the place to air them."

Y/N barely even makes eye contact with the woman, flicking off the small dust bunny she formed with her fingers. “Of course,” she agrees mildly. “From now on, I’ll make sure to be more… discreet.”

Her teacher’s eyes flash with irritation, “You know what? Your behavior today has been unacceptable. Detention. After school. I expect to see you here as soon as the bell rings.”

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, but the look in Jennifer's eyes stops her. She storms out of the classroom, her friends quickly falling into step beside her. Stiles trips over his own footing as he tries to grab Y/N’s wrist, “Would you just– Jesus– Y/N. Slow down!” He exclaims, finally catching her. He grabs onto her, holding the girl in place.

Y/N raises her eyebrows, “What?” She bites out. “I have to get to Calc.”

“Care to explain what the hell is going on with you?” Lydia tries to coax the information out of her. She knows it’s never good for Y/N out of all people to keep things bottled.

“Nothing’s going on with me,” she denies. “I’m fine. Are we done here?” She scoffs, spinning on her heel to walk away.

Scott runs in front of her, “Y/N, we just want to help,” he insists softly.

“I don’t need your help!” She snaps. The wounded expression on his puppy dog face makes Y/N groan at her actions. She runs a hand over her face, “Look Scotty, I appreciate it. I appreciate all of you, really, I do. It means a lot that you care so much, but this isn’t something that I feel like talking about right now. I need space and time to plot out her murder and then maybe we can have a discussion later, okay?” She says nonchalantly, kissing Scott’s cheek before walking off to her calculus class.

They all stand there stunned for a moment. Stiles watches after her, pointing at the girl and turning back to his friends, “Did she– did she just say plot her murder?”

“Yup,” Alison nods, popping the “p.”

As the school day goes on, Scott and Stiles continuously try to monitor Y/N and her behavior. Something about her unhinged jealousy is putting everyone on edge. Luckily, the advanced classes they don’t have with her, Lydia does. So whenever they can’t be together, they assign someone else to watch over her.

When Lydia reports back, they’re all slightly shocked to hear that she was absolutely fine in all of her other classes. Which only affirms their theory that Ms. Blake was in Derek’s apartment last night, and that’s why Y/N acted the way that she did.

When the final bell of the day rings, Y/N growls under her breath, knowing she has to spend the next hour or so with Jennifer Blake in an enclosed space. She marches down the hallway, mumbling profanities under her breath before pushing the door to her classroom open. Stiles and Scott watch from afar, the latter trying to listen in for any painful screams. But knowing Y/N, if she truly were to murder someone, it wouldn’t be loud or obvious.

Y/N furrows her eyebrows when she sees Jennifer packing up her desk. When the woman hears her door open, she glances over in her students direction. “Miss L/N, I hope you had a good and reflective rest of your day,” she comments, clearly not interested in Y/N’s day whatsoever.

Y/N doesn’t bother responding. She simply stares at her straight faced with her arms crossed. Her patience is dwindling the longer they stand there. Jennifer picks up her handbag before sending Y/N the nastiest smile she could.

“Well, Mr. Harris should be here in a couple of minutes to oversee your detention, so you can wait in your seat until he arrives.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow, “And why exactly am I waiting for Mr. Harris? Weren’t you the one to give me a detention?”

Her teacher smirks, “Yes, yes I was,” she answers with a shrug.

“Then wouldn’t it be your responsibility to oversee it? You can’t just hand out detentions and not stick around for it,” Y/N scoffs.

“Normally, I wouldn’t be leaving like this. I would happily spend the next hour of my life lecturing you on proper classroom etiquette, but I have certain plans tonight that I’ve been looking forward to. So Mr. Harris has agreed to take you off my hands,” she explains.

Y/N can smell her smugness. Only if she demonstrated this side of herself in front of the class. Y/N clenches her hand tightly, feeling her claws emerging from her actual nails. Anger rushes through her, but she pushes it back with a curt nod. “How interesting. Do you mind me asking who these plans happen to be with?”

Jennifer cockily leans forward, whispering in Y/N’s ear, “You know exactly who they’re with.” Then she pulls away from the young girl, walking out of the classroom without a second glance.

