#it's really interesting. I find it so fitting too??

[multific]

Rolling for Love

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: He always watched you from afar, never brave enough to talk to you.

You were hustling through the hallway, your books and notebooks tightly pressed against your chest, when it happened. The sound of items hitting the floor echoed down the empty corridor.

Your dice scattered in every direction.

You froze, feeling a rush of embarrassment.

Of all the days, this had to be the one.

Your heart raced as you rushed to pick up everything.

A familiar pair of boots comes into view, followed by Eddie Munson’s face peering down at you. His eyes are wide, almost amused, as he bends down to help you pick up the scattered items. You mumble an apology, feeling even more flustered, and then catch a glimpse of something unexpected.

"Looks like someone’s having an eventful afternoon," he said, kneeling down to help you gather everything.

You let out a nervous laugh, heat rising to your cheeks. 

"Yeah, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to make a scene."

"No big deal," he replied casually, handing a dice back to you. "You into this kind of game, then?"

You hesitate, feeling your heart skip a beat. His curiosity makes your palms sweat a little, but how he looks at you makes it easier to talk about it. 

"I’ve been into it for a while. I usually play as a rogue. Like sneaking around and outsmarting people. Do you play?"

He grinned, obviously pleased by the topic of conversation. 

"I’m the one who sets it all up—Dungeon Master. Someone’s gotta keep things interesting. It’s a lot of work, but I love it." of course he was. It fit him so well. "You know," he starts slowly, his eyes searching yours as if looking for something. "I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while now."

You blink, caught off guard. "Really? I... didn’t know that."

He shrugs, a bit of colour rising to his cheeks. 

"Yeah. I guess I’ve always been a little nervous about it. You seem so... well, cool. Out of my league, maybe."

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to let the compliment catch you off guard. 

"Out of your league? That’s kind of ridiculous."

He seemed to relax a bit, and a hint of a grin returned to his face. 

"Maybe. But you’re smart, you’re funny, and you seem into the same things I am. I just didn’t think it’d ever happen."

You bit your lip, trying to find the right words. 

"Well, you know, I’ve actually been kind of into you too."

"Wait, really?" he blinked, looking genuinely surprised. 

"Yeah," you said, feeling a bit nervous. "I’ve liked you for a while, actually. I just never said anything."

He took a step closer, his expression softening, a smile on his lips.

"That’s... kind of a surprise."

You let out a small laugh, feeling the tension slowly leave the air between you.

For a moment, you both just stood there, the hallway seeming almost empty except for the two of you. He finally spoke up, his voice low and thoughtful. 

"So, what now?" he asked rather nervously.

"We could grab a coffee sometime, maybe talk more about D&D... or, you know, just hang out." you shrugged your shoulders. 

"That sounds perfect." he liked the idea. 

As you started walking down the hallway, talking about your favourite campaigns and possible new storylines, it felt like the world turned in a new direction. 

And maybe, just maybe, you and Eddie were finally going in the right direction, together.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief  

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @brevlada24

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[drdemonprince]

Gender liberation, in the end, is not a war between the good group and the bad. It is a collective struggle against the laws, cultural norms, social rules, and institutional policies that restrict all people, and uses rigid gendered categories to keep us so restricted. 

I think if we are going to be able to move forward in this fight, trans men must abandon the notion that other men are fundamentally the “bad” gender — and that we don’t belong to that category because of our transness. We must embrace manhood as a state of both strength and profound lostness, an immense liability as much as it is a source of gender euphoric joy, and see the frustrated wanderings of other marginalized masculine people as of a piece with our own. 

And so, in the interest of helping us all find our way to each other, here are some of the major struggles that trans men and cis men have in common: 

Gender Dysphoria 

Many people believe the experience of having gender dysphoria is something like having a phantom limb, or seeing the wrong image in the mirror, but that’s rarely true. 

For a lot of trans people, gender dysphoria feels more like a maddening insecurity about how we look and how we are being perceived that seems to know no satisfaction, a mental itching that wanders all across our bodies, our faces, down our throats, across our hairlines, and even all over our clothes. It’s the uncertain sense we are not being ourselves correctly, an out-of-placeness that makes our very being feel like it has no right to exist.

Gender dysphoria is not caused by having the “wrong” gendered brain for one’s body (the notion of “male” and “female” brains is a myth), nor is it a mental illness afflicting only trans people. Rather, gender dysphoria is a pretty sensible trauma response to society’s unrelenting and coercive gendering. All people are categorized as a gender, assigned rules, and threatened with becoming less of a person should they fail to measure up. This means that even cisgender people can experience the terror of feeling that they’ve failed to enact their gender correctly and make themselves socially acceptable— a sensation that often gets called “gender dysphoria.” 

I think I first realized that cis people could be gender dysphoric when the actress Amanda Bynes revealed she had tumbled into a major depressive episode after watching herself portray a male character in the comedy She’s the Man. The disturbance she felt from watching herself enact the “wrong” gender sounded exactly like how I felt back when I looked in the mirror at myself as a “woman.” 

In 2019, when Jason Derulo complained about his bulge being removed with CGI for his role in the film Cats, I was reminded once again that cis people can feel utterly, dysphorically wrong in their bodies or how they are perceived. Each year, millions of cis people spend thousands of dollars on breast augmentations, jaw implants, hair plugs, and leg-lengthening surgeries, at least in part for gender dysphoric reasons, and if you’ve worn both male and female clothing before, you’ve likely recognized how much of the tailoring of garments is done to deliberately accentuate or even manufacture the gendered features of a person’s shape. 

Cis people feel ill-at-ease in their bodies, and fail to measure up to gender normative standards too. That’s how artificially constructed and harshly enforced these standards really are.

In recent years, I’ve spent a good amount of time in gay male bathhouses. When I reveal this fact, even to other gay men, I’m sometimes met with confessions of deep bodily insecurity. The idea of being nude in a highly gendered sexual marketplace often causes people’s worst gendered fears to bubble up. 

“I could never go to a place like that,” one cis gay man in his forties confessed to me. “My dick is too small. Nobody would ever want to look at me.” 

“I wouldn’t fit in there,” said another cis man, a short, effeminate type with long flowing hair. “They might think I was a girl and kick me out or harass me.” 

These men knew, of course, that I don’t have a penis, and can be mistaken for a woman from some angles. And I had just told each of them I’d never had any problem visiting the sauna. Yet they couldn’t shake the sense that I was doing manhood correctly enough, and they were somehow doing it wrong. Despite ostensibly being “cis,” they weren’t quite sure that manhood as a category could hold them as they really were — not when they were nude and vulnerable, surrounded by their idea of the proper man. 

Of course, having been in these spaces frequently, I could have told them that nobody there is the “proper” kind of man at all. There’s just regular human beings in there — with sunken chests, stretch marks, amputated limbs, multi-layered bellies, rounded backs, tiny hands, and eye patches. 

Over the years, cis men have shared dozens of gender dysphoric insecurities with me, about everything from the width of their shoulders to the length of their eyelashes to the way they hold a can of beer. And in some of the sections below, we will explore more specific examples, because these sources of dysphoria mirror trans men’s almost exactly. But it’s important to establish first that the major commonality across both groups of men is our fear we’re not being men correctly at all. 

Every man, I believe, grapples with the disjoint between their actual, complex human selves and the strong, built, stoic, powerful, masculine image that has been pushed upon us. And we fear living up to that standard because the consequences of that failure can be so harsh — these norms are quite violently imposed. 

Failing to be a man, in some sense, is what being a man actually means. We are united in the precarity of our position, as powerful as it is. A man in a tank-top with a bald spot sitting beside a lush pond. Photo by Beth Macdonald on Unsplash

Hair Insecurities 

“I wish I could grow a full beard so that I could pass better,” says Topher, a trans guy with long hair in his mid-twenties. “But I’m realizing that cis men with long hair get misgendered often too.” 

Dunmer, a bisexual trans guy, echoes this experience. “In this one chemistry class a few years ago, both me and this cis guy got called ma’am by a professor. I’m a rather effeminate/androgynous dude, but I have prominent facial hair. And the other guy who got misgendered was pretty masculine, but had long hair and was clean shaven. We both just kinda looked at each other and shrugged after it happened.” 

I’ve found that numerous cis and trans men harbor deep insecurities about their hair — where it’s growing, where it doesn’t, how it looks on their bodies, and where they might be losing it. It may sound like a frivolous subject at first blush, but hair is integral to gendered perceptions, as well as how others view our sexual attractiveness, race, and age. 

Trans men worry frequently about potential hair loss on T for more aesthetic reasons. I’ve known numerous trans masculine people who have avoided starting hormones because they’ve feared eventually going bald and becoming “less attractive.” And in this we aren’t alone, as 52 billion dollars gets spent each year (by people of all genders) on hair loss prevention treatments. 

“It’s helped me to realize that cis men are also scared of going bald,” says Topher. “When I worry about something gender-wise, I ask myself if cis men deal with what I deal with, and it’s helped me settle into my identity more.” 

Cis and trans men also share complicated feelings about body hair. Though being covered in a dark blanket of fuzz certainly reads as “masculine,” male beauty standards for the last several decades have eschewed hairiness in favor of a the glistening, action-figure-y look. Trans and cis men alike often fear that hair sprouting on their backs will make them unattractive, or that growing a “neckbeard” will be seen as slovenly. And it’s no coincidence that hairiness has often been linked with fatness and being racialized in many people’s minds — the uncontrolled proliferation of hair is often cast as animalistic, unclean, disgusting, less than human. 

But some men have sought refuge from such punishing standards within the gay Bear community. 

“I have never felt more welcomed in my masculinity than I have around other bears,” says Kody, a trans male bear. “I’m literally growing in my manhood — getting bigger, hairier, louder, taking up more space. While being really soft and tender too.” 

I wrote about the many struggles that unite trans and cis men, and how a deep appreciation for our commonalities is essential to the fight for gender liberation. You can read the full piece for free, or have it narrated to you by the Substack app, at drdevonprice.substack.com.

[rhiannonsknife]

── SHATTER YOUR ILLUSIONS OF LOVE

— summary: lucy finds something interesting in an abandoned store. it’s not what she thinks it is.

— warnings: fem!reader. implied lesbian!reader. nsfw content. mdni. strap-on usage. for the sake of the fic, we gotta ignore the sanitary aspect of this.

the wind howls through the cracked windows of the abandoned storefront, rattling the metal grates hanging half off their hinges.

you’re leaning against the weathered brick wall right outside, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, and your eyes scanning the empty street for signs of trouble.

traveling through the wasteland was a gamble already, and stopping anywhere for too long only upped the odds of drawing unwanted attention. but lucy had insisted she needed to check inside, claiming she’d seen ‘something interesting’ through the remains of grime-streaked glass.

that had been ten minutes ago.

“lucy,” you call, raising your voice over the wind. “are you done yet?”

her laugh echoes from inside, light and carefree, followed by her reply: “almost” lucy calls. there’s a long pause, then the unmistakable sound of something heavy clattering to the ground.

you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. this wasn’t unusual; lucy’s curiosity was perhaps simultaneously her best and worst trait. she had a knack for finding weird, useless junk and being way too excited about it. not that you minded. most days, her by wasteland standards unique disposition was the only thing keeping you sane. not today though, today, you’re cold, tired, and running low on patience.

finally, the door creaks open behind you.

“hey!” she calls. “look what i found!”

you push off the wall and turn to face her…and immediately feel your brain short-circuit.

lucy stands before you, beaming like she’s just stumbled upon the wasteland’s greatest treasure. she’s wearing…something: leather straps crisscross her chest, looping around her shoulders and down her torso in a series of buckles and loops. the centerpiece, an empty ring attachment, sits just below her chest. clearly not where it’s supposed to be, but it’s not like lucy knows that. nor does she seem aware of what she’s put on to begin with.

it’s a strap-on harness.

“oh my god,” you choke out, heat rushing to your face so fast you feel dizzy with it.

“what?” lucy looks down at herself, tugging lightly at one of the straps. “pretty cool, right? it was just lying there in the back of the store! i think it’s some kind of…uh…” she frowns, tilting her head as she spins to give you the full view. “tool belt? or maybe armor? either way, it’s really sturdy! feel this leather!” she grabs one of the straps near her shoulder and holds it out to you.

you don’t take it. matter of fact, you can’t. you’re too busy trying to remember how breathing works, because all you can think about is the way the harness fits snugly against her body, though entirely wrong, the leather gleaming faintly in the dim light, and how absolutely oblivious she is to what it actually is.

“lucy,” you manage, voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “that’s not- it’s not- oh my god, take it off!”

she blinks, startled by your reaction. “what? why? did i put it on wrong?”

“no, i mean…yes, but that’s not the point!” you gesture at her frantically, as if that’ll somehow distract from the mortifying situation. “it’s just- it’s not what you think it is, okay?” you try to explain, pointing at the leather “that is not a tool belt!”

lucy’s brow furrows in confusion as she adjusts the straps around her shoulders. “then what is it?”

you gape at her, torn between laughter and sheer disbelief. how do you even begin to explain this to her? clearly, she hasn’t seen those in her vault.

“it’s- it’s a-“ you cut yourself off with a groan, burying your face in your hands. there is no way you’re explaining this to her. absolutely not.

“what?” lucy presses, her curiosity clearly piqued. “what’s it for?”

“nothing!” you yelp, your voice cracking. “it’s for nothing! just take it off before-” you gesture vaguely at the very much empty street. “…before someone sees you!”

she glances around, perplexed, following your outstretched finger. “but no one’s here…?”

“that’s not the point!” you can feel your cheeks burning hotter by the second. “lucy, just- just trust me on this, okay? please?”

lucy hesitates for a moment, clearly not understanding but willing to humor you. “alright, alright,” she finally agrees, reaching for the buckles. “but i still think it’s a good find! i’m keeping this!”

you turn away as she starts to unstrap herself, both to give her privacy and to avoid spontaneously combusting from sheer embarrassment. despite all the dangers of the wastelands, you’re pretty sure traveling with lucy maclean is what’s actually going to kill you.

by the time lucy gets the harness off and stashes it in her pack (for some unfathomable reason), the sun is starting to dip low on the horizon, painting the scenery in streaks of amber and rust. after a full day of walking and scavenging, this crumbling storefront seems as good a place as any to settle down for the night.

“well,” you say, clearing your throat and trying to move past the initial awkwardness, “i guess this place’ll do. better than sleeping out in the open, at least!”

“it’s not bad,” lucy says cheerfully, looking around the store’s interior again.

the place, from which you can only assume that it is the ruins of what once was an adult store, is mostly empty, save for a few rusted shelves, a broken counter at the far end and a few boxes left in the old shelves.

there’s no sign of wildlife, which you consider a plus, and the building’s thick walls provide decent protection from the wind. “way better than that place we stayed last week. remember that weird smell? ugh…”

you hum in agreement, busying yourself with clearing a space on the floor. truthfully, it isn’t the worst spot you’ve camped in.

“you take first watch,” lucy says, dropping her pack with a soft thud. “i’ll take a quick nap and take over in a few hours?“

she’s adapting to how sleep works out here, at least, and you nod your head. “i could use some quiet time anyway,”

lucy nods, satisfied, and stretches out on the ground, rolling up her jacket like a makeshift pillow. “wake me if anything weird happens,” she says, closing her eyes.

you lean back against the wall, rifle propped an arm length away, trying to ignore the ache in your muscles and the stubborn heat still lingering in your cheeks.

now, the image of lucy in that harness races unbidden through your mind. it comes in flashes; pictures of her, with a strap now firmly attached to her body. lucy, on top of you, her face pressed to the crook of your neck as she rolls her hips. behind you, with her fingers curling up in your hair as she forces you back against her. above you, with your lips stretched around her-

you shake your head violently to banish it. you need to focus. there are bigger problems in the world than your ridiculous crush on someone who might not even swing your way at all.

but, of course, lucy doesn’t make it easy.

after barely twenty minutes of silence, she stirs and sits up, rubbing at her eyes.

“couldn't sleep?” you ask, raising a brow at her.

“nope,” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the leather harness again. “i keep thinking about this thing…” she mutters, running her fingertips over the ring.

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “lucy, just drop it! it’s-”

she doesn’t. of course she doesn’t,

instead, she flips the harness over in her hands, fiddling with the straps as she examines it from every angle. instinctively, you reach for your rifle just to have a distraction.

“i mean, it’s pretty well-made,” she muses, tugging on one of the buckles. “whoever made it must’ve known what they were doing. and it’s got this…ring thing? maybe for carrying tools?”

“it’s not for tools!” you blurt, louder than intended. lucy looks up, startled. “well, then what is it for?”

you sigh, setting your rifle aside.

“can't you just let it go?”

you stare at her. lucy is watching you with those wide, curious eyes, completely oblivious to the mortifying reality of the situation. a part of you wants to lie. to make up some ridiculous story about it being part of a long-lost survival kit. another part of you knows you’re a terrible liar, and that she won’t drop it until she gets a real answer.

“well, i could,” lucy shrugs, “but you're being…weird about it, which makes me think it's actually kind of important! and now i really want to know!”

you glance at the open doorway, down rows of shelves, the faint breeze stirring the dust on the floor, as if hoping for some kind of divine intervention to save you. it doesn't come.

“fine,” you mutter, standing. “come on!”

lucy grins triumphantly, bouncing to her feet and following as you lead her to the far corner of the store.

she trails after you, harness in hand, until you crouch down by one of the dusty shelves, brushing aside cobwebs before pulling out one of the few remaining boxes you passed by earlier. it’s heavy and battered, but the faded label on the side is still legible and it is still sealed shut

“alright,” you say, placing it on the ground before you. “this,” you tell lucy as you pull a knife from your belt. “is the counterpart to what you're holding!”

without another word, you cut the plastic open and, after some more layers of carefully sealed packaging, pull out the bright neon-pink silicone dildo. you hold it up just long enough for her to get a good look before tossing it back into the box.

lucy blinks, eyes wide, and for a moment, she says nothing. then her mouth opens in a soft “oh,”

she kneels beside the box, staring at its contents with an unreadable expression. “wait, so...” she picks up the dildo again, and turns it over in her hands, her brow furrowing as she connects the dots. “this goes with the harness?”

“yes,” you say quickly, folding your arms across your chest. “and that's why i didn't want to talk about it. can we move on now?”

lucy, on the other hand, doesn't seem remotely embarrassed. if anything, she looks intrigued.

she puts it back in the box and stands, holding the harness up to her hips as if testing its fit.

“so it's, like... for, uh... intimacy stuff? sex?” she asks, her tone genuinely curious.

“yes, lucy,” you say, your voice tight as you force your gaze away. “it's for ‘intimacy stuff’,” then, after a beat of silence, you decide this might be your only chance to get your truth out as well: “specifically for people like...like me, i guess?”

she looks at you then, her eyes softening slightly. “like you?”

“yeah,” you shift uncomfortably under her gaze, heart pounding. “you know? people who don't really, uh, like guys…that way…?”

understanding dawns on her face, but instead of recoiling or making a joke, she simply nods. another pause, then: “so, like, women who…prefer other women?”

your throat feels dry. “yeah. something like that,”

lucy looks back at the harness, a thoughtful expression on her face. then, to your utter horror, she starts fiddling with the straps again, this time more deliberately.

“what are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising slightly.

“trying it on,” she replies matter-of-factly, stepping into the harness and pulling it up over her hips. she tightens the straps with surprising ease, the leather settling snugly against her body. “it's comfortable,” she says conversationally, running her fingers along the waistband.

all you can do is stare at her dumbfounded. “lucy,”

she glances at you, her face the picture of innocence. “what? you said it's for people like you, right? i just want to see what it's like!”

“people like me using it,” you practically hiss. “not people like you…wearing it around like it's a pair of pants!”

lucy laughs, but there's a glint in her eye now, something playful and teasing that wasn't there before. she shifts her hips slightly, the leather creaking, and you have to fight the urge to look away. or worse, stare.

“calm down” she says. “it’s not a big deal, right? just a harness!”

your heart pounds in your chest as lucy tilts her head, watching you with that same curious gaze. there's no judgment in her expression, nor is there discomfort. just a quiet, steady interest that leaves you completely off balance.

“look,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “you...you don't understand what you're doing right now!”

“don't i?” her tone is light but her eyes are searching yours. lucy steps even closer, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “you're blushing,”

“i'm not-” you take a step back, bumping into the wall behind you. “i'm not…blushing!”

“you totally are. is it the harness?” she pauses, her voice dropping just slightly. “or is it…me?”

your breath catches in your throat. for a moment, you can't think. you can't move. the tension in the air suddenly feels electric, heavy with the weight of everything you haven't said and everything she might not even realize she's doing.

“lucy…” you manage. “you should- uh- you should probably take it off now, yeah?”

she only grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. “why? am i making you nervous?”

yes. absolutely. but you don't tell her that. instead, you stand frozen as lucy leans just a little closer, the leather harness shifting as she moves. the air between you is stifling now, charged with something you can’t quite name. she hasn’t moved back. if anything, she’s standing closer, the faintest grin on her lips, her eyes locked on yours.

“lucy,” you say again, but her name catches in your throat, sounding more like a ragged plea than a warning.

“yeah?” she asks, her voice teasingly playful.

you glance down at the harness, that stupid harness, and then back at her, hoping she’ll take the hint. lucy doesn’t. instead, she shifts her weight again, the leather creaking softly. you swear she’s doing it on purpose now.

“why are you…” you trail off, biting your lip. “why are you doing this?”

her smile falters slightly. “i don’t know,” she admits. “i guess i just…like seeing you like this,”

your breath hitches. “like what?”

lucy tilts her head, her eyes searching yours. she pauses. then, her gaze flickers to your mouth and heat floods your face. you try to think of something -anything- to say, but the words won’t come.

“do you want this?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper now.

you nod your head slowly, your throat feeling too tight to speak.

her smile softens, and she takes another step forward, close enough now that you can feel the warmth of her body through the faint chill of the room. “good,”

and then she kisses you.

the shelves behind you clatter as your body is forced back against them by lucy’s own, trapping you against the metal.

it surprises you how fast her mouth is moving. how desperate and hungry. in all the times (more than you’d ever openly admit) you pictured yourself kissing her, she’d been the careful one. you should’ve known better than that. way better.

now, she is all over you, eager hands cupping your cheeks as she presses you against the cold surface. your whole body shivers as lucy licks into your mouth experimentally, humming when you gasp in response.

“for the record,” she mumbles against your mouth, barely breaking away from you enough to get those words out. “you want to have sex with me?”

you almost laugh at the absurdity of the question, would lucy not force one of her thighs between yours, keeping you on the tip of your toes with a strangled gasp. it doesn’t occur to you to question where she knows all this from. instead, you just nod, panting as she pushes her knee further up.

pleased with all those reactions she’s getting from you, lucy hums. “and you want me to use…that?” she nods towards the now unsealed box at your feet.

“uh huh,” is all you can manage. it seems enough for lucy, who flashes an excited smile before walking over to pick it up from the floor. for the first time, you dare to breathe.

she fumbles with the box momentarily, struggling to free the toy from its plastic packaging in her excitement. before you can offer your help, she has figured it out and carelessly tosses the container aside, leaving only the dildo in her hand.

“hm,” lucy hums, taking it in from all angles under the dim light.

“this goes through the…” you start breathlessly, nodding toward the ring that sits right above her still fully clothed pubic bone.

it’s not often that you find yourself longing for a life a little more like lucy’s. this is one of those rare moments though. the things you’d do to have her in an actual bed, in a place that belongs to just the two of you. somewhere where you can actually take your time to undress her, see her fully, and not just rushed glimpses in the barely lit space around you.

“okey dokey,” she fumbles with the toy, experimentally tracing the buckles and straps before pushing the dildo through its designated hole.

then, it’s just you, her, and the shuddered breath you exhale into the small space left between you when lucy steps closer again.

you briefly wonder if it would overwhelm lucy if you’d go down on your knees before her right then and there. if you’d force her down your throat and show her just how much of her you’re willing to take. but then you turn to look back at her and decide that this is not the time.

lucy is watching you attentively, her eyes darting between yours and the strap attached to her body. there seems a newfound sense of pride in the way she carries herself as you feel her press against your inner thigh. it draws a gasp from you, an expression on your face that lucy instantly mirrors: mouth agape, eyes slightly widened.

it is your hushed, shaky “lucy, please” that sets her into motion.

her fingers, once resting on your hips, jump into action before you know it; roaming all over your body. into your hair, over smudged, dirty clothes, underneath them…her nails briefly scrape the expanse of your stomach, the fabric of your shirt riding up your torso, and lucy seems satisfied with the way you exhale into her open mouth. then, she drops them lower.

it doesn’t take her long to unbuckle your belt and pull it free from your pants. the setting doesn’t allow any slower, more sensual undressing. instead, you push your pants down your legs until they’re polling around your ankles and you can easily step out of them, leaving you exposed from the waist down except for your underwear -which is doing a terrible job in covering the arousal there.

you’ve been wet from the moment you started fantasizing about her, and your little make out session has only made matters worse. lucy, who’s pushing her fingers past the waistline of your underwear, notices too when she’s met with your wetness once they slide through you.

“fuck-“ you mutter, your head falling back.

lucy studies you attentively once her fingers find your clit, rubbing it in clockwise circles underneath the fabric until your thighs are trembling and instinctively closing around her wrist.

“sit,” she orders, jerking her chin towards the shelf pressed against the back of your thighs.

stunned into silence, you hop onto the cool metal, your legs spread enough for lucy to stand between them. her palms stroke along your thighs as she bites her lip, now able to see the wet patch your arousal has left in the fabric of your underwear.

“can you take it?” she whispers, immediately earning herself an eager nod from you.

lucy pulls you forward until you’re sitting on the edge, then forces your legs apart further with a sudden motion. only once she’s reached out and pushed your underwear aside, does it seem to occur to her that she’s never been on this side of things before.

nervously, she glances up at you. “i’ve never-“ lucy begins, gesturing downward.

“that’s okay!” you interject instantly. at this point, you don’t care what she does, as long as she does it inside of you.

“okay,” she echoes, before focusing on the matter at hand.

absentmindedly, though it sends another wave of arousal down to your center, lucy uses what’s left of your wetness on her fingers to coat her length in it. you watch breathlessly as she pumps her fist along the silicone shaft until it's glistening with the makeshift lube.

immediately, you wrap your legs around lucy, closing your ankles behind her and urging her closer. she complies gladly.

her eyes flicker up to your face when she lines herself up and moves forward. your fingers reach around lucy’s back, desperately grasping for something to hold onto as her cock sinks into you inch by inch. her nose nuzzles against the side of your neck as she fills you up slowly, her breath warm against your skin, until she’s pushed it in as far as it’ll go and your bodies are nestled flush together.

“good?” lucy whispers, slowly pulling back just enough to look up at you.

“mhm” you hum, struggling to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head.

her hands fall to your waist again, squeezing you gently as her eyes remain fixed on where she has pushed into your body, where the toy is pressed against your walls just right.

“can i move?” lucy husks, looking like she’s barely containing herself from doing so.

for a moment you wish that her impatience was actually justified. not that it isn’t already, you are dying to see her in a similar position, but you wish she could feel you too: all around her, taking it greedily, sucking her in deeper.

once again, you nod.

pressing your palm between her shoulder blades is about all the bracing you get to do before lucy starts to move. she pulls her hips back slowly as if she’s testing the waters, before slamming into you faster and deeper than expected.

“o-oh!” you gasp, your mouth falling open over lucy’s shoulder. the relief of finally feeling her against your g-spot is immediate and has you seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.

you arch your back against her, involuntarily searching for more as lucy starts thrusting into you more confidently. you meet each of her thrusts, gently lifting your hips from the shelf to rock back onto her strap. like this, she’s fucking you properly in no time, falling into an easy rhythm.

the sound of your skin slapping together echoes through the otherwise abandoned store, accompanied only by your occasional ragged moans. you don’t bother to hold back anymore, not when you’ve spent half of your travels fantasizing about her like this.

it only vaguely registers that lucy’s mouth is pressing against the side of your neck, sucking on the soft skin there as she keeps fucking the strap into you. she’s reaching depths you could never quite find with only your fingers during your rare attempts to find some sort of relief, depths that have you trembling already.

“lucy please!” you cry, unsure what you’re even asking for as one hand holds onto the back of her neck whereas the other grips the edge of the shelf for dear life. “please,”

“does that feel good?” she asks, her voice genuine and amazed despite her relentless pounding.

“mhm, so good!” you nod. your legs are shaking around lucy, trembling more with each thrust that makes you gush around the strap.

the longer lucy moves like this, the more confident she gets in her own movements. despite the occasional grunts of exhaustion, she does not let up. it doesn’t take her long to find the perfect angle either, your cunt throbbing once you feel her right where you need it the most.

too eager for your own release to feel embarrassed, you drop your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit at a pace that matches the one lucy has set.

the space around you smells of sex and her hands are carefully holding your legs apart, keeping you open for her. the shelves creak under the force of her pace, slamming against the wall so loudly you will have to check if the noise has attracted any unwanted attention once she’s done with you.

for now, all you can focus on is the pleasure in your system, which only intensifies when lucy starts talking: “god” she groans, eyes narrowed down on your body to watch the way you take the full length of her strap over and over again.

she pulls out almost all the way once, the motion agonizingly slow so she can see the way you part for her as the silicone slides from your body. the toy is glistening with your wetness in the barely lit room.

“fuck-” she grunts, before snapping forward and sinking back into. there’s sweat collecting at her temple from the efforts of her constant rolls of her hips. “are you close? tell me!”

your weak whine seems to sound agreeable enough for lucy to double her efforts. not once does she falter, her hips thrusting forward effortlessly and desperate cries of her name are all you can manage. they're your only prayer as she gets you closer and closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” she praises absentmindedly, her eyes glued to what she can see past the fabric of your underwear and the frantic movement of your wrist as you rub yourself to the rhythm of her thrusts. “that’s it!”

lucy seems almost as eager to make you cum as you are yourself, panting: “are you gonna cum?” as though she can hardly believe that she’s the one to get you there.

“oh my god, are you gonna cum on my- on my cock?” the distant realization dawns upon you that she doesn’t even know the proper words, but the way she’s put it -albeit clumsy and unsure- works. it is what you ultimately need to be pushed over that edge.

a breathless “oh my god!” is the only response lucy gets before your orgasm rips through you. with a prolonged moan, you slam your head back, only vaguely aware of the dull pain as your body convulses around her strap.

your hips are still rutting back and forth uselessly, grinding against your hand as she stills inside of you. when the pleasure finally subsides, your body goes slack and you fall against lucy with her strap still buried inside you.

her arms wrap around you soothingly, pressing you as close to her chest as the current position allows. you stay like this for a while, just enough for you to catch your breath and ground yourself. the stillness of the night settles back into the store as the two of you adjust in the dim light. she pulls back gently and you pull your jacket tight, brushing stray bits of dust from the sleeves, while lucy fumbles with her gear.

the wind that blows through the creaks in the wall seems louder now, as the silence between you stretches on. finally, lucy dares to speak. “well,” she begins. “this has officially been my favorite pit stop so far!”

you can’t help but laugh, your cheeks heating up all over again as you carefully reach down to push your underwear back into place.

“and these?” she jerks her thumb down to the strap that’s still fastened to her body. “these are definitely coming with us!”

you freeze mid-motion, “lucy, you can’t just carry that around like it’s-“

“like it’s what? a perfectly good survival tool?” she interrupts. “come on, think about it! it’s sturdy, lightweight, multipurpose and-”

“multipurpose?” you cut in, raising a brow.

she shrugs, unbothered. “sure. you never know when you might need something to hold up supplies!”

your lips part to protest, but no words come out. instead, you watch as she unbuckles the harness. this whole situation is ridiculous. it’s so lucy. you feel warmth spreading through your chest at the sight.

she glances over at you, her head tilted when she catches you staring. “are you alright?”

you nod quickly, forcing yourself to look away before your face betrays you again. “yeah,” you swallow audibly. “yeah, i’m good!”

but you’re not. not really. because she kissed you. she kissed you, and then she fucked you, too. and now, instead of brushing it off like another one of her impulsive experiments, she’s acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like it’s you that’s natural to her.

“alright,” she says, her voice pulling you from your thoughts. “let’s set up camp for the night. i’ll try to get some actual sleep this time!”

you nod again, following her toward the back of the store where the shadows are deepest. as you lay out your bedroll, you glance at her from the corner of your eye. she’s humming under her breath as she secures her pack.

this wasn’t just a one-time thing, you realize as she packs up both the harness and its counterpart. it wasn’t just a kiss or a moment or something you won’t speak about in the morning, otherwise she would not be keeping this.

it was lucy, and it was you.

and whatever comes next on your travels, you know there’s no going back from this.

— a/n: my first lucy fic!! you can thank @lottiesgrl for this, they helped me turn my silly little idea into…something!!

[hannieehaee]

TRAINING SEASON

18+ / mdi

summary: unfortunately for vernon, all his friends were gym bros, leading to constant harassment for him to join the lifestyle. after weeks of twelve men constantly bugging at him to accompany them, all it takes is one girl for vernon to finally give in.

content: strangers2friends2lovers!vernon, fitness!reader, vernon's kind of a loser here, reader is friends with the other 12, vernon's not into fitness, downbad!vernon, reader is implied to be into fitness but her body's not really described in any specific way, afab reader, smut, semi-public sex, handjob, kind of sub!vernon, dry humping, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 9.3k

a/n: not really sure why i keep writing vernon like a loser with no game lol im sure in real life he's got a ton of game lets just pretend he doesnt<3

masterlist

"C'mon, Nonnie. Come with us. Just this once."

"You don't even have to work out, we just want-"

"No, if I have to work out, he has to work out. You guys have been dragging me with you to engage in your masochist tendencies for weeks. He deserves the same treatment."

Vernon simply groaned at all the noise, uncaring of what Seungkwan, Mingyu and Jeonghan were saying, respectively. Instead, he opted to cover his face with a pillow, attempting to muffle all the noise his friends were making so early in the morning.

Then suddenly, the comfort of his blanket left him, followed by his pillow being pulled from his hold and used to deliver a swift smack against his head before being whisked away and landing on the opposite side of the room.

One more, he groaned, but this time louder. His eyes opened to find the culprit standing above him, squinting due to the sudden surge of sunlight into his vision at having opened his eyes.

"Dude, stop being a lazy piece of shit and come with us," nagged Joshua.

God, how many of them were in his apartment? It was supposed to be just him and Seungkwan who lived here, where did the rest come from?

"What time is it?" he finally grumbled out, sitting up. It's not like he had any options anyway.

"It's 9:16 in the morning," informed him Wonwoo from outside his bedroom. God, was he here too?

"Why are all of you in my apartment? Seungkwan, we agreed that-"

"We all have keys, you idiot. Now get up. We're going to the gym," this time it was Chan.

"Do all twelve of you go to the same gym at the same time? God, they must hate you."

Vernon finally sat up against his headboard, head counting a total of five of his friends currently in his room, assuming the rest to be either in his kitchen or living room.

God damn you, Boo Seungkwan.

"We're pretty well liked, actually."

A few of the members nodded along to Mingyu's rebuttal.

Yeah, that made sense. Twelve muscly and more than objectively attractive men were likely magnets for clientele over at the gym.

All the more reason to not join them.

All his friends were fitness addicts (sans Jeonghan, maybe). Simply gym bros who had developed what Vernon liked to call an unhealthy habit to exercise — despite how ironic that statement sounded. Vernon, on the other hand, had never been one to put too much emphasis on fitness. He liked his build as it was; some slightly toned muscle and a slim frame. He never really saw any need to bulk up like most of his friends, so he never gained an interest for it.

Yet his friends had tried to convince him to join them, time and time again.