The werewolf’s eyes flash a bright yellow as she watches Jennifer stalk off. She squeezes them shut, trying to avoid any kind of outburst. Her frustration grows by the second, her heart beating abnormally fast as she hears Jennifer getting in her car to no doubt drive to Derek’s loft. A red hot fire fills her soul as she makes a decision that will no doubt have consequences later. But she would rather serve a two hour detention with Harris than watch Derek be with that woman.

Y/N storms out of the classroom, running down the hallway. She ditches her detention, figuring she could come up with an emotional enough lie to relieve the punishment afterwards. Her backpack bounces up and down, smacking into her tailbone as she runs. Her feet pump as fast as they possibly can as she runs through the greenery of the woods. She doesn’t have to pay attention to where she is because her body already knows where it’s going. Almost as if she’s called to be there, her inner wolf begging to move faster.

When she finally slows down, she’s directly in front of the door to Derek’s loft. Her chest rises and falls with her shallow breaths as she simply stares at the door. She didn’t see or hear Jennifer’s car, so that means their’s still time. She licks her lips out of nervousness before hesitantly bringing her hand up to the door, knocking on it softly.

She waits anxiously, wiping her now sweaty hands on her jeans. Y/N’s not used to feeling like this ever. She doesn’t get nervous. Most of the time, she’s the most confident person anyone could meet. Hence why she was friends with Lydia before she even knew Stiles existed. When she goes over to Derek’s, she never usually feels like this. Like her heart might just beat out of her chest if she doesn’t see him. She fights off the small whimper threatening to escape her throat. She doesn’t need to be nervous and embarrassed when he answers the door.

Y/N rocks back and forth on her feet, growing more weary as time passes. Silence fills the air around her and she suddenly feels the urge to throw up when she hears footsteps growing closer. She silently prays he can’t smell how absolutely out of sorts she is. Her inner monologue to give herself a confidence boost doesn’t do much when she sees his shadow at the bottom crack of the door. When the door swings open, it reveals a very dressed up Derek Hale. His face turns into one of confusion when he sees her standing in front of him.

“Y/N,” he greets, completely shocked by her presence. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh– I– um,” she stumbles over her words which causes Derek to look at her with curiosity. She’s not the type to be at a loss for something to say. That’s one of the things he admires about her. She sucks in a deep breath, “I just needed to see you,” she answers.

Derek steps aside slightly, allowing her into his apartment. When she walks in she can’t help but feel safe. This loft has almost turned into her home away from home. She’s here more often than anyone else out of the pack, and Issac lives here. It isn’t until now that Derek can smell the mix of emotions radiating off of her. It’s a concoction of things and he can’t tell which is the primary source of her unannounced appearance.

“What’s this about?” He asks her with a lifted brow.

Y/N sighs, trying to blink back the intermittent flashing of her eyes. “I know someone was here last night,” she reveals. “I came by and heard her. Then I find out today that you two apparently have plans,” she continues getting progressively more irritated. “Which didn’t make sense to me because I thought you were smarter than that.”

Derek crosses his arms, his own anger rising at her tone. He’s used to her empty sarcasm and insults, but this time it’s fueled by actual emotion which sets him equally on edge. “It’s none of your business who I have plans with, Y/N,” he says shortly.

Y/N laughs humorlessly, “None of my business? It is absolutely my business if the person you have these plans with is a complete stranger!” She exclaims loudly. “We don’t know her Derek. She could be the person behind all these killings and kidnappings and we wouldn’t be any the wiser!”

“Your teacher?” He challenges. “Responsible for everything that’s going on?” He chuckles at the obscurity. “Right. I’m sure that’s it,” he shakes his head at the accusation. “Isn’t the whole point of making plans to get to know someone? So wouldn’t it be nice if I did go out with her?”

“She’s manipulating you,” Y/N insists. “And you’re obviously too blind to even see it.”

“Why do you care so much?” Derek asks, his voice elevating as well.

“Because–” She waves her hands around exasperatedly, trying to find the words. “You’re not exactly known for your taste in women!” She all but scolds. “Remember Kate? The lady that up and killed your entire family. Well, I remember her so forgive me for trying to keep your stupid werewolf ass alive!”