Jeonghan had been the one other friend they had to convince to join them. Other than Vernon, Jeonghan was the only other member of their large friend group who had a proclivity against the gym. But his love for spending time with his friends had won him over, making him tag along just for the mere purpose of not feeling FOMO.

Now, Vernon did not have that issue. He didn't mind missing out on hang outs. He was a pretty lowkey, chill guy. Staying at home unless it was vital for him to leave, now that was more up his alley.

Except now he had twelve men nagging at him to get up, put on some basketball shorts and a flimsy tank top and join them at their gym. It had been a few weeks of this insistence, leading to this moment — all his friends breaking into his and Seungkwan's apartment in order to drag him out.

And the sad thing was that it worked. Apparently it took twenty-three consecutive days of bugging at Vernon to convince him of doing something he didn't want to do for him to budge. He hoped this didn't become some sort of pattern.

~

Vernon felt out of place.

All his friends had arrived in extremely casual fashion, immediately comfortable in the familiar environment and dispersing themselves in their respective smaller groups.

Meanwhile, even after half an hour of being there, Vernon felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb.

The agreement they'd settled on was that Vernon would try out the gym. If he didn't like it, — more like, if he truly despised it, in Seungcheol's words — they all agreed to leave him alone (other than Jeonghan, who insisted he'd move into his closet and haunt him until he came back).

So, really all Vernon had to do was hang out for an hour or two and then let his friends down easy.

It should've been easy enough considering how out of place he felt surrounded by other unfamiliar gym bros in their natural habitat.

"Dude, at least try not to look like you have no idea what a gym is."

His thoughts were interrupted by Mingyu who suddenly materialized next to him.

"Huh?"

"You've been standing here staring into the distance for five minutes. Here, just follow me. I just finished my cardio You can do arms with me and Seok today."

The statement felt like a threat. Looking at Mingyu, at his muscles, was enough to tire Vernon out. Was he supposed to keep up with that?

Still, Vernon shrugged to himself and followed after Mingyu. Something which he regretted soon after realizing it'd take an entire flight of stairs to get to what he presumed to be the area of the gym where they usually did arms. There, he found Seokmin and Chan, seemingly already in the middle of some set of some workout while Jeonghan sat on a bench press with a coffee in hand.

"You're actually gonna work out? I thought you'd just go to the spa room," commented Jeonghan upon spotting him approaching.

"There's a spa here? Sick."

"And you can use it after a few sets with me. Follow me, let's go figure out how much you can lift," once again, Vernon began to trail after Mingyu towards the stack of dumbbells on a mirrored wall nearby.

"Oh, Y/N was looking for you earlier, by the way," Seokmin stopped Mingyu before he could walk away.

"Y/N? What for?"

"Your bet, you idiot. She said she can bench press 80 pounds now. You owe her $50," interjected Chan, setting down the two dumbbells he'd been holding.

"Nah, no way," Mingyu crossed his arms, "Where's she at?"

"Are we going to get the weights or-"

"Hold on, 'Sol," Gyu interrupted him, "I have something to settle."

"She just went to fill up her water. She should be back soon," added Seokmin.

"Who's Y/N?", Vernon asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?", snickered Jeonghan.

"What does that even me-"

"Chan, just hand me those weights. Vernon should be able to lift those," Mingyu reached over to Chan, grabbing the dumbbells he'd been using with an ease that made it seem like they were weightless.

But this theory proved to be wrong the moment Mingyu attempted to hand them over to an unsuspecting Vernon. Embarrassingly enough, the most predictable thing happened.

But what was most embarrassing was the timing. Suddenly the main character of the conversation showed up, just as Vernon's hands failed to hold onto the heavy weights, dropping them at his feet and barely missing a hospital visit by a few inches. His hands had stupidly attempted to catch them mid flight, but it only resulted in him almost falling over, body now bent down as he caught himself before falling.

That's when he saw an unfamiliar pair of converse standing in front of him.

"Hey- oh, shit!" were the first words he heard from you just as he created the biggest clanking sound resonating through the entire floor.

Looking up with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment on his face, he found you standing right in front of him. Like his own, your expression showed surprise, though he also found amusement in it. In any other situation, he may have laughed along with you (and the rest of his friends who he heard cackling from behind him), but this instance was different.

Because Vernon hadn't expected for a girl his friends had merely mentioned in passing to look like you. Makeup-less and in some worn band shirt with some tiny spandex underneath, you had Vernon's mouth catching flies.

Vernon didn't have a type. Was never one to care for appearances too much. But he suddenly found himself gulping at the sight in front of him. Your eyes stated down at him with some sort of wonder, and he felt a sickly feeling in him that told him he wanted them on him at all times from then on — even if it was due to something embarrassing he'd done.

An incredibly out of character thought for Vernon to have, but here he was.

Instead of picking up the dumbbells he'd stupidly dropped and introducing himself as he usually would've done, his brain malfunctioned along with his body. Losing balance as he straightened himself up, he stammered out what he believed to be a greeting (though he wasn't too sure; he was too distracted by you) while Mingyu offered him support to properly stand.

"Hi?", you responded, "Sorry, was that my fault?", you turned to the other members with slight concern.

A soft slapping sound resounded as Mingyu patted Vernon on the back, chuckling over at your concerned expression.

"Nah, you're fine. Vernon's hand-eye coordination just isn't that good."

"Dude, you handed me like a hundred pounds with no warning!", Vernon recoiled from his touch, attempting to save some of his dignity.

"That was just forty on each dumbbell actually," corrected Chan.

Vernon groaned internally.

Thank you, Chan. Make him look like even more of a wimp than he already did.

"Uh, anyways. Hi, I'm Vernon," he extended his hand out dumbly.

"Oh, you're Vernon?," your hand squeezed his own (a feeling which Vernon would have to get back to later), "I've been looking forward to meeting you," you smiled before letting go.

"Uh, what?"

He was really killing it today.

"What Hansolie here means to say is, it's nice to meet you too," Mingyu interjected, "Now, onto more important matters - I want evidence," he said in reference to the previous subject.

"Not even a 'hello'? Not even gonna let me get to know your friend?", you looked over at him with a grin that Vernon was too flustered to return.

Before he could even consider interjecting, Mingyu grabbed onto your wrist, pulling you over to the bench press Jeonghan had been sitting on to demonstrate the skill Seokmin had declared you'd been looking to show off to Mingyu. Jeonghan got up as soon as you approached, giving you a grin that told Vernon you were familiar with each other before walking over to where Vernon was standing. He seemed to always keep some distance between himself and any actual exercise. Respectable.

Without even needing to be asked, Seokmin and Chan stood nearby, ready to spot you in case it were necessary while Mingyu helped you load the weights onto the bar.

"So. She's cute, huh?", Jeonghan leaned over to Vernon's side, voice low to ensure the others didn't hear.

"Huh?"

"Y/N. She's really pretty, isn't she?"

"Dude, shut up."

The elder simply snickered, going back to slurping at the basically empty cup of iced coffee he'd been nursing this entire time.

Vernon continued watching you, spacing out from any commentary the other boys had been giving you as you began a set, instead solely focused on you.

As you laid on the bench, your shirt rode up, exposing the tiniest spandex shorts that dug into the muscle hidden under them. Your back arched in order to lift the weighted bar, giving him perfect sight of your silhouette despite the baggy shirt you had on.

God, your body was sculpted ridiculously. Your body was toned, which showed through perfectly from the position you were currently in. The sweat dampening your clothes didn't help matters either.

Vernon wasn't one to thirst on a random Tuesday afternoon, yet here he was, eyes glued to you as if he hadn't just met you. He might've felt more guilty, but both you and his friends were too distracted to notice him, so he let himself indulge this one time.

But then Jeonghan interrupted again.

"Are you sure you don't think she's pretty?", he snickered.

"Fuck, fine! Yes, she's obviously very pretty. What do you want?", he took his eyes away from you to face the manifestation of annoying standing next to him, a satisfied grin on his face.

"Nothing. I was just wondering," he shrugged, lying through his teeth.

Meanwhile, two of his other friends were cheering you on while Mingyu half-heartedly attempted at trash talking you into failing. Even as you carried what to Vernon was incomprehensible weight, you cursed out at Mingyu, something which Vernon appreciated.

Fuck. You were cool.

You were pretty, clearly very confident, strong, got along with his friends, and just incredibly cool. And Vernon had only known you for like ten minutes.

Was this a crush? Did he have a crush on a girl he'd just met?

He was 26. Crushes were so high school, what the hell was happening to him?

"Dude, are you blushing?"

"Han, I swear to god-"

"Oh my god, you are!", the way his eyes lit up at the realization was like it was christmas morning to him. Jeonghan had a strange fascination with mischief Vernon never really understood.

"Who's blushing?"

And suddenly there was another presence next to him, coming to a halt to watch you on what was now your second set of bench presses.

"Nonnie's in love," Jeonghan snickered.

"Shit, with who? Wait, don't tell me," Hoshi stopped for a second to ponder before shaking his head as he gave up, "Never mind. Tell me."

Vernon shook his head. He was friends with idiots.

"Y/N!"

"Dude, not so loud!", Vernon's eyes widened, face only going back to its natural poker face when he noticed you were still being entertained by his three loud friends.

"Dude, wait, that makes sense. They'd make the perfect couple," Hoshi gasped at the revelation., "They're both movie freaks and couch potatoes. But Y/N's way cooler than Vernon," he added.

Jeonghan nodded along in agreement.

You were into movies? You didn't give him the vibe of a couch potato, though. I mean, you were lying there, immense weight on your hands as you challenged the biggest gym buff he knew.

Vernon was about to question them on this assessment. They'd clearly thought about this before, which he wasn't sure whether it was good news for his newfound crush or not. But before he could at least complain at the slight thrown at him, he heard cheering from the spot where he'd been watching you, finally turning back to face you.

"Dude, three sets of eighty pounds with your frame? You're crazy. You might actually be stronger than Mingyu," Seokmin praised you as he offered up a high-five.

"I can do 200 pounds-"

"But you're a tree. It doesn't count," Chan disregarded him, instead choosing to join Seokmin in dapping you up.

Vernon hadn't noticed as he watched you, but Hoshi and Jeonghan had also joined in, leaving him alone in watching you from a small distance away. He went back to feeling kind of out of place.

But he liked seeing his friends with you. It was odd. He'd met many of his friends' friends, but he always felt entirely indifferent about them.

You were different. Vernon felt himself smiling as he watched you snatch the $50 from Mingyu's hand and turn to Hoshi and Jeonghan with a triumphant smile on your face.

And then you looked past them, spotting him and walking the few steps over to him.

"So, gonna congratulate me, new guy?"

He scoffed in amusement.

"I'm new?"

"Here? Clearly. I have seniority at this gym. Now, be a gentleman and congratulate me on robbing your friend of $50."

Vernon couldn't help but return your satisfied smile. You were fun.

"Congrats. Well deserved," he chose to say. He needed to remain nonchalant after his earlier embarrassment.

"Now, c'mon. I'm buying everyone something from the snack bar to celebrate Gyu's defeat," you turned back to head over to the guys, Vernon now following along.

"Fifty's probably not gonna be enough for six people-", someone spoke, Vernon wasn't sure who, too focused on walking by your side.

"It's fine. Gyu'll pay the difference," you shrugged.

"Hey!"

Were you into him? Were you into Mingyu?

You'd been pretty friendly with all his friends that day, but it was impossible not to notice the special attention you paid to Mingyu. But then again, who didn't have a soft spot for Mingyu?

There was no indication you liked him, or that he'd even left some sort of impression on you. If anything, you probably remembered him as the idiot who almost took out both your and his foot. Or maybe as the dumbass who couldn't lift the measly forty-pound dumbbells Chan had been carrying with ease.

Meanwhile, you'd looked for Mingyu, looking far too happy to tease him and take his money.

Maybe Vernon was behind on the current dating world, but the two of you gave him more-than-friends vibes.

But then again, Mingyu held a flirtationship with literally everyone who came into his vicinity. Hell, he was pretty sure he'd at some point flirted with him without realizing it. Except this was an instance in which Vernon needed to be sure before he made a move. Not that he was too scared to do it or anything ...

Sadly for Vernon, he had been too much of a wuss to ask Mingyu about you directly, so he went for someone who he hoped wouldn't tease him.

"So, uhm, do you know Y/N?"

God, he sounded so needy. He was usually smoother than this. He had game. Right?

He'd decided that Joshua his safest bet. He was the only one out of all the guys who could maybe be normal about his curiosity about you.

Joshua could only chuckle at him. His eyes were too focused on scooping at the remnants of the fro-yo Vernon had bought him under the pretense of just hanging out. Casual.

"So you've met. You like her, huh?"

"Dude, what is this? Why does everyone keep asking me that? We've met once," Vernon frowned.

Was he that easy to read?

Joshua shrugged, "She seems like your type. She's single too."

"She is?"

"So you are interested," Joshua grinned.

He groaned. Did all his friends have to be such instigators? Men were the nosier gender, he was sure.

"Listen-"

"It's fine, 'Sol. I don't judge you. She's very pretty. Fun too."

"You talked to Jeonghan, didn't you?"

"Yeah. He told me you almost broke your foot in front of her and proceeded to fuck her with your eyes for like ten minutes straight. Not your finest moment."

Maybe Vernon's memory was failing him, but he was pretty sure those weren't the actual events that happened. Sure, he'd made the entire situation way more embarrassing in his head, but it hadn't been that bad. Right?

"I did not eye-fuck her," he rebutted, "I checked her out. I don't think she really noticed, though."

"Is that good? Wouldn't you rather just ask her out?"

"Uh, am I even her type?", Vernon scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as he reclined back on his chair, "She seemed to be kind of into Mingyu."

"Dude."

"Listen, it's just-"

"Mingyu just has that effect on people. They don't like each other. Not like that. They're just friends," clarified Joshua, "We all met when we started going to this gym last May. She just became closest to Gyu and Kyeom cause they practically live there."

"So they've never ..."

"No, man, I swear. You can ask Gyu. Or better yet, ask her out,."

"It's not that easy!", Vernon grumbled, hand crumbling the fro-yo container in his hand.

"Why not? You've never had trouble with girls. That's Channie. He's a mess," Josh chuckled.

There was just something about you. Vernon had never become this infatuated with someone. It was kind of embarrassing.

"She just ... She makes me nervous for some reason," Vernon admitted, "She's friends with all my best friends and I never even knew about her. She's funny and cool and confident, and-"

"And she's hot," finished Joshua for him.

"She's so fucking hot, man," Vernon groaned as Joshua chuckled.

"So, what, do you think she's out of your league or something?"

"Maybe? You tell me. I need an objective opinion," Vernon said with more seriousness than intended.

Joshua pretended to mull over it, hand scratching at chin as he started up to contemplate it up until Vernon groaned at him to stop.

"Dude, you're such an idiot. I'm not answering that. Just ask her out!"

All Joshua received in response was a muffled groan as Vernon let himself fall back on his chair. The dramatics felt necessary to him at that moment.

"So, are you going to keep going to the gym?", Joshua laughed at his friend.

"I'm a man on a mission."

"Lost?"

"Fuck! Wh- Oh, shit, hi. Sorry, you scared me," Vernon's hand clutched at his chest in surprise, ears slightly red in embarrassment.

Did he really have to embarrass himself every time he saw you?

"Sorry I keep catching you off guard," you chuckled, "You just looked kind of lost. You've been staring into space for the past three minutes."

"Oh, uh, right. It's only my second time here. I'm not sure where all the guys went," he mumbled.

Now facing you, he tried to take quick note of your appearance. You'd come from the opposite direction as him, meaning you'd likely only gotten here just now. That explained the lack of sweat and your pristine hair, as opposed to last time. It made him wonder what you looked like on a regular basis, outside of the context of the gym.

"Right. Well, they usually go to the basketball court on Sundays, so most of them are probably there now. I hate playing sports with Han and Boo, so I usually just avoid them," you explained.

You seemed to have a great hold on his friends' gym lifestyle.

"We could go look for them," you began, "Or we could hang out on our own."

You smiled at him expectantly. It was a cute and innocent smile, as if you'd been hoping for an opportunity to get him alone.

"Do you, uh, do you mean in the gym?"

You nodded, "C'mon. I'm sure none of the guys actually showed you around, did they?", he shook his head, "Men suck. I'll give you a tour, y'know since you're new," you extended your hand out to him, eyes expectant.

With no time (nor dignity) to wipe his hand of any possible sweat, he grabbed onto your own, gulping at your hold.

This was moving faster than he thought. But then again, you probably just felt comfortable around him due to his association with the rest of your friends. It must be that.

Once you made it out of the general area of the gym, you let go of his hand, now opting for walking side by side instead. The place was quite spacious, so it gave more than enough room for the two of you to take your time walking without getting into anyone's ways. Not that Vernon wanted to extend his time with you as much as possible or anything.

"So, how come you've never been here before?", you suddenly asked whilst showing him what you'd donned as the 'poser gym buff' part of the gym. It looked like it, considering it was filled with shirtless muscular men, all ignoring the blatant 'No Nudity Allowed' sign you'd just walked by.

"Uh, before I answer that - How much did the guys tell you about me?"

You chuckled, "Just, stuff. I'd rather hear it from you, though."

Then you smiled at him again. As if you had no idea it messed with his brain chemistry.

"Just, uhm, not really a gym guy like the other guys. Not sporty, like at all. Always got hit by balls in P.E. Kwan drags me to street basketball matches sometimes, but I always end up embarrassing myself. Oh, and I can't really lift, as you probably noticed the other day," he found himself rambling. Very unusual of him.

"Hmm. Yeah, I can see why you don't come to the gym with the rest of them," you laughed, "But I think you should. You bring a nice balance to whatever's going on with the rest."

"Well, uh, I could be persuaded," he made his attempt at flirting, internally cursing at himself while also praying that it didn't fall flat and force him to never show his face in front of you again.

"Oh, really? I think I could help with that," your tone turned a little softer as you gave him a suggestive smile, "Wanna go check out the pool with me? It's usually empty this time of day."

"Oh, uh, yes! I- uh, yeah," he mumbled his way through, gulping when you took his hand again and led him out of the room.

That's when Vernon's mind started going a mile a minute, but instead of freaking out, he let himself be taken away by you.

~

So, maybe taking you up on your offer to use the pool hadn't been the best idea.

Everything was fine. Really. The pool area was pretty clean and the water felt nice. The temperature was just perfect, allowing for anyone who wanted a quick dip to enjoy themselves without risking frostbite like at the local community pool.

Only issue was you.

According to all prior experience, you had proven to be nothing but a health concern for Vernon since meeting you only a few days ago.

Despite the lukewarm water, Vernon was burning up.

Who thought it'd be a good idea to go to the pool, alone, with his crush as she paraded herself around in a sad excuse for a bikini? Was this even allowed? He was seeing too much skin. Which wasn't an issue for Vernon! He'd never call himself a prude, but ... In this one instance, he wished for some of puritanical rule to prevent him from having to see you swim laps in a bikini that left very little to his imagination.

Except, of course, the material in front of him did give him a lot of room for some very imaginative thoughts.

Vernon had no option but to dip his feet in the pool, sitting at the edge with a towel on his lap in order to cover what he was sure was a small chub growing under his trousers. Meanwhile, he watched you swim for a good ten minutes, dreading the moment you stopped and approached him again.

"Are you really not going to swim with me?", you called from afar, having reached the other side of the pool, "The water's so nice and there's no one here."

"Uhm, nope, I hate getting wet. I'll just watch you," he slapped himself mentally as soon as he said it.

"Well, I wanna get to know you," you told him as you exited the pool, killing Vernon with every step you took in his direction up until you sat next to him. Your legs were practically touching.

"Hi," you smiled at him.

There was an air of confidence you carried every time you spoke to him. He was half sure you were fully aware of his crush and were simply banking on it.

"Hi," he said back, unknowing of where to settle his eyes.

You likely caught onto this, giggling under your breath.

"Vernon."

"Yeah?", he looked to you. He deliberately avoided looking at any of your bare skin, staring directly into your eyes with widened eyes.

"You can look at me, you know. I want you to."

"Oh, uh, I- I didn't want to be rude or anyth- Wait, what?"

You giggled again, "You're funny. Are you this much of a mess with everyone else, or am I getting special treatment?"

"Special treatment for sure."

Again, you laughed. Good. At least he wasn't fucking this up.

"You know, the guys told me you were this ... very stoic and chill type of guy. I was wondering if I'd get to see that guy if I got you alone. But you're even worse without the guys around to hackle you," you accused jokingly.

"So you're doing this on purpose?"

He turned his body to face you more, allowing for your knees to actually knock together this time. The dampness of your skin graced his leg, but it was your bare touch that made him shiver. Still, he felt like less of a loser now. He had somewhat of a handle on the conversation this time around.

"Depending what you mean by 'this.'"

"The bikini? Getting me alone? Sitting this close to me knowing I have to override my brain in order to not look anywhere past your eyes?"

Okay, he was flirting now, apparently. Unexpected, but he welcomed it. His mouth was going faster than his brain. But the slight shift in your expression told him it was a welcomed development.

"Yes," you bit back a smile as you confirmed it, "I wanted to see whether the feeling was mutual or if you were just socially incompetent. No offense."

"None taken. And, uh, what's your verdict?"

"I think it'd be more fun if you tell me," you challenged.

Either he was crazy or you were gradually leaning closer to him. Or maybe it was him. Both? Either way, the proximity increased.

"I do like you. It's painfully obvious and probably worrying how much since we've only met once, but I even went asking my friends about you," he found himself admitting.

"Really? That's funny, because I was asking Mingyu about you," you revealed.

So you didn't like Mingyu. Noted.

"Oh? I, uh, what'd he say?"

You hummed, scooting over and shamelessly laying one of your legs atop his, body leaning completely towards his own. The distance between you was practically nonexistent now, with your eyes even zeroing in on his lips as you spoke.

"He told me you can be shy sometimes. That I should help you out a little."

"A-and, are you? Going to help me out, I mean," he could hear his own gulp.

"Nope," you popped the 'p,' "I want you to take what you want."

"That's ... You're kind of mean," he chuckled breathlessly.

You chuckled back, but you were clearly frustrated by how much he was dragging it.

Without having to move, his arm wrapped around you, courtesy of you literally taking it and placing it on your hip. He was obedient, so he followed along. Next, your hand placed itself on his cheek, tilting his head down and abolishing any sort of distance left. Your lips were practically touching now.

"Vernon, just do it. I want you to. I really want you to."

And so he kissed you.

Immediately, you deepened it, taking control of it all.

All you wanted was for him to take the first step, which in reality he didn't. You held all the power, which you knew. Still, he enjoyed this. He liked that you knew the effect you had on him and that you knew what to do with it.

Plus, he'd be an idiot to complain about your sticking your tongue in his mouth.

Like any thinking, breathing man, he continued to kiss you, not bothering to stifle any groans he left against your lips. He completely disregarded the fact that you were in a public space, that anyone could walk in at any moment — maybe even one of his friends. But it was hard to care when your fingers tangled through the tresses of his hair and sucked at his tongue.

The kiss only stopped when you harshly pulled at his hair, physically removing his face from your own. He mumbled out a few complaints as you did, but eventually woke up from his trance and cleared his throat as you pulled away.

"It's almost 1 o'clock," you said, but all he paid attention to were your swollen lips, "There's a swimming class at one," you began getting up, towering over Vernon as you dried yourself up, "So unless you want to get a fine for fondling in private property, we should go."

You held out your hand for him to stand up, surprising Vernon when your stance didn't falter when helping lift up his weight. That's when he was reminded about your affinity for weight lifting. Hot.

The fleeting thought of you manhandling him crossed through his mind, but he shook it away not wanting to risk a boner at the gym.

"You planned this, didn't you?"

"Maybe. But it's more fun like this, isn't it?", you giggled as you walked away.

Vernon shook his head to himself as he watched you — very focused on the show you gave him as you walked away.

Vernon continued to see you on an almost daily basis after that — or at least every day in which he got dragged to the gym. Except maybe not in the way that he had hoped.

After that time in which you led him to the privacy of the empty pool patio, the two of you did not spend any time alone. Every single time he saw you was exclusively at the gym, with all the other guys in your immediate vicinity. He didn't even get the chance to speak to you, mostly unable to due to your attention being shared between thirteen men seemingly starved for attention (with him being the biggest culprit).

Like a dumbass, he didn't ask for your number at any time. His shyness around you had mostly left him, but he was still an awkward idiot when it came to taking further steps towards you.

And it wasn't as if you'd stopped provoking him. If anything, your efforts had doubled. Your gym outfits went from baggy shirts and spandex to tiny little sets that showed off as much skin as possible — he had even confirmed with Seungkwan that this was a brand new development in your wardrobe. You were insistent in eyeing him down any time it was his turn to do some sets. You'd bite your lip and stare at him as if you wanted to jump him on the spot. It was safe to say that this messed with his performance (not that he had good form in the first place).

A week of this went by, making him slowly lose his mind. All of his friends became privy to his frustrations, but he was mostly met with mockery. Some told him he was an idiot, that he should just grow some balls and ask you to come over to his apartment. Others simply laughed at how weak he was under your attention.

On the eighth day of this hell, he finally decided to do something about it. If you wanted to play with his sanity, then he'd feed right into it. He didn't care to look like a wimp or like he was down bad for you — he was both of those things, and proud.

Mondays were the day in which the guys went to the gym at night rather than during the day. Something about a lower influx of people at that specific time. And you, you had a tendency of attending the gym at the same time as them most of the time, which meant you were also present.

It was almost closing time by the time the guys were done working out that day. Vernon had to endure three hours due to their insistence that they 'might as well stay til closing.'

As they began to pack up, of course Mingyu managed to hold up the part-timers who were about to close, wondering if it'd be fine to stay an extra ten minutes so a few of his friends could catch the showers they desperately needed. Being Mingyu, of course the part-timers didn't stand a chance to his charms.

Vernon decided to take this as an opportunity to find you alone. The guys (who loved to hog your attention, apparently) would finally be out of his way while he sought you out. It was the perfect chance to at least ask you for your number. Before you left the guys and headed over to the girls' locker rooms, you made sure to eye Vernon far too suggestively for him to misunderstand your intentions. Or at least he hoped so.

For once, Vernon was thankful for Mingyu's habit to befriend every person in his vicinity, as his yapping allowed Vernon to sneak into the women's locker rooms to find you there. It was also thanks to him that he'd be able to you alone rather than accidentally bump into some other gym-goer. He made a mental note to thank him later before beginning his search for you.

This search didn't last long. It was clear to Vernon as soon as he crossed the threshold to the showers in the girl's locker room that you'd been expecting him.

In nothing but a towel, you stood next to a running shower, lower lip trapped under your teeth as you eyed him down. No words to be exchanged. All you had to do was extend your hand out to him for him to finally unfreeze and do something.

Immediately, you dropped your towel and dragged him into the shower, pulling him in so that he'd have you pinned up against the dampened wall. His gym clothes got soaked, but he figured it was worth the temporary inconvenience. Especially when your hands began pawing at him to get undressed within seconds of kissing him.

Just like last time, Vernon lost all sense of time and space in the kiss. His hands were way less awkward than he was, confident in their touching of your body. The wetness of the running water only added to it all, allowing Vernon's hands to easily slide across every curve.

"You took too long to make a move," you huffed into his lips.

Your hands expressed frustration. They glided through his dampening hair, pulling it in order to get his mouth to open for access for your tongue. It was clear to him you had a tendency to take what you wanted, and he was ready to be completely consumed by you.

"I told you," he mumbled, "you make me act like an idiot."

That pulled a chuckle from you as your lips traveled down the wet skin of his neck. Teeth pulled lightly at the skin there, surely leaving reddened marks behind their wake. Every bite and suckle was met by a squeeze of your hips, courtesy of Vernon's needy hands.

"So I'm not being too forward? This is fine?", you pulled away for half a second before Vernon grumbled as he reconnected your lips. You chuckled at his neediness.

"Please be as forward as humanly possible. It's hot."

The two of you continued kissing. Had it not been for the echoing of the water hitting the floor, Vernon was sure the obscene sound of your kissing would've made him blush. It wasn't like him to play tonsil tennis in public like this, but you made his common sense leave his body.

Then you made things all the worse for him.

Pulling away, you eyed him before wrapping your hand around him. Vernon made the mistake of looking down, finding your hand slowly working him, pace so slow it was surely meant to tease. He groaned as he looked back up, eyes becoming stuck at your bare tits for the first time since you'd dropped your towel for him.

"You're so fucking hot," he groaned almost pained.

"Yeah? You too, baby," you grinned as you sped up your hand.

Baby? Was he baby now? Fuck.

"I- fuck, this won't be fun if you keep going," he winced despite the increasing pleasure. This only encouraged you to make things even worse for him, though. Your lips attached to his neck again, dick now being grasped with both hands as one worked him and the other tended to his balls.

"I'm having fun," a breath was felt against his skin as you chuckled between kisses to his chest, "I want you to cum right here," you laid one last kiss before moving to his ear, licking and pulling at the lobe, "If you're good, you'll get me on my knees after."

Vernon almost lost it then. He didn't care what you'd ask of him. He needed this. At no other point in his life had he ever needed something as much as he needed to obey your every whim.

He groaned and buried his face in your neck as his hands continued to fondle at you. They took turns between your ass and your breasts, losing any decorum they had left. This was the only pleasure he could give you while you jerked him off, but you loved it. Your pretty sighs against his ear told him that you were getting off on the effect you had on him. His lack of control as he felt you up to his heart's contentment had you reeling. It was sickening how much he enjoyed that knowledge.

"'m gonna cum, fuck. Shit, I need- oh, fuck," he babbled. You squeezed and twisted and played at his cock in ways that had nonsensical words leaving his lips. No further coherent cries left him whilst you had your fun with him.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me," you continued to instigate.

As per usual, he was yours to toy with. His body followed your instructions before he could even process your words. The cum splattered on your stomach before trailing down and going down the drain, washed away by the wasted water.

Again, you kissed him, this time without the separation of your hand on his dick standing between you. His arms held onto you tighter than before as he pulled you as close as possible. Sensitivity sparked on his dick when you began absentmindedly grinding against him. Despite the water surrounding you, he was sure it was your own wetness that he felt as you humped him.

When he let his hand explore between your legs, he had to bite back a groan. You were incredibly soaked, instantly dampening his fingers with your nectar.

Your sigh of pleasure against his lips told him all he needed to know as he felt between your legs. A tiny nod from you was confirmation that you wanted him, so his fingers entered you. But not before teasing at your folds with a hard knuckle, up until you bit his lip and grumbled at him.

"Shit, you're tight."

"I'll be tighter when you fuck me," you moaned.

"I, fuck, yeah? You'll let me fuck you, baby?", he breathed out, beginning to scissor his fingers in and out of you, curling where he knew would have you keening for him.

You gasped out a moan, hands digging into his chest in a worthless attempt to both pull and push him away. Head thrown back, Vernon took advantage to scrape his teeth on the skin there, sucking lightly at the points that had you shuddering. His read on your body was immediate. It gave him a surge of confidence to note every little reaction you had to him. Every moan and every gasp was taken in by him, stored in his hippocampus for future use.

"Oh, fuck, right there, shit, Vernon," you whimpered.

Long fingers, pointed and curled in a come-hither motion began repeating their movements. Touching that spongy part of you, Vernon continued to pull cries out of you, uncaring that anyone could walk by and hear you despite the running shower. The water was beginning to run cold, but your orgasm mattered more to Vernon.

"'m gonna cum, Nonnie," you warned, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

"Cum, shit. Wanna fuck you so bad."

You tightened at that, causing his hardening length to twitch at the thought of you wanting him as much as he did you — though that was impossible to him.

When your orgasm found you, Vernon knew he was in out of his depth. Your back curled as his free hand held you up against him, causing your chest to dig into his own. Head thrown back and fingers digging into his biceps, you were a sight he would never forget. A low groan of his own mixed with your breathy whines at the mere view of your pleasure overtaking you in such a way — and because of him!

His fingers continued to play at your middle throughout your orgasm, refusing to stop toying at your swollen clit until you whined at him to stop with a halfhearted grumble.

He chuckled at the sight. Somehow you managed to look adorable to him right after what had just happened between you.

Just when he thought you'd stop to at least take a breather, you cupped his face and pulled him in for another kiss. His fingers were still dripping with you, hand simply flying between your bodies to ensure he didn't get your own substances on you. But shocking him once again, you pulled away, grabbing onto his hand and slipping his fingers in your mouth.

Eyeing him down as you sucked at his fingers, his mouth shot open, letting out a silent groan at the sight — Depraved. That's the only way Vernon could describe himself at that moment as he watched your eyes roll back as you sucked at his digits in your mouth.

"I wanna suck your dick," you deadpanned as soon as you pulled his fingers out of your mouth.

All he could do was choke on his own spit, full well knowing that his dick twitched against his stomach, gracing your own due to the proximity between you.

"I, you don't have to-"

"But I want to. Do you not?"

Your head tilted and your eyebrows furrowed as if you were confused by his hesitation. He was confused too.

As much as he wanted to take you up on your offer, — and very enthusiastically so — he knew there was no way he could last more than one more orgasm (and that was saying a lot).

And despite the thought of you on your knees, mouth wrapped around him as you eyed him in that way you knew made him feel faint making him almost lose his mind, what he wanted most at that moment (or ever, he was pretty sure) was to be inside you.

The thirst he felt for you at that moment was unmatched. It was a sickly feeling considering he'd only known you for a bit over a week, yet your effect on him had been immediate — That, and the fact that you were standing in front of him, completely nude and dripping wet (everywhere), eyeing him like you wanted to devour him until there was no man left in him.

"I wanna fuck you," his voice broke as he said it, a testament to how needy he felt in that moment.

"Yeah?"

There was that pleased, teasing smile on your lips again. And then a hand wrapped around him again, but this time directing him towards your center, holding him hostage as his tip graced at your mound.

"Like this? Want me against the wall? While the guys wait for me to finish 'showering'?", you were challenging him, he knew it.

He took the bait.

For the nth time, your lips connected in a heavy kiss. It was dubious whose spit made its way to his chin, but that was the last thing he had in his mind.

Grabbing onto your toned thigh, he lifted it to wrap around his waist, pushing himself up against you even closer, ridding you of even the smallest inch of distance. Meanwhile, your hand led his cock to your entrance, teasing yourself (and him) by running it up and down your slit, stopping to circle his tip on your clit.

Vernon's forehead fell against yours with a groan at the feeling of your warmth, a whimper leaving him when you took that chance to lick into his mouth, beginning to push him inside, but only the tip.

"F-fuck, please," he pleaded against your lips.

"Begging now?", you chuckled.

"I'll beg every time if it means you'll let me fuck you."

And he meant it more than he realized. Whimpers left his mouth as soon as you began leading him in, legs shaking and a sigh of relief leaving his lips at finally being inside you.

You were so tight, so hot, so fucking wet. He could feel his eyes itching to roll back all the way to his brain at how perfect you felt. Grabby fingers held onto your damp skin, uncaring that the water hitting his back was now cold and only proved as an obstacle to fucking you. Any surrounding circumstances were locked up in the back burner. His brain was just a constant repetition of yesyesyesyes as he willed himself not to cum within the first minute.

"Fuck, you feel so fucking good ..." he groaned out.

"I'll feel even better when you move," you huffed out a breath.

"Just one second, baby. You feel so good, I'm sorry."

Readjusting his hands on your hips, he brought you closer, raising the leg you had wrapped around him a bit and leaning you upwards. From this angle, he began to move, starting off slow to test the waters. And god, did that reward him.

The prettiest sigh he'd ever heard left your lips, accompanied by subsequent gasps of pleasure. Sharp nails dug into his back, petulant in their attempt to pull him closer, but the took it like a champ.

"Nonnie, fuck! R-right there!", you cried out.

And then he was gone.