Derek goes to retaliate but that’s when he hears it. Her heart rate speeds up. She’s lying to him. That’s not why she really cares. He can clearly see her anger and smell the annoyance radiating off of her, along with a couple of other things. But there’s a sweet smell accompanying it. One that Derek finds rather endearing. Jealousy. Y/N L/N is jealous. He wouldn’t have picked up on it if she hadn’t just blatantly lied. Suddenly her bursting in and berating him makes sense. He smirks when he notices her clenched fists. It’s about time she’s felt the green-eyed monster that constantly visits him when he sees her with other guys. When she’s laughing boisterously about something Scott said, whenever she comes over to see him but ends up talking to Isaac for hours on end. Especially when he found out she kissed Stiles last year after he was kidnapped by Gerard. It truly has been a miracle that no one ever sensed his jealousy when it came to her.

Derek takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “Why did you really come here, Y/N?” He asks lowly, trying to get her to admit her feelings. “Tell me what you’re really trying to say…”

Y/N feels her face flush as he gets closer. She doesn’t want him to know the real reason why she raced across town to be here. The walls begin to close in around her, so she lashes out in a last ditch effort to protect herself.

“I’m trying to look out for you! You’re stubborn, Derek,” she chastises. “You don’t listen to anything anyone tells you. You like to pretend you’re always ready and prepared for anything, but you’re not! You are just as emotional and vulnerable as everyone else despite being hurt as many times as you have! You’re reckless when it comes to women, so I’m simply trying to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or the pack by making a stupid mistake.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. In fact, he gets closer to her in attempts to pressure it out of her. “You’re avoiding my question, Y/N,” he says darkly. “What’s really going on?”

Feeling cornered, Y/N tries to take in a couple of deep breaths but it fails miserably. She can’t tell him. Not now. Not when he’s interested in another women who’s already on her way here. He even got dressed up for her. She’s never seen Derek in a white button up polo and slacks. It makes her frown thinking that it’s not for her. She scoffs softly before shaking her head, “Forget it,” she mumbles. The h/c haired girl pushes past him, shoulder checking him on her way to the door. “I shouldn’t have come here. Have fun on your date or whatever you wanna call it.”

She slams the door behind her before stomping down the flight of stairs that leads up to his building. When she walks outside, the sky opens up, almost mimicking her inner turmoil with its own storm. Rain pours down on her, soaking her clothing completely as she gets ready to run home, or in all truth, to Stiles house. All she knows is that she can’t be here anymore.

“Y/N, wait!” Derek calls out.

She doesn’t bother turning around, heading the exact way she came. She should’ve figured that he would’ve caught up to her with ease. He’s never had a problem showing her who’s in charge. He grabs her wrist gently but firmly, not allowing her to leave.

“Stop running away,” he commands. “Just tell me the truth.”

Y/N’s eyes once again begin flashing yellow, differing completely from her regular piercing e/c gaze. “Let go of me, Derek,” she demands with a bit of a growl in her voice.

“Not until you stop being so damn hardheaded!” He yells, trying to make his voice heard over the pounding rain. “Tell me!”

“Why do you even care?!” Y/N screams back. “Why does it matter when you’re already here waiting for another woman?”

Derek’s eyes soften slightly, and he pulls Y/N closer to him by her wrist. Her breath hitches in her throat as her hand practically rests on his muscular chest. His lips are so impossibly close that any coherent thought she had before this moment have been completely erased from her long and short term memory.

“Because I need to hear you say it,” his voice got impossibly low, sending a chill through her body that has nothing to do with the cold water hitting her back.

Y/N’s lips part slightly as his thumb comes up to brush the side of her cheek. Her body is drawn to him. The wolf inside of her is trying to claw its way out and into his arms, but she manages to steady herself. “Fine,” she breathes out, not being able to force herself to look away. “I’m jealous, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That it made me want to commit first-degree murder last night when I heard her voice in your apartment, knowing that it would’ve been me in there if I had shown up just a tad bit earlier? So yes, Derek, I am jealous. You win.”