He was no longer himself. No longer caring to extend his orgasm and only worried about hitting that spot. The spot that had your back arching and your chest pressing onto his. That same spot that morphed your face in a way that Vernon knew he'd remember for endless nights after this.

Continuing to piston desperately into you. Strength he didn't know he had suddenly took over as he manhandled your body as he wished. Every thrust was accompanied by your own attempts at pushing back against him, leading to a depraved harmony of slapping skin and gasps of pleasure.

"Didn't, shit, didn't think you were this strong," you hiccuped out.

"That's what good pussy does to a man," he joked, but deep down probably meant it.

You tried to laugh, but the sound was interrupted by another moan, head throwing itself back and resting against the shower wall. You tightened yourself around him then, groaning something out to him about not making you laugh. He couldn't really process it when you were suctioning him in so deliciously.

Soon enough, he felt his high approaching, making him panic and accelerate the speed of his thrusts. His mind was going a mile a minute as he attempted to take you down with him, mumbling out expletives into your skin, huffing and groaning at the way you internmently tightened around him.

"Need you to cum with me, okay? Please, it'll be so fucking embarrassing if you don't."

You chuckled between gasps, pulling him in for a kiss, "I'm there, just, fuck, keep doing that."

He was far too gone, lips barely able to kiss back in the midst of his orgasm taking over. He couldn't do this. Couldn't handle how good it all felt. Couldn't deal with your tongue in his mouth or your nails digging into his skin, much less with the sudden strangulation your cunt performed on his cock as your own orgasm arrived. And then your high pitched moans came into the picture, making him truly lose his mind.

"It's so good, oh god, so fucking good. You feel so- fuck, shit, so tight, baby," he babbled against your lips.

"So good, hmm? Fucking me so good, Non," you moaned back.

Vernon swore he blacked out after that, not knowing what happened as soon as the dramatic influx of pleasure reached him. The aftermath was full of dizziness and a feeling of fulfillment Vernon had never experienced before. It was like waking up from an amazing nap, except this time he was still plunged deeply into the prettiest girl he'd ever seen as she pressed lazy kisses to his chest.

"Are you alive?", you asked when you reached his lips, pecking them once, twice, thrice before he tried deepening it, only to find you pulling away with a giggle.

"Maybe not. I'd be fine if I wasn't. That would've been a great way to go."

"You're funny after sex," you noted.

"It's a little easier when I'm already inside you. It's less nerve-wracking that way."

"Yeah? So are you gonna go back to stuttering through every sentence once you pull out?", you tightened yourself around him to somehow prove your point, making him wince.

"Nope. Staying here. I'll even risk hypothermia with this cold ass water," that earned him another laugh and even a kiss.

"Okay, Romeo. Mingyu can only hold off the part-timers for so long, c'mon," you pressed your hands on his chest, making him groan but follow along to your instruction as per usual. — maybe this was something to look into. Later.

~

"I was not expecting that from you," you breathed out a laugh once you were dressed, exiting the dressing room hand-in-hand.

You were kidding. Maybe.

"I told you I'm not as socially awkward as I seem. I'm just an idiot around you," he chuckled. His hand swung back and forth with yours jovially.

He was very happy right now. Sue him.

"Well, a very skilled idiot, then."

He laughed along with you as you approached the main lobby, finding two familiar men leaning against a wall. It was clear in their demeanor that they'd been waiting a while, with Mingyu sighing in frustration when he spotted you.

"Half an hour? What could you have been doing in there for half an hour?", whined Seokmin.

"Well-"

"Don't. Rhetorical question," interrupted Mingyu.

The two of you snickered, walking past them and towards the exit. Both boys exchanged a look as they followed slightly behind you.

"Hold on. No 'thank you'?", Mingyu interrupted again.

Mingyu stopped you from walking away, grabbing onto your arm so you'd turn around and subsequently causing your hand to disconnect from Vernon's

You sighed in exaggerated annoyance, "Fine. Thank you, Gyu. I guess I owe you one."

"Wait, what?", Vernon looked quizzically at you both.

Mingyu grinned stupidly at both of you, with an equally idiotic Seokmin standing next to him with a mirrored expression.

"She asked us if we could stall so she'd get you alone," Mingyu started.

"I was just going to pull the fire alarm, but Gyu figured that probably wouldn't work," Seokmin continued, "and now Gyu scored a date with the receptionist, so all wins here, I guess."

Vernon turned to you, both scandalized and amused, "You-"

"Hey, I told you. You were taking too long. A girl has needs," you shrugged, grabbing onto his hand again and beginning to walk away as if it was nothing.

Vernon could've argued back. But following you seemed like the more obvious response.

Maybe he'd been a total loser throughout all this, but he scored the girl in the end. All was good.

Except now he'd probably have to go to the gym every other day.

to read short 1.7k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my svt monthly tier on patreon!

content: established relationship, afab reader, smut, morning sex, dry humping, tit worship, sorta switch!vernon, etc.

wc: 332 (teaser); 1789 (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"God, no, I can't go again," Vernon grumbled, face planted on his pillow.

The man was practically passed out, unmoving as he stayed cuddled into his blankets. The only movements out of him were the occasional squeezing of his arms around the polar bear plush you'd gotten him a few weeks back.

Vernon was more than content staying like this for the rest of the day. Only thing that would've made it all even better would be if you hadn't insisted on getting up and away from his arms.

Unfortunately for him, you were strong enough to flip him over.

Usually, this would be something he enjoyed. Something he keened over, even. But the context was different.

This time you weren't flipping him over to straddle him and make him lose his mind. No, this time was so you could continue to insist at him to get up, but now forcing him to look you in the eye as you did so.

"Vernon, we agreed on this," you pouted at him.

You were too far for his liking. While he laid on bed, body completely stretched out and occupying way too much space, you were propped up on your knees on the same bed, except not close enough for him to pull you into him. This was strategic, he guessed.

"It's been three months. How much longer do I have to keep going to the gym?"

"It's kind of a lifetime type of thing."

He groaned.

"If I show up without you you're just gonna get twelve men barging in here in an hour," you reasoned, crawling closer to him.

"Is there any way I can convince you to not make me go?"

"Is there any way I can convince you to go?", you rebutted, eyes flirty.

Vernon knew this move.

"You know you can convince me. You're very well aware of all the ways in which you can convince me. It's kind of mean of you to threaten me like this."

...

find the 18+ continuation on patreon!

if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3

[brucebocchi]

Ranking 2024 anime, Pt. 4: #20-11

hey, this post is also available on my ko-fi, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as i do this for free and am currently between jobs. you can find part 1 of the list here, part 2 here, and part 3 here. thanks!

You know, I'd really planned to keep my re-reviews much shorter but I'm finding it harder to do so when I get into the anime I actually liked. Maybe that's a good thing.

And away we go.

20. Solo Leveling

Portal isekai, sad loser secretly gains crazy powers and instantly becomes a stoic gigachad, menu screens everywhere, entry-level power fantasy. You’ve seen it before. Honestly, Solo Leveling is total slop. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

If you’ve watched a couple isekai, like, ever, you’re not going to find much new here. There’s some interesting enough worldbuilding outside of the dungeon stuff; I did find myself intrigued by the level consideration given to how much this preponderance of portals would influence Korean economics and politics, and even moreso that much of the story so far revolves around how those corrupting powers can lead to hunters using dungeons as their own playgrounds for personal gain at others’ expense. There also seems to be a larger malefactor behind all of the menu screens driving protagonist Sung Jinwoo’s growth and titular leveling, so there’s the hook.

Even putting aside the few interesting parts of the otherwise boilerplate story, Solo Leveling both looks and sounds pretty darn good. The soundtrack is laden with Hiroyuki Sawano’s trademark build-ups and drops, and though the character art and dungeon designs aren’t always the most eye-catching (early on it did look like A-1 Pictures was going to default to “fuck it, we’re making money anyway” mode), the action animation goes absolutely bonkers in its best moments.

The second season is already up and running, and although I can barely remember anyone’s name outside of the protagonist (maybe that’s on me, I consume very little Korean media and am not great at retaining Korean names), I’m in this for the long haul. Great turn-your-brain-off action schlock.

19. Wind Breaker

At this point you could put a sign that says “DELINQUENT WITH A HEART OF GOLD” underneath a box-and-stick trap and I’d walk right in. I am not immune to your Josukes Higashikata, your Ryujis Sakamoto, what have you. The angry and violent type who will nevertheless stick up for what’s right and remain fiercely loyal to those they care about. Wind Breaker is rife with characters who fit that archetype, but it’s not exactly a delinquent anime so much as it’s a Dudes anime. More specifically, a Dudes Rock anime.

Yes, Wind Breaker’s ensemble cast is almost entirely Dudes, and they do indeed Rock. Protagonist Haruka is a self-inflicted outcast, and his tsundere ass does not appreciate all the positive attention he’s receiving after proving himself in street combat prior to his transfer to an all-delinquents high school. Nevertheless, he wants to fight his way to the top of his new environment, and if that means sticking up for the little guy along the way, all the better. 

I love that Wind Breaker’s overarching messages of self-improvement and helping the weak without expecting a reward are basically anathema for the base power fantasies that largely come from light novels over the past decade and change, but even moreso that Haruka, loner that he is, keeps having to learn that he’s not going to get anywhere without surrounding himself with the right people and relying on their support. Battle shonen are usually pretty blatant with this stuff, but to see it spelled out so clearly in a series like this just hits right.

Wind Breaker looks terrific at just about every step, too. Every single thing I’ve seen from CloverWorks from the past few years has been a bop, which makes it that much more maddening that this is the studio that bungled the Persona 5 anime and supposedly botched The Promised Neverland in its second season. I get that not everything works out as planned sometimes but I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop sometimes. I’m glad it’s been smooth so far, at least. Some pacing issues and a weird place to end the show, but I know for a fact I'll be there when this comes back in spring.

18. Laid-Back Camp, season 3

I am not immune to the Cute Girls Doing Cute Things genre, and when all is said and done I think Yuru Camp could very well stand alone at the top. A show this directly responsible for the uptick in camping culture and countryside tourism in Japan clearly holds some sway over pop culture, and it’s clearly deserved.

Returning to the present day after the 2022 film gave us a look at the Outdoor Club in adulthood, Yuru Camp’s third season gives us exactly what we wanted: More of the same. We largely focus on the solo expeditions of Rin, Nadeshiko, and the latter’s hometown friend Ayano as they trek to their collective meetup spot, and as the seasons change we get the entire gang together for some springtime hanami. It’s cute, it’s funny, it’s whimsical, it’s Yuru Camp. You know what you’re getting into at this point.

With studio Eightbit taking over the series in its third season, Yuru Camp still largely looks the same, and wonderfully so, but it can be a bit off at times: CGI vehicles look far more distractingly out-of-place, and for as gorgeous as the background art was in the first two seasons and movie, it can come across as a bit more uncanny this time out. I don’t know whether some of the shots of sakura branches were traced or run through some kind of AI post-processing from archival photos, and I hate to speculate on that, but given that this is the same studio that bafflingly under-animates the money printer that is Blue Lock, I can’t exactly put it past them.

Production quibbles aside, I can’t really complain about more Yuru Camp. It’s a bit lighter on plot than previous seasons, but this is a series that was light on plot to begin with. We get to spend time with these goofs, learn about camping and the Japanese countryside, and then maybe go touch grass ourselves. That’s a good message for a Cute Girls Doing Cute Things series to have: Go do your own cute things.

17. NieR: Automata Ver. 1.1a, part 2

The second half of this adaptation was going to be the metric by which fans of the 2017 action-RPG judged the whole work. The first half in 2023, covering the game’s A and B routes, was a solid if troubled production that did a good job of covering the narrative and action, even implementing surprising easter eggs from NieR Replicant along the way. Sloppy CGI integration in early episodes and a COVID-induced delay hampered things, though, so there were some nerves about the show’s return.

Any fears were quickly allayed once the second half of the series began, covering the real meat of the story in routes C-E. Ver. 1.1a immediately looked exceptional, with expressive character animation and fluid action sequences. Real pathos was instilled into the route’s early tragedies. Most welcome of all was the serious work put into expanding A2’s character and role in the story (as well as her backside). It felt like she’d gotten the short end of the stick narratively in the game, so it felt right to spend more time with her, tie her story in the present back to the past that was hinted at in the Resistance flashbacks, and just get to see her be a tsundere a couple times. I’m gonna have to go back and rewatch the whole series dubbed because I just know Cherami Leigh crushed it.

I’m of two minds about Ver. 1.1a as a whole: On one hand, this is just about as good an adaptation of the game as we probably could have gotten. On the other, a big part of what makes the NieR games’ narratives work so well comes from the fact that they could pretty much only be told through the framework of a video game. While Ver. 1.1a does a perfectly fine job of delivering the game’s narrative and providing its own take on the game’s extremely video-game-y ending, much of what makes NieR’s tragedies so impactful is the player’s agency (and occasional lack thereof) in these matters. 

Nothing can replace actually playing NieR: Automata as a means of experiencing its story, but Ver. 1.1a is a darn good companion piece, and one that may even hint at the future of the Drakengard/NieR franchise. Now if only Yoko Taro would focus on something other than gacha games and death game anime for two seconds…

16. Train to the End of the World

The writer/director duo behind Squid Girl came back to give us one of the best and most bizarre original anime this year. Train to the End of the World is overtly and unapologetically weird, and that’s the way I like ‘em.

This weird and wonderful trek across a warped and wildly varied landscape dazzles the eyes and rots the brain in unexpected ways, but it’s a stellar character comedy through and through. Shuumatsu Train’s oddball protagonists are goofy, galaxy-brained, and sometimes flat-out mean in ways that only teenage girls can be. The dialogue is expertly written and some of the punchiest I’ve ever seen in anime. The girls bicker, mess with strangers, and engage in the kinds of inane conversations you only have when you’re the most bored you’ve ever been in your life.

While rarely laugh-out-loud funny, Train to the End of the World is intrinsically hilarious. The sheer absurdity on display is the kind that leaves you just shaking your head in disbelief. One episode they’re playing House of the Dead to get out of a real-life zombie situation, and in another they’re acting out their favorite fictional anime that you, the viewer, are just expected to know about already. It’s a stupid show in the smartest ways; a classical Homerian epic with ruminations on the future, but also one where the girls threaten to wipe out a Lilliputian colony by peeing on it. It’s both eschatological and scatological. With the recent discourse over modern adaptations and interpretations of The Odyssey, this anime might as well be the nuclear option.

Train to the End of the World was a standout in a strong spring season, but it didn’t shake out super high in a long and darn good year of anime. That’s fine and all, but I really hope it ends up attaining the cult hit status it seemed destined for. 

15. Mayonaka Punch

This one had been distant on my radar for a couple of weeks after it premiered, but as soon as I found out it was a P.A. Works original, I picked it up immediately. Any original series by the studio that gave us Akiba Maid War’s glorious gut-wrenching insanity (as well as last year’s exceptional Skip and Loafer adaptation) is going to get my attention, and although Mayonaka Punch doesn’t quite reach the same highs as Akiba Maid War, it does try to match the latter’s most madcap moments.

I don’t have a better pitch than “Canceled YouTuber starts up a new channel with a house full of lesbian vampires,” nor do I really need one. Mayonaka Punch’s comedy largely revolves around the personality clash between the disaffected, avoidant Masaki and the pushy, hyperactive Live (who definitely wants Masaki for more than just her blood), but the whole cast is a riot. Throwing in a baby day trader, a taciturn fujoshi, and a big-titty pachinko fiend are just the right spices to make this a particularly tasty stew.

Chaos naturally ensues, and watching these women try to channel it into a successful YouTube channel is an easy recipe for comedy. Everyone has terrific chemistry and I was rapt with attention every time we got to learn more about each of these vampire girls’ history. What came as a huge surprise, though, was how potent some of the emotional hits ended up, even when it involved characters outside of the main pairing. The fact that the biggest one came in just the fourth episode was a masterstroke; I was already on board for the comedy but just like that I was fully invested in a character other than the one who wants to suck the protagonist dry. I’m not rephrasing that.

This one absolutely deserves to be a cult classic, and the door is left open just maddeningly enough at the end that I can only pray for more. Mayonaka Punch is a boatload of fun and deserves way more attention than it’s gotten. You can change that. Right now. Watch this show.

Prior to writing this, Fairouz Ai (Live’s voice actress and a huge presence in a handful of the shows I’ve already discussed) announced that she would be taking a hiatus from VA work following a PTSD diagnosis. I wish her all of the time, recovery, and support she needs.

14. Urusei Yatsura (2022), season 2

The opening salvo in the ongoing Rumiko Takahashi revival (weird thing to say about a mangaka who’s still alive and working, I know) returned this year for the second half of its “all-stars” run, marathoning us through retellings of the classic manga’s greatest hits, the oddest of its many oddballs, and its spectacular, heartfelt conclusion. More Lum is always a good thing.

I’ve written plenty about Urusei Yatsura’s remake following each cour except the first, and I don’t have much more to add at this point. It’s a classic for a reason and it laid the foundations for dozens of jokes, tropes, and standards that are fundamental to comedy in anime to this day. Even when some of the jokes may come off as trite or tropey, it’s easy to see just how and why it made Takahashi so successful. The exaggerated slice-of-life hijinks, outsized slapstick, and time-and-space surrealness are just as much of a treat as the deep, eclectic cast. And to top it all off, here’s Ataru and Lum being a couple of freaks who deserve each other.

Even though the 46-episode run certainly feels truncated compared to the 191 episodes, six films, and ten OVAs that came before it, David Production did a fine job of putting a modern touch on such a classic work and highlighting its strengths. And even though most of the run was an abridged run through the greatest hits, I’m really glad the studio made sure to dedicate the last few episodes to the manga’s final arc, bringing Lum and Ataru together in a beautiful and (briefly) satisfying climax.

And even for as satisfying as that ending was, it was nearly overshadowed by…

13. Ranma ½ (2024)

…the revival of Takahashi’s biggest hit.

Yes, right on the heels of the ending of the remake of her landmark romcom classic, came the announcement that her even BIGGER landmark romcom classic was also getting a remake. Ranma ½ is one of the hallmarks of 90s anime writ large, working late-80s Japan’s fascination with Chinese martial arts (partially due to Dragon Ball’s success) into a romantic-comedy framework that also accidentally served as the genesis of the harem genre. I’d somehow never actually engaged with Ranma prior to the remake, so I was happy to get in on a new ground floor and I was immediately sold.

As the youngest daughter of the Tendo Dojo, Akane Tendo is put in a predicament when her father betrothes her (at her sisters’ urging) to his friend’s son, Ranma Saotome. Though both are skilled fighters and a good match in that regard, Akane is a bit of a hothead and doesn’t much care for boys, so she’s not a fan of this arrangement, but it’s made all the more bizarre by the fact that Ranma is also a girl sometimes. Thanks to a bizarre accident in China, Ranma turns into a girl when soaked with cold water and back into a boy when hit with hot water. Shenanigans ensue as Ranma and Akane’s contentious relationship hits innumerable peaks and valleys, all the while fighting off an ever-growing menagerie of powerful, fight-happy suitors gunning for the hands and lips of Akane and both versions of Ranma.

MAPPA of all studios being the one to re-adapt Ranma came as a surprise, and you probably could’ve convinced me David Production took over this Takahashi adaptation as well. Ranma’s remake adopts several of the same visual flairs you’d see in Urusei Yatsura, including the Ben Day dots, color inversions, and manga-style onscreen onomatopoeias. On the other hand, while most of the moment-to-moment character animation is pretty much what you’d expect from any given anime, several of the action sequences are very well-animated to MAPPA’s typically high standard. I just hope the animators weren’t getting the Chainsaw Man or Jujutsu Kaisen treatment.

Ranma ½ is as hilarious as ever, but it can get a little wonky thematically when it comes to gender politics, boundaries, and expectations, as I’d been made aware before ever engaging with the work. I also knew from the Urusei Yatsura remake that this was basically Takahashi’s wheelhouse, as there are a couple of pretty genderbendy characters in there as well. Several of the male antagonists in Ranma are more than a little pushy when it comes to women who catch their eye, and a lot of the humor around Ranma’s gender swaps revolves around how their male socialization affects the lack of modesty with which they present their female form (more on that later). People who are much better versed in gender matters than myself, both academically and personally, can speak on the positives and negatives of these things much better than I can, and it’s too early in the series for me to really make a judgment call. I do think it’s odd, though, that even with the central romance, Akane doesn’t seem to remotely entertain the thought of getting involved with Ranma’s female side, and unfortunately I don’t really see that ever happening. So far, all of these things just come across as flat-out silly and more of a product of its time than anything nefarious. 

The original Ranma ½ adaptation remains a seminal work for a solid generation and a half of anime fans, so of course a remake was going to be met with some criticism. Some didn’t appreciate the more muted color palette compared to the late 80s/early 90s Studio Deen version, and while it’s certainly missing some of the flair of the hand-painted backgrounds and saturated lighting effects the medium has missed since that era, I personally like the softer hues; I find them a lot more reminiscent of Rumiko Takahashi���s own colorations for her art outside of the manga. It’s not as technicolor as the Urusei Yatsura remake, but I think that actually helps set the new Ranma apart rather than riding the former’s coattails.

The main difference people seem to be complaining about, however, has more to do with boobs. Takahashi has never been shy about including nudity in her manga, and in an era where uncensored bazongas were perfectly fine to publish in boys’ manga magazines, she was typically more matter-of-fact about the female form instead of pursuing titillation. As such, a story like Ranma’s, in which its title character is typically blase about presenting their female incarnation modestly, had a lot to work with on that front, and the original anime played along.

Not so with the MAPPA version. Nipples are conspicuously missing in scenes that legitimately do call for nudity, and an ass crack appears to be missing from an early scene as well. Personally, I don’t mind the Barbie doll treatment, and as I’d been reading the manga as the anime’s story progressed, I didn't find all that much missing in the transition from page to screen. Weebs tend to convince themselves they’re the most oppressed people on earth, so of course there were cries of censorship, which is a claim I don’t really care to entertain. These are different times, broadcast regulations in Japan are almost certainly different from what they were 35 years ago, and Netflix and/or MAPPA likely didn’t see the need for it. Could be any of those things. I’m not losing sleep over it.

And with that, I’m done talking about Rumiko Takahashi (for now). I’m grateful for everything related to her work, even tangentially, that came out this year, and my life is richer for it. I’m glad to have gotten into her work in earnest this year, and I can say with all conviction (hot take incoming) that she’s one of the greatest mangaka ever. I look forward to diving further into even more of her work.

12. The Elusive Samurai

I’d have been perfectly happy if Wind Breaker had been CloverWorks’ only beautifully-animated oddball shonen hit this year, and then they went and outdid themselves the very next season with this one.

The Elusive Samurai is a gorgeous, timeless-looking piece of historical fiction beginning at the very end of the Kamakura period, following the last survivor of the Hojo clan, the young Tokiyuki, as he’s urged by an eccentric priest to lead a pack of freedom fighters and take revenge. Despite coming from a prominent family within the shogunate, Tokiyuki was an impertinent kid and preferred to play hide-and-seek instead of attending any combat training. The priest, Yorishige, receives a vision of the future that predicts that Tokiyuki will fell his family’s usurper not by becoming a powerful warrior, but by doing what he’s already best at: Being a squirrelly little shit.

I just gushed about how good this show looks three months ago, and even now I’m thinking back fondly on how well it blends whimsy with brutality. You can have Yorishige and the kids goofing off and cracking jokes one minute and vibrant crimson beheadings the next. Even little Tokiyuki makes a joyful game out of slicing a bandit’s veins to ribbons later in the season. It feels like a callback to anime films and OVAs of the 80s, with the film grain effect to match. Almost every single thing about this show looks and sounds incredible.

Of course, there’s the CGI. I really don’t like complaining about that sort of thing, but it was such a blatant and unnecessary cost-cutting move that it almost cheapens the rest of the show. Look, I get that horses can be a pain to hand-animate after a while, but having characters’s CGI models speaking while riding on horseback is just enough to take me out of the show, especially when they already look as bizarre as, say, Sadamune. How that passed muster with the rest of the show’s standard is beyond me.

So, maybe I did dock it a spot or two for that, but I see that as a wrinkle that can be ironed out. The Elusive Samurai is absurdly promising, and its debut season is a tremendous statement. Can’t wait for more.

11. Makeine: Too Many Losing Heroines!

As I made clear last year by putting 100 Girlfriends’ debut season in my top ten for 2023, for as much as I love a good straight-up romance story, I have ample room in my heart for trashy dipshit romcoms as well. Makeine shares that affection and forges its own identity from it, establishing its own throne atop a hill of garbage.

This is not a “yeah it’s good if you can look past the tropes” show. Makeine is firmly on its bullshit, and it is firmly about its bullshit. It’s not nearly as off-the-wall as 100 Girlfriends, few shows are, but it’s well aware of your expectations and leaves you guessing whether you’ll have them expertly subverted or just thrown right back in your face. Even the protagonist, the light novel fanatic Nukumizu, is calling out the tropes as they happen, but it’s been a fun time watching him learn that he’s more than just a wet-blanket LN protagonist. He thinks he’s just along for the ride like any other blank-faced self-insert in these stories, as gets roped into the personal lives of these poor girls and learns that, yes, they are real people and that, yes, he is too.

I could go on and on about Too Many Losing Heroines’ idiosyncrasies and offbeat characters and punchy dialogue, but I did that plenty just a few months ago. Instead, I want to call attention once more to just how freakishly well-made this show is. A-1 Pictures had zero reason to go this hard on a goofy, trashy light novel romcom adaptation, and yet here they were, throwing their A-team at the whole project. Character animations are intricate, background art is sumptuous, lighting effects immaculate, and music on point at all times. The OP is an earworm (and one of a surprising number of ska intros and outros I’ve taken in this year), and having each of the main titular heroines perform her own story-appropriate ED was a masterstroke. Even the visual gags are perfect and allowed to land on their own.

I already cannot wait for more of this. If A-1 has given us all we’re going to get of the Kaguya-sama anime, then I’m as all-in on Makeine as they are. Not the best romcom out there, but easily one of the best-made out there.

[genderqueerdykes]

Being a trans butch disabled lesbian makes people kick you in the stomach multiple times, first it's "you can't be transmasc and lesbian" and then it's "you can't do butch associated things because of your disability so technically you're not butch"

Just say you dont know what a butch is lil kid

Wait until they find out I consider myself a transhet guy as well as a butch lesbian at the same time !! Wonder what argument they'll make if they can't say I just don't want to fall myself straight 😔

it really is like that. i really hate how butchhood is conflated with physical ability. like how is it progressive to continuously associate masculinity with being strong and physically capable ... ? i don't understand how or why non butches do this. i have no idea why people think it's progressive to project their idea of what a cishet man is on to a butch, and then attack said butch when they want to define their own butchhood.

it's really disgusting that people think that butch has to mean physically strong and abled. masculine people are allowed to be weak. masculine people are allowed to be disabled. the amount of people who think that butches are strictly here to be tops in the bedroom, lift heavy objects, do manual labor, have traditionally masculine interests and hobbies, and be a workhorse for femmes is actually staggering. the amount of people who are ready and willing to misgender and use the wrong labels for a butch if they don't 100% conform to what THEIR idea of a butch is

and the saddest part is it's always non butches who are this talkative and vitriolic about butchhood. everyone else loves to try to define it for us. i think it's awesome that you're also a transhet dude. that's an experience that exists and it doesn't cancel out your lesbianism. butches can be disabled, especially physically disabled. butches can be weak. butches can just not want to be strong. butches can want to not do physical labor. butches can do whatever the hell we want

i'm sorry you have had this experience, but it just goes to show you how one moment the lesbian community is cooing and fawning over butches but literally only if they fit into the model of toxic masculinity while identifying as a woman and a woman ONLY, otherwise, they're obsessed with hating us. somehow a woman identifying as a butch is hot and revered, but suddenly the second a genderqueer, non binary, bigender, transmasc or transfem preson identifies as butch, it's a "threat" to the lesbian community. people love to hate butches that don't conform to what their idea of butchhood is.

people LOVE to wear their butchphobia on their sleeve. people will sit here and tell you about how they love us up and down but then treat just about every butch they meet like absolute shit. half of them won't even let us have emotions. i've seriously seen people tell butches that they aren't butch because they're too emotional and cry too much. i've seen people tell butches they aren't butch because they like to garden or knit or sew or do anything traditionally "feminine". this shit is way beyond old

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hi! It's been a long time! The real life it's exhausting, I missed tumblr and your thoughts and theories. Thank goodness I'm already on vacation, hahaha.

By the way, I wanted to ask what are your thoughts about the wands. The magic, how they change the loyalty, how they seems to be "almost" a living being.

Two scenarios I'm really interested are: the one when Harry steals Draco's wand and why Harry has a good compatibility with it but not with Hermione's; and the fact that the Elder Wand doesn't respond well to Voldemort bc is actually Draco's wand and then Harry's. (I think it was like that). I hope it's not too much to analyze.

I'm looking forward to your thoughts! Take care and Happy Holidays! 😊🎉💕

Hi, and thank you so much! 💕 I hope life would get better for you this year!

Now, wands are somewhat alive in the way a lot of magic seems to be. Brooms can sense a wizard's fear, the RoR changes according to one's will, and even the Ford Angelica and the Whomping Willow have a personality. Magical artifacts just have a certain level of sentience and I talked about this a bit already here & here.

Wands just tend to be more sentient than most magical artifacts. I talked about wands a lot before in my Wandlore tag if you're interested. And how each wand has its own personality and how it effects how it chooses its master.

As for Draco's and Hermione’s wands' compatibility with Harry — it's more or less the same. Draco's wand isn't more compatible with him than Hermione's. He remarks it works at least as well:

Harry looked down at the hawthorn wand that had once belonged to Draco Malfoy. He had been surprised, but pleased to discover that it worked for him at least as well as Hermione’s had done.

(DH, Ch26)

This means it might be a little better, but not noticeably so.

Now, Harry's wand is Holly and Phoenix Feather, 11 inches and Supple Flexibility.

Hermione’s is Vine and Dragon Heartstrings, 10 3/4 inches. My guess to the flexibility is "solid".

Draco's wand is Hawthorn and Unicorn hair, 10 inches. My guess for the flexibility is "reasonably supple".

Now, both Hermione’s and Draco's wands are bad picks for Harry. Vinewood is for wizards/witches with ambition, it's attracted to visionaries who see themselves as having a greater purpose. This fits Hermione (who's idealistic when it comes to the wizarding world and elf rights, for example), but not Harry. Dragon Heartstrings tend to be more flamboyant and very obedient, which is kinda the opposite of a Phoenix feather that has a certain detachment to it and is fiercely independent. (Not to mention all the symbolism with death and rebirth that is appropriate to Harry).

Draco's wand is an even worse match for Harry in terms of its stats. Hawthorn is meant for someone who's questioning themselves and their lives in a state of internal conflict. It's a wand of paradoxes and contradictions. It fits Draco of the last two books perfectly, but that's not Harry. Unicorn hair is known as an incredibly loyal wand core. Unicorn hair wands don't just switch hands willy-nilly. Unicorn wands tend to die with their owner, it would not work for another. They also tend to be more emotional but very consistent in their magic — very different than the more temperamental phoenix feather wand.

Actually, blackthorn, as a wand wood, would suit Harry better than either vine or hawthorn. It's a wand wood suited for a warrior, it's said to work best for an owner who it passes with through hardship. That, like the bush it comes from "that it produces its sweetest berries after the hardest frosts". All of which should've worked for Harry well enough — but it didn't.

The reason for that is that wands don't remain in their "factory settings" they adapt to the master's personality and style, as Ollivanders says:

 Moreover, each wand, from the moment it finds its ideal owner, will begin to learn from and teach its human partner. Therefore, the following must be seen as general notes on each of the wood types I like to work with best, and ought not to be taken to describe any individual wand.

(Pottermore)

And even gives some examples:

Hornbeam wands adapt more quickly than almost any other to their owner’s style of magic, and will become so personalised, so quickly, that other people will find them extremely difficult to use even for the most simple of spells.  [...] Pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells.

(Pottermore)

They absorb some of their owners into them and vice versa. There's a reason wizards feel like their wands are an extension of themselves:

Without realizing it, he was digging his fingers into his arms as if he were trying to resist physical pain. He had spilled his own blood more times than he could count; he had lost all the bones in his right arm once; this journey had already given him scars to his chest and forearm to join those on his hand and forehead, but never, until this moment, had he felt himself to be fatally weakened, vulnerable, and naked, as though the best part of his magical power had been torn from him.

(DH, Ch18)

Becouse, in a way, they are. They are alive, and they adapt and learn and change to match their master. There is a relationship between the wizard and the wand. The wand adopts the wizard's personality, becoming an extension of them:

“I hate that thing,” she said in a low voice. “I really hate it. It feels all wrong, it doesn’t work properly for me . . . It’s like a bit of her.”

(DH, Ch26)

The blackthorn wand hates Harry and fights him because its master hated Harry, not because it wasn't won properly. My guess is Ron couldn't make it work any better. This is why family wands tend to work when passed down. Family members usually want you to succeed. And sure, sometimes it isn't a perfect fit, since the wand still has its own personality, but family wands would try to work with the owner to the best of their ability.

(Neville's situation is pretty unique, my guess is his father’s wand has a lot of personality and doesn't like to be handled timidly. And there are woods like that, like Spruce wands which are "ill-matched with cautious or nervous natures, and become positively dangerous in fumbling fingers". But I digress)

Hermione's wand works for Harry becouse they are good friends and her wand likes Harry the way she does. Now, why Draco's wand works for Harry so well is a little telling on Draco, I'd say. I'm not a Drarry shipper, it's not my cup of tea, but this is real Drarry fodder if you want to use it. Draco's wand working for Harry implies Draco wants it to. It works with Draco's conflicted nature in this book, that he does one thing, but his wand, which reveals the truth, tells another thing. And that is that regardless of what Draco says or does he wants Harry to succeed.

Now, the Elder Wand is a special case. It's more sentient than most, but I don't think it chooses masters the way we are told. I think it not working for Voldemort as well as it could had nothing to do with Draco being its master. I don't think Draco was its master nor do I think the Elder Wand treated Voldemort any different than it treated most of its other "masters".

Like Hermione says, a Wand usually doesn't matter as much as the wizard:

“Harry, you keep talking about what your wand did,” said Hermione, “but you made it happen! Why are you so determined not to take responsibility for your own power?”

(DH, Ch12)

Wands, generally, don't really cast magic on their own. It's always the wizard's own magic channeled through the wand. Every wand which is a good match to the wizard should perform about the same level of magic. And Voldemort says the magic he is capable of with the Elder Wand is the same extraordinary magic he is always capable of:

“My—my lord?” said Snape blankly. “I do not understand. You—you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand.” “No,” said Voldemort. “I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand. . . no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago.”

(DH, Ch32)

The wand isn't fighting him the way the blackthorn wand fought Harry. The Elder Wand doesn't really care and would perform for any wizard it considers capable enough, but it saves its own magic and aid only for its real master. Which wasn't Dumbledore or Voldemort or Draco, but Harry — I think it's been Harry since the wand sensed him in the same room because I think he was always the master of death.

This isn't the explanation the books outright give, but it's ambiguous enough that there is some space left to theorize. And that's how I see it.

[cruel-as-sin]

take the weight off his shoulders | logan howlett

↳ summary: you're a stripper and old man!logan comes into the club where you work- so you decide to show him a good time.

word count: 3k

song: older | isabel larosa

pairings: old man!logan x fem!stripper!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn w/o plot, prostitution/strip clubs, age gap (readers age is unspecified but she is an adult), praise kink, gentle sex, striptease and lapdance hehe, size difference, protected p in v, grinding, handjob, lingerie mentioned, the glasses stay on, practice safe sex everyone (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: ao3 saw this first and it took way too long for me to move it over to tumblr but. here it is lmao. as i said there old man logan does something CRAZY to me so it was only fitting i wrote about him, enjoy! also this is not proofread so apologies for any mistakes :’)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan's not sure why he goes into the club across the street.