Derek’s eyes darken at the breathiness of her voice. He places the hand that was holding her wrist on her waist to keep her pressed securely against his front. Both of their hearts beat in unison, “Why didn’t you just say that when I asked the first time?”

Y/N’s defense starts to crumble beneath her, “Because I didn’t want you to think I was weak for succumbing to something stupid like that,” she admits.

Derek laughs, showing off his pearly white teeth, “I would’ve never thought you were weak.” He reassures when he notices the small frown etched on her face. “You’ve never been weak. A bit obstinate? Sure. But not weak.”

Y/N can feel the sincerity in his voice. She doesn’t protest his strong hold on her hip, but instead keeps her own hands occupied on his now soaked through white shirt. It’s not a bad view from where she’s standing. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispers.

Derek’s eyebrows furrow, a pang of concern filling his heart. “Do what?”

“Keep pretending that I don’t care about you,” she says softly, her chest heaving up and down from how intense the moment they are sharing is.

Derek’s eyes flash their bright alpha red as a primal instinct clouds his brain. He leans close to her face, his stubble rubbing her cheek in just the right way. “Then don’t,” he says huskily.

Before she can respond, he leans in and kisses her, the rain pouring down around them. The kiss is intense, filled with all the emotions they’ve both been keeping at bay. It’s a collision of desire and frustration, their lips moving against each other with a desperate want. A primal need inside both of them. Y/N wraps her hands around his neck, tugging at the short strands of his black hair. Derek wastes no time placing both of his hands on her waist, squeezing the soft flesh. She giggles slightly from the sensation, making him smile. When they finally pull apart, they’re both breathless.

Y/N steps back, her heart racing, but Derek keeps his arm around her, protectively. “How come you ran away?” He asks quietly.

Y/N huffs, running a hand through her wet hair. She sighs loudly before admitting the truth, “I was scared.”

“Of what?” He questions, not believing the woman in front of him would be scared of anything.

“Of this,” she states obviously, gesturing in between them. “Of how much I feel for you. I’m not really big on emotions like this. I don’t know how to handle it. So I was scared of having to open up my heart when I wasn’t sure if you’d actually take care of it.”

The vulnerability in her answer snaps something in Derek’s mind. She has the same issues as he does. He hasn’t been able to truly give himself to anyone since Paige. He felt so strongly for her and then she was gone in an instant. And when he tried again with someone he didn’t even fully trust, he got burned again. Emotions besides anger have never been his forte. So when he hears Y/N admitting the same thing, it makes him realize that this is something they both can improve on.

He grins, kissing her forehead softly, “You don’t have to be scared. We can figure it all out together, okay? Both of us.”

At that moment, a car pulls up, and Derek pulls Y/N even tighter into his chest. The bright headlights blind them and they both try to shield their eyes in order to identify the owner of the vehicle. Y/N’s body tenses as Jennifer steps out, the woman’s expression shifting from surprise to anger as she sees them.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” she comments coldly. Her eyes zero in on Y/N who has a rather tight grip on Derek’s shirt, “Miss L/N, shouldn’t you be at school serving the detention you earned today for your behavior in my class?”

“I had better things to do,” Y/N bites back. “As you can see,” she says, pointing at Derek’s chiseled form.

A shit-eating grin forms on Derek’s lips at her words. They both swear they see Jennifer’s eye twitch from the insinuation Y/N just made. He doesn’t bother trying to cover up what just happened and keeps his hands firmly on Y/N’s hips.

“Yes, I can see that,” Jennifer narrows her eyes at their proximity.

Derek can feel the situation getting ready to escalate so he keeps Y/N safeguarded within his hold. He nods over to Jennifer’s car, “I think it would be best if you left,” he states unforgivingly making Y/N smile.

Jennifer sends them both a pointed look, “I think so too,” she agrees before spinning on her heel and walking back towards her car. “We’ll see just how well this works out for the two of you. Let’s hope you don’t regret it.”

She closes the drivers side door before speeding off out of the parking lot. Both Derek and Y/N are left standing in the rain, now knowing that things have just become a lot more complicated than they were before. But even in the midst of her subtle threat and imminent danger, the two of them don’t seem worried in the slightest.

Because they’ll handle that together too.