Maybe he needs to feel young again. Maybe he's bored. Maybe the adamantium poisoning the rest of him has finally managed to get to his brain and turned his thoughts into some sort of horny, befuddled shit show.

Or maybe, just maybe, he really is just that fucking desperate.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It's past midnight when he walks through the door. You've been busy all night, but things are finally starting to wind down, the customers that frequent the small establishment slowly trickling out until only a few remain. None of them are your regulars, and given how empty the doorway has been, you're honestly considering calling it a night and going home early. The past few days have been hellish, full of people who didn't do a damn thing to turn you on, and you'd love nothing more than to sink into a warm, cozy bed and drift off to sleep. Tonight, you've been roaming the floor for the past hour without getting anything- everybody is either interested in another one of the workers or entirely fixated on the dancers.

It's not that you don't like your job- you do. Sure, being a stripper isn't the most flattering form of work, but the bills are paid. That's all that really counts these days. Your pride has long since been discarded in favor of earning hefty tips from the sleazy guys who are dumb enough to believe that you'd actually be into them. You put on a good show, of course, but if it weren't for the money? Not a fucking chance.

You like it that way. Hardly any of your clients go beyond the intimacy of a private dance, mainly because you don't let them, reserving that for your favorites. But you haven't met someone who turns you on in a long while, and without the occasional thrill of a real good time from a customer, you're starting to get bored. The days are blurring together, nothing separating the good days from the bad ones, if there even is such a thing anymore.

You're on your way to ask your boss if you can get off early when you hear the bell ring. You groan internally, realizing that you're the only one on the floor who isn't occupied, meaning if this client is interested, they're yours.

Damn it.

So much for an early night.

You're midway through praying to whatever God is out there that this client tips well when you turn and actually lay eyes on them. The moment you do, your mind goes blank, your prayers long forgotten as your thoughts become consumed by him.

He's older- much older. Pushing sixty, at least. It's not inherently a bad thing, but typically the older they are, the more entitled they become.

You're not usually into older men, finding them self-centered, greedy, unable to keep up with your desires; but you're not even ashamed to admit that this stranger could ask you to do just about anything and you'd probably agree in a heartbeat.

The man is tall, big, his muscular form obvious even underneath the suit and tie he wears. His salt and pepper hair is short, accompanied by a scruffy beard you're certain would feel like heaven against your thighs. His tie is loose, his top button undone, and he's got on a pair of dollar-store glasses that he hasn't even pulled the tag off of. There's a weight to him, an exhaustion that seems to have infiltrated the deepest parts of his soul, as if he's seen things you couldn't even begin to fathom- and yet, he's here, seeking some semblance of relief.

Lucky for him, you know exactly how to give it to him.

He looks around like he's lost, the colorful lights and sultry music overwhelming, the center stage where your coworkers get dollar bills thrown at their feet foreign to him. By the time you've made your way over, your legs moving of their own accord, he's turning to leave. "Hey." You call out, and he stops, turning back around to face you.

He's even bigger up close, and his eyes roam over your form almost shamefully before finally meeting your own. "I was just leaving." His voice is rough, a little scratchy, and while you're sure it's supposed to be intimidating, all it does is further fuel the heat pooling between your legs.

"So soon?" You look up at him with a doe-eyed gaze you're well aware makes men weak in the knees.

"I shouldn't be here." He says, but he doesn't walk away from you.

You move a little closer so your breath is fanning across his neck, your voice dripping with suggestion. "I could show you a good time."

"Listen, sweetheart, I've got-"

Sweetheart.

"Let me take care of you." You lean up to whisper in his ear. Your breath is hot against his skin, your mouth tantalizingly close, and you can feel the way he twitches slightly- an exercise of self-control.

A moment passes, two, and he lets out a long breath. "Fuck, darlin'." He reaches out, hesitant to touch, as if he's not sure how this works, doesn’t want to cross some invisible line he hasn’t learned exists. You take his hand, guiding it to your waist, reaching up to put one hand on the back of his neck. "You sure know how to get a guy wrapped around your finger."

In response, you give a coy smile, taking his tie in one hand and giving it a soft tug. He allows you to guide him, pulling him along by the tie you're sure he has a million ideas of what to do with.

You lead him into a private room, pulling the curtain closed behind you, letting his tie slip out of your grasp. His eyes dart around for a moment, but then you're in front of him again, reaching up and sliding his blazer off of his shoulders. You hang it up on the wall, then return, now slowly guiding him backwards and giving him a gentle shove into the leather chair near the wall. He raises an eyebrow as you circle him, leaning in from behind to whisper in his ear. "Just relax." You murmur, letting your lips graze his neck before pulling away. He leans back, eyes following your every move, a stare that feels like it could set you on fire.

You put on a good show for him- dancing, teasing, tantalizingly close, but never touching. Not yet. You can see the hunger in his gaze, the restraint it takes for him not to pull you down into his lap and keep you there. You give him a strip tease, taking off your bra and letting your breasts go free. His eyes roam over you, a murmured word, "Beautiful," leaving his lips, and that makes your already soaked panties drenched.

Then you give him a lap dance- and unlike most of the men you meet, he doesn't touch, doesn't paw at you. Instead he waits, lets you set the pace, doesn't do anything without your permission. Your hands go to his tie, undoing it at a speed you know is killing him, tossing it aside.

Finally, you rest yourself entirely on his lap, and whisper in his ear. "You can touch now, if you want to."

His hands immediately settle on your hips, like they belong there. You grind down against him, feeling him tense beneath you at the friction against his clothed cock. You repeat the motion, relishing in the groan it elicits from him. His grip on your hips tightens slightly, and he begins to guide your motions, pressing you down against his thigh in a way that makes you moan. It's a small, soft sound, but it still makes him smile. “Atta girl, that’s it.” He huffs approvingly. You keep going, feeling yourself almost get lost in the rhythmic movement before you come back to your senses.

Your hands move to the collar of his shirt, slowly beginning to undo the buttons, revealing his toned chest. You only get about halfway down before his hands are gripping your wrists, and your protest dies on your lips when he leans up and kisses you.

He tastes like cigar smoke and whiskey, a blend that should be uncomfortable but is somehow pleasant. His tongue slips into your mouth, tangling with yours as he pulls you closer. By the time he finally pulls away for air, you're dizzy, flushed.

A kiss- almost as personal as a name.

You've never met a man who could make you feel like this- and certainly not without getting all your clothes off first.

His words snap you out of your breathless haze. "Let me touch you, baby." His voice is both a plea and a demand, and who are you to deny him such a request?

A simple nod is all it takes before his hands are on you, roving over your breasts with an appreciative groan. You can't help the way your hips rock against him, and one of his hands goes down to your ass, encouraging you to grind against him again. His other hand rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, while his mouth leaves sloppy kisses along your neck, down to your breasts.

You bury your face in his neck, breathing him in. His head comes up from your chest to whisper in your ear as he keeps your hips moving back and forth, his other hand alternating between your breasts. His skin muffles your moans, but you know he won't let you hide those pretty sounds from him forever. "You're so perfect." His words don't exactly do you any favors in the 'keeping your composure' department. "Sweet, pretty thing like you..." He nips at your earlobe, making you gasp softly. "You got no idea what you do to me."

Those words snap you back a little, remind you of your promise to take care of him. You raise your head up, leaning back a little to meet his eyes. "Then show me." Your hands reach down towards his belt, and this time, he doesn't stop you. Instead, his gaze roams over you as you unbuckle it, slowly pull it out of the loops of his pants, toss it aside, letting it join the other discarded articles littering the floor. You undo the buttons, then pull his pants down.

Even through his boxers, you can clearly see the outline of his aching hardness. You gently take him in your palm, running your hand along him through the fabric, watching the way his eyes flutter. Then you adjust yourself so you're grinding on him again, thin layers of clothing the only thing separating the two of you.

You go on like that for a little while, keeping track of every little sound he makes, every hitch of his breath and shudder that goes through his body. Then you lean back, pulling his boxers down, freeing his cock from the confines of his clothing.

Immediately, your mouth waters. He's huge, the biggest you've ever seen, and you find yourself wondering if you even can take him.

You push that thought aside for now, swiping your thumb across his tip, smiling to yourself at the groan that leaves him. You repeat the motion, letting precum gather on your fingers as you begin to move your hand up and down, up and down. You start slow, stroking him gently, then gradually increase your pace. Midway through, you grab a condom with your other hand, keeping eye contact as you open the wrapper with your teeth. You roll it onto him in one smooth motion, earning a startled grunt. His head falls back, his breaths coming unevenly, and it takes him a while before he can manage a coherent sentence.

"Fuck, you treat every guy like this?" Even with all the energy he can muster, the words are still a little short.

Your smile widens, and you lean in to press a kiss against the vein of his throat. "Only the good ones."

His mouth opens, as if to argue with the notion that he's anything good, but your ever-faster movements silence any protests that could have come from him.

You can tell he's getting close, and you slow down, letting him breathe a little slower as you whisper a soft question. "Where do you want me? You want my mouth, you want-"

Your words are cut off by his hand cupping your clothed mound, a gasp escaping you. "I want this." His voice is rough, and this time, it's not a plea. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as you unconsciously begin to move against his hand, chasing any friction he can give you. "I think it's a little unfair, seeing how I'm all out in the open and you've still got these," His thumb hooks in the waistband of your panties. "Separating me from you, hmm?

You don't even answer, just raise your hips up slightly so he can tug your lingerie down your legs until it falls and hits the floor. Immediately, his gaze lands on your exposed cunt. "Jesus, you're soaked." He murmurs, running his fingers through your slick. You whine as he brushes against your clit, and he chuckles. "Need me that bad, huh?"

"Need you." You whine. You can tell he wants to take it slow, to tease you, and by god do you want to let him- but you're impatient, your own teasing having riled you up too much to do anything but fuck him. Luckily, he picks up on your silent request, raising your hips to hover above his cock. His gaze searches yours, waiting for permission, and you nod. "Fuck me." You say softly, and it takes everything in him not to come completely fucking undone at that sweet tone of voice.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he lowers you down onto him. It burns, in a delicious way you've come to love in your years here. Even with the sheer amount of wetness coming from you, it's still a struggle to make him fit- but he does. When you've finally sank all the way down onto his cock, he lets you breathe for a moment. "You can take it, baby." He murmurs reassuringly- a support and a chance for you to back out. You close your eyes, breathing in and out, resting your face in the crook of his neck again.

Then you start to move.

It takes him by surprise, and you like the grunt that comes from him. For someone of his age, you're sure not much can catch him off guard anymore, so that makes it all the better when you lean back to see the look on his face. He catches your small smirk and returns it with one of his own, letting you move yourself up and down, over and over. Your pace slowly increases as the two of you adjust, and the room is soon filled with soft noises and the sound of flesh against flesh.

It's slow, almost sensual, but despite the circumstances that should have you turning this in another direction, you like it. You feel that familiar coil building in your stomach, your soft whimpers turning to moans now.

"You gonna come for me, baby?"

All you can do is nod, and he rocks his hips up into yours. The way he fills you up is mind-numbing, until you can't think of anything else but him and how fucking good he's making you feel, how badly you need to come undone on his cock.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" Your voice takes on a sharp pitch as he thrusts up into you, and your vision goes white for a moment as your orgasm hits you, unending bliss shaking your whole body. He rides out your orgasm for as long as he can, but the tight feeling of your cunt clenching around him soon sends him over the edge too. You can feel him twitching inside you, only prolonging the aftershocks of your own pleasure.

Eventually, you both come down. You're breathing heavily, trying to scramble together any semblance of thought. He stands suddenly, picking you up like you weigh nothing and setting you down on the chair. His cock slips out of you at some point during the process, leaving you feeling empty. You sit there for a moment before opening your eyes, finding him pulling his pants up and buckling his belt. He meets your gaze with a hint of a fond smile, bending over to grab his tie.

You stand up to retrieve your own clothes, pulling them back on while he shoves his arms through the sleeves of his blazer and rifles through his pockets, eventually pulling out his wallet. "Um, how much do I owe you?"

He looks almost embarrassed, and you find it kind of adorable. You flash him a smile, saying words you never thought you'd dare to let pass your lips. "Nothing. It's on me."

Immediately, his eyebrow shoots up. "No, I can't... I can't let you do that, pretty girl."

You shake your head. "I insist. Nobody's ever fucked me like that, and certainly not any of my clients." You see the way your words boost his ego- good. He deserves it. "Besides, if you hadn't showed up, I'd have gone home anyway." You say nonchalantly, taking a few steps over to him. You reach up and put a finger to his lips before he can continue to argue. "It's on the house."

Although he still looks conflicted, he reluctantly nods. "Okay. Next time, then."

Next time.

You feel a thrill run through your body as he brings up the prospect of a next time, and your smile widens. "Next time." You affirm. You step back, letting him be on his way.

He moves towards the curtain, pausing before he goes. "See you around, sweetheart."

And just like that, he's gone.

But you don't miss him- because you know he'll be back.

So when you finally make it home and climb into bed after that warm shower, there's still a fond smile on your face as you drift off to sleep, dreaming of the weary stranger and his wonderful words.

[sharksandsquirrelsandsnakes-ohmy]

Five Times The Supernatural Ruined Stiles's Dating Life And One Time It Helped It

Masterlist | AO3

Stiles swears that the Nemeton and Supernatural things in Beacon Hills are trying to ruin his love life and it's succeeding.

Sterek

~12k

One

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Stiles looked at himself in the mirror, wondering if he was overdressed for a first date. Lydia dressed him so the answer was probably yes. Stiles looked at his phone on the dresser. He was definitely overdressed if the gang found the missing kids, Leshy and needed to fight.

He sighed deeply. The supernatural had ruined a lot for Stiles. He missed so many high school experiences because he had to help save Beacon Hills god knows how many times. He went to college close to help protect the town. He didn't apply for the FBI academy because he'd have to move to Virginia. He was stuck because of it. Could he get just one night without a huge issue? One night– he didn't even need all night, just a few hours– so he could go on a date?

Emma was so smart and funny and pretty and she thought Stiles was funny and he would listen to his rambles in their study group. Stiles already felt bad because he'd had to cancel at the last minute three times because of different issues. He had to blame work.

Stiles sent a text to the pack group chat, getting confirmation that nothing had happened yet, and flipped to text Emma.

He looked in the mirror one more time. He felt stupid. Lydia had insisted he wear a button-up and suit jacket– she even made him buy new because what he had was unflattering– with dress shoes. She mercifully let him forego a tie and said he could wear nice jeans. He was Lydia-approved. He hoped it wasn’t too much.

Stiles met Emma in the restaurant parking lot. She was wearing a summer dress with a cardigan and Stiles smiled. “You are destined to be a teacher,” he joked and Emma chuckled.

“You think,” she asked, locking her car. “I was actually thinking of changing my major to psychology,” Emma joked.

“Elementary Ed looks too good on you,” Stiles teased as she walked over. “Maybe if you did a library science.” Stiles held out a bag of assorted mini chocolate bars and Emma laughed. “I thought they would be better than flowers since you keep candy in your bag!”

Emma took the bag of candy with a smile. “You mean the candy you eat?”

“No, look,” he said, pointing at the bag. “There’s a bunch of peanut and almond candies. You eat those!”

“It’s wonderful. Thank you, Stiles,” Emma chuckled, fitting the candy into her purse.

They walked side by side to the restaurant door. He made a particular effort to keep himself between his date and the road. It had rained earlier and Stiles was used to being soaking wet and freezing cold after years of hunting random creatures in the preserve that had so so many creeks and streams.

Stiles opened the door to the restaurant, holding it open for his date. “After you,” he said and she smiled as they walk in.

“I’m glad we could finally find a day that works for both of us,” she said. She linked their arms with a smile when Stiles joined her inside.

Stiles gave a nervous smile, following the hostess. “Ya, I’m really sorry I had to cancel before. Work, ya know,” he mumbled, his face growing red.

They sat down and looked at the menus but she was quick to pick the conversation back up. "What do you do for work? Didn't you say you were a babysitter or something," Emma asked, looking at him over the top of her glasses.

"Uhhh, kind of," Stiles said, trying to come up with something.

She pushed her hair behind her ear. "What do you mean, kind of," she asked leaning forward. God, Stiles felt dumb with her eyes on him. She was smiling softly, waiting for him to tell her more like he was the most interesting person in the world.

"Well, I mean," he cleared his throat. "I help… individuals with," Oh they were going to kill him for this, "special needs navigate difficult situations when others can't," he explained just vaguely enough to sound like an actual job and not that he was traipsing through the woods with a pack of werewolves hunting dangerous creatures.

"That's so cool," she said, smiling brightly at him. "So, like, do you work with special needs kids or adults more?"

Stiles tried not to cringe. They dealt with too many kids in danger. "Adults mostly."

He bit the inside of his lip when Emma praised his “good heart”. He wasn’t so good. He was a mess. He’d killed more supernatural creatures than he could remember by now. He absently felt for his phone but caught himself before he checked it. It would buzz if they needed him. It would ring if it were an emergency.

“Have you sent in your applications yet,” Emma asked and Stiles gave her a confused look. “You told me before that you were going to apply for the FBI Academy…”

Stiles faked a smile. “That. Ya, right…” He was a killer. Stiles had killed “monsters” that used to be human, that had lives and families. How could he ever be FBI when he’d killed people? “I need to work in the field first,” Stiles mumbled, rubbing the condensation off his glass of water on the table. He didn’t lie. It was a half-truth but no werewolf would find the lie but… but Emma was human. Most people were

Emma smiled. “I’m sure you’ll do amazing things as a police officer,” she said kindly like she could sense Stiles’s unease– she might of, Stiles forgets how preceptive other humans are.

“Thanks. I—” Stiles started and his phone rang. He instantly pulled his phone up and stood when he saw it was Scott. He looked at Emma and she frowned. This was it. The choice he made now would determine where this was going. It… It was going nowhere. Stiles answered the phone. “Hey, Scott…”

Emma sighed. Stiles wanted to feel bad but there were missing kids trapped somewhere in the woods and he really couldn’t. How selfish was he that he had a date planned when there were missing kids? Scott hung up and Stiles pulled out his wallet.

“I’m really really sorry, Emma,” he said, digging for cash. “Look, get yourself something to eat and I’ll call you later okay,” Stiles said, holding out sixty dollars.

Emma gave him a tight-lined smile. It was forced and angry. “You’re skipping out on our date for work?”

“I know. I’m—”

“Just– ya know what,” she sighed. “You obviously don’t have space in your life for a relationship right now. I don’t think– Goodbye Stiles,” Emma said and stood up, holding her purse tightly. “You don’t have time for one date. I can’t…” Emma walked out of the restaurant.

Stiles groaned, dropping a ten on the table for the drinks they never got. He rushed out of the restaurant. He wanted to keep a distance between himself and Emma so he didn’t seem like a creep but he really had to hurry. He was ten minutes away as it is.

Stiles hurried to the jeep and sped out of the parking lot and toward his friends. He saw Emma just sitting in her car when he drove off. He felt like such a douche, knowing he blew his one shot with this freaking awesome girl.

He got to the preserve, barely getting the jeep in park before jumping out. He grabbed his mountain ash bat and turned toward the woods. His eyes caught on the person waiting that the edge of the trees.

“A bit overdressed, aren’t you,” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked Stiles up and down. It made Stiles’s stomach turn, it always had. He chose to act as though it was fear still but he hadn’t truly feared Derek for a long time.

Stiles scoffed. “You pulled the short straw again,” he mumbled, walking toward the werewolf. The pack had long ago set up a system in which the humans would have a designated guide to bring them to the fight if the others had to head in without them. It seemed Derek kept getting volen-told to be the guide when Stiles was late.

Derek shrugged. “They give me the shitty jobs,” he grumbled with just enough infection to tell Stiles he was joking. It was a gift, Stiles was the Derek whisperer.

“Watch it. I have a bat,” Stiles said teasingly, pointing the– actually pretty useful– bat at Derek. The treat was meat with a roll of Derek’s eyes. Stiles sighed, resting the head of the bat on the toe of his shoe. “I wish the supernatural could be a little more considerate of the rest of us. I’m supposed to be on a date,” Stiles huffed, gesturing to his clothes as Derek lead him into the woods.

“I take it they didn’t take ‘sorry, I have to go fight a Polish monster that kidnaps abused children’ as an excuse,” Derek scoffed and Stiles smirked.

“Nope,” he said. “I told her that I work with special needs adults and had to go to work.” Derek gave a disgusted huff and Stiles smirked.

“Why didn’t you say you worked for animal control,” Derek asked.

“Holy shit, I could have said I work for animal control,” Stiles groaned, smacking himself in the forehead.

Derek huffed a laugh. “We aren’t too far behind the others,” Derek said.

The conversation ended there. They walked deeper into the preserve. Stiles watched Derek’s breathing change when he would try to pick up the pack’s scent. Derek walked beside Stiles, getting closer the longer they walked. Their arms brushed together and Derek tensed. Stiles gripped his bat tighter, knowing a tense werewolf wasn’t usually a good sign. Usually but not always; not when they’re trying to keep their cool around a person they like.

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Two

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Stiles was the worst boyfriend ever. He was horrible and terrible and awful and deserved every insult in the book after this one. He white-knuckled the steering wheel.

It was nine pm on February fourteenth and there were no flowers to be spoken of anywhere. He was supposed to have dinner with his boyfriend Spencer and had yet to see him the whole day thanks to a rouge Wendigo hiding and killing along the hiking path the high school track team used.

Stiles had to rush home and shower to get off all the blood, dirt, sweat and god knows what else. He had to change into nice clothes and drive eight minutes to Spencer’s apartment. Stiles knocked on the door and stood awkwardly, waiting for it to open.

It opened and Stiles was the fucking worst person ever. Spencer’s eyes were red and puffy. He was wearing baggy sweats, his usual put-together self far away. “You’re three hours late.”

Stiles cringed and nodded. “I know. I’m the worst and I tried to get you something but there wasn’t any candy or flowers—”

“Probably because it’s nine pm on Valentine’s Day,” Spencer scoffed. “You didn’t even text me!”

“I didn’t have service,” Stiles muttered. “I tried but—”

“Work. Ya, know,” Spencer sighed.

“I’ll do anything. Just, please forgive me?”

Spencer seemed to think it over. “Can you guarantee me two nights where you absolutely will not miss or run out on our dates?” It was reasonable. Any real job should give you the ability to make that promise but… Stiles wasn’t talking about a normal job.

Stiles didn’t answer and Spencer took it as all the answer he needed.

“You’re married to your work and that’s coming from a workaholic. Until you can put us before work at least once, I can’t do this,” Spencer told him. He looked at Stiles and bit his lip. “Let me know when that happens, okay?”

Spencer closed the door. That door closing felt like it knocked the breath out of Stiles.

The walk down to the jeep felt like the longest journey of Stiles’s life. He was going to be alone on Valentine’s day. He didn’t want to go home. Chances were that his dad and Melissa were having dinner and if he showed up, Melissa would ask what was wrong and he’d ruin their night. Scott and Isaac and Lydia and Cora were having a double date movie night. Stiles’s roommate had made it very clear what he’d be doing with his girlfriend in their apartment. He definitely didn’t plan to hang out with Liam and Hayden or Mason and Cory. Malia was god knows where. Theo was… well, that involved spending time with Theo.

Stiles would be alone in the jeep on Valentine’s Day because all his friends had someone to spend it with. All except Derek.

Stiles put the jeep in gear. Maybe they could be lonely together.

As usual, the door was unlocked by the time Stiles made it up the stairs. It was probably unlocked the second the jeep pulled onto the street because of how loud the old girl was. Stiles walked in and kicked off his shoes.

“Not spending the time left on this shitty day with your boyfriend,” Derek asked, not even looking up from his book.

Stiles groaned, “ex-boyfriend,” and crossed the room to sit on a beanbag he’d brought over a while back. “Seriously, I swear the supernatural creatures of the world are out to destroy my love life…”

“This one lasted longer than the others. What was his name? Steven… Simon…”

“Spencer,” Stiles huffed, starting to smile before the weight of the situation started to weigh on him again. “He said that if I could promise two nights I wouldn’t have to leave, we could stay together.”

“Then take a few nights off,” Derek mumbled, still looking at his book even though he definitely wasn’t reading anymore. More than anything, he just didn’t feel like seeing Stiles’s face, knowing he’d be love-sick or heartbroken.

“I can’t do that. What if you need me,” Stiles groaned and rubbed his face, not noticing how Derek perked up slightly. “What if there’s something that the pack doesn’t know how to fight and I have to do research?”

“We can figure it out.”

“Because that worked so well last time,” Stiles scoffed, referring to the whole Ghostrider situation. “And that’s not the point! I have to be here. This is my life now and if I date someone, they’d have to be okay with me randomly running out! I can’t put myself into a relationship fully because my mind is always on you and the pack and what happens if you get hurt or die or get kidnapped because that’s how my life is!”

Derek hummed, “and being a werewolf doesn’t change things for me? For the pack?”

Stiles threw his hands up, “but all of them are dating people who know! They’re dating people in the same situation.”

“Danny—”

“Danny figured it out himself and we have been dragging the poor dude into this shit slowly for years.”

“Then you already have your answer,” Derek grumbled and Stiles huffed a laugh.

“Oh ya, I either narrow my dating pool to supernatural creatures– be a real-life monster fucker– or tell another human about this and get myself sent back to Eichen House, pass.”

“Didn’t seem to mind when you were with Malia,” Derek muttered and Stiles thought there was an almost nervous edge to the words.

Stiles sighed. “Well, ya but my back always looked like I’d been mauled by– well– a coyote,” he said, a chill running down his back at the memory of how it burned when his shirt rubbed against the deep cuts. “The issue with that idea is the low number of friendly monsters to fuck.”

Derek shut his book loudly. He stood up, laying his book in his chair, and walked toward the kitchen. “I’m making coffee.”

“Two cups, right,” Stiles asked, watching Derek walk into the kitchen.

He looked around the room. Derek had (finally) furnished the apartment. He even used the upstairs bedroom instead of treating the space like a studio apartment. And yet, no tv. Stiles’s eyes settled on the only thing of interest in the room, Derek’s book. He knew Derek liked to read but he mostly read biographies. Any of the other books in the place belonged to the rest of the pack since it was kind of their home base. Derek had put the book cover down but the back of the book did not look like a biography. Stiles scooted his beanbag to the couch, picked up the book, and looked at the cover. His jaw dropped. That… had to be one of Cora’s. It was such a cliche cover. A tiny human girl and a giant, ridiculously buff guy with icey blue eyes. The color of the eyes threw him. Icey blue like Derek.

“Branching out into new genres I see,” Stiles mumbled, looking down at what was most definitely a fucking werewolf romance that he remembered Cora had deemed scarily accurate. “You really need to get a tv, man. This is a new low…”

Stiles opened the book to the page Derek had been reading and blinked heavily in shock. He kept reading and… wow, okay. Stiles read until he saw Derek walking back out of the corner of his eye.

“This is… Cora was right,” Stiles said, huffing.

Derek took the book from Stiles, trading it for a cup of coffee. “The author definitely seems to know about real werewolves and not the other crap in the genre,” Derek said, sitting in his spot on the couch, Stiles sitting in front of him in the beanbag.

“So,” Stiles tilted his head back to look up at Derek, “you were just casually sitting here reading porn?”

Derek almost choked on his coffee and Stiles leaned forward, covering his cup, to avoid any possible spay of hot coffee. “What,” he rasped after managing to swallow his drink.

“It’s porn with plot. That’s what those books are and I’m assuming it’s kinky shit since it belongs to Cora,” Stiles added, looking between the book and Derek’s face, which was getting redder.

Derek rubbed his eyes and sighed. “It’s a series,” he mumbled. “Coraleft them here when she finished reading them…” There was a long silence as Stiles watched Derek expectantly and Derek tried to gather his composure. He looked at Stiles and swallowed. “Do you want to read the first one?”

Stiles took a breath of disbelief before he spoke, looking at Derek in confusion. “Are you asking me if I want to sit here and read dirty werewolf books with you?”

“The main character is Bi?”

“You think I’ll want to read it just because I’m Bi,” Stiles asked with a smile. He let the words seep in as Derek seemed more and more uncomfortable. “Fuck it, I’m in.”

Stiles stood up and walked over to the large bookshelf, looking for a similar cover. He turned, about to ask where the book was and found himself face to face with Derek. He was very very close. Derek looked him in the eyes and Stiles’s mind was filled with memories of Derek shoving him against walls menacingly.

This was far from menacing.

Derek’s eyes flicked up from Stiles’s as he reached up and grabbed a book from the shelf. He looked back at Stiles, bringing the book down between them. “It’s right here… I didn’t tell you the title,” Derek said, handing Stiles the book.

Neither of them moved when Stiles grabbed the book. Derek looked down as their hands held the book. He looked back to Stiles’s eyes and let go. He took a step back and Stiles felt like he could breathe again. Derek turned and went back to sit on the couch.

Stiles was slow to do the same. He sat down on the opposite side of the couch from Derek. He looked at the book and shook his head. It was such a cliche cover only slightly different from the other. A tiny human girl and a giant, ridiculously buff guy with golden yellow eyes and no shirt. The color of the eyes threw him. “Wait, the werewolf on that cover has blue eyes,” Stiles said, pointing to Derek’s book. “Is it a different person or does he, ya know…”

“You’ll find out in the second book,” Derek said with a smirk.

Stiles groaned. “No! Just tell me,” he whined.

Derek hummed, a sly smirk crossing his face. “I’ll give you three options and you have to guess.”

“Will you tell me if I’m right,” Stiles asked, turning to face Derek.

“I haven’t decided,” Derek said and Stiles groaned.

“Fine! Give it to me,” he huffed.

Derek nodded, looking at Stiles’s book. “Option one, he has to mercy kill another member of the pack. Option two, he kills another werewolf that wanted to kill her. Option three, an ‘evil witch’ attacks them.”

Stiles scrunched up his nose. “A darach by any other name would suck as much,” Stiles groaned and Derek chuckled. “I fucking hate Darachs.”

“Which one do you think it is,” Derek asked, taking a sip from his coffee.

“The evil witch thing is too specific,” Stiles scoffed, leaning back. “You could have come up with better choices.”

“What makes you think I didn’t? What if more than one is right?”

Stiles glared at Derek. “Then you’re a dick.”

Derek nodded and opened his book again to read.

“You’re not going to tell me,” Stiles yelled and Derek shrugged.

“You read fast,” he said and then promptly ignored Stiles.

Kind of. He only half ignored him. It’s really hard to focus on reading when the person next to you is reading something you suggested. Everytime Stiles would hum or gasp or chuckle, Derek wanted to know what he’d just read. He wanted to put his book down and ask or lean over to see for himself. He held back laughter when Stiles started to move around, effectively wafting the smell of arousal through the room.

It was even funnier when the smell of confusion started to mix with the arousal and then overpowered it.

Derek glanced over a Stiles adn saw him tilting his head. “Well,” Derek started and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin, “I was going to ask where you were but know I know.”

Stiles looked at Derek in confusion until, slowly, the embarrassment clouded his face. “Oh shit. Fuck, I forgot you could– This is your fault, you know!”

“I’m sure,” Derek muttered. “Shut up and read.”

Stiles glared at Derek but opened his book again. Like that, the day passed. Stiles smacked Derek with the first book when he’d finished it. Derek looked down at Stiles, who had turned himself to sit upside down on the couch at some point in the last few hours.

“That sucked,” Stiles grumbled and Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, it was really good but the ending sucked! I need book two!”

Derek rolled his eyes, checking the time. “What you need is food. It’s almost eleven and all we’ve had is coffee.”

“So,” Stiles objected. “Order some pizza and give me book two.” Derek didn’t answer him and stood up. “You have no food! I looked in there at the meeting the other day.”

“I do know where the store is,” Derek said, taking a cardboard pizza out of the freezer.

“Oh my god, I love you– ” Stiles said, red faced only because of the blood rushing to his head. No other reason. He sat up and cleared his throat, “in a… totally platonic pack member-to-pack member sort of way.”

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Three

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Stiles walked into his girlfriend’s apartment. Cecily peaked around the corner from the kitchen, her dark curls swaying as she hurried to him. She kissed Stiles and closed his eyes. He felt cloth cover his closed eyes and he pulled back. He was blindfolded. He grabbed at it, trying to rip it off. His breathing started to speed up. He couldn’t get it off. Alarms were going off in his head, making his hands shake.

“Stiles,” she said nervously, helping him pull the blindfold off. “Holy shit. I’m so sorry! Are you okay,” Cecily asked, holding his face in her hands.

Stiles looked up at her and shook his head. “Please don’t do that,” he mumbled, letting his head fall forward against her. He was safe, he had to remember that. He was with his girlfriend and everything would be fine. There were no creatures attacking them or hiding just around the corner. He was safe.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hugging him loosely. “Let me turn stuff off in the kitchen and we can relax for a bit, okay?” She let go of him and Stiles pulled back, chewing his lip.

He watched her walk away. He took his shoes off– a strong rule in her home– and waited. She returned and hugged Stiles again. Cecily led him into the living room. He sat down and she stood by awkwardly.

“I’m really sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t know it would freak you out this bad…”

Stiles was still shaking. He couldn’t quite get his breathing under control. Memories of being trapped, of being kidnapped, of white cloth bandages covering his body, of having no control over his actions, of the Nogitsune, of the Darach, of Ghost Riders, of drowning, of nearly getting killed again and again and again. It was like his body was preparing to fight for his life.

Cecily rubbed her arm. “I wanted to surprise you,” she mumbled.

Stiles dragged his eyes up from the floor to look at her and suddenly felt underdressed. Cecily was wearing a blue dress that made her dark skin seem to glow even in the apartment’s poor lighting. Her brown eyes were lined in a matching blue and a smokey eye. She was wearing her favorite silver necklace– the one he’d tried to save to get matching earrings for but he’d come up short. Stiles had just thrown on a button-up and slacks. He’d hardly brushed his hair and Cecily had obviously spent plenty of time on herself. She was tall and beautiful and Stiles was so far out of his league with her.

Stiles nodded. “Ya, ya… I, uh, just don’t do that again,” he mumbled, rubbing his hands together nervously. He could still feel the fear in the pit of his stomach. “What’s this surprise,” he asked trying to seem chipper.

Cecily’s smile returned. “Are you sure you’re okay,” she asked again and Stiles forced a smile. He nodded and she grabbed his hands to help him up. “Close your eyes and promise you won’t peek.”

Stiles closed his eyes and swallowed back the rising nerves. “You won’t let me run into anything, right?”

“No. I’m not that mean and I don’t need you bruised up when we go see my family later,” she said and Stiles almost opened his eyes in surprise.

“When are we going to see your family,” he asked nervously. He was on patrol tonight and they either had a chupacabra or vampires in the woods at the moment.

“Tonight after dinner,” she said, stopping Stiles from walking any farther. She let go of his hands and he could hear her moving around. “You can open your eyes,” Cecily said excitedly.

Stiles opened his eyes and had to stop himself from laughing. “Is that Pasta Express,” he asked with a huge smile.

Cecily smiled with him. “You’re dating me for my brains, not my cooking skills,” she told him, setting two boxes on the candle-lit table. “I did try to do homemade pasta like my mom does but I might have burnt the sauce and caked the stovetop with it.”

Stiles bit his lip so he wouldn’t laugh and pulled out a chair for Cecily. “It’s perfect but one of us is eventually going to need to learn how to cook,” he joked.

Cecily hummed, “I vote you learn,” and sat down.

“We could do a cooking class together,” Stiles suggested.

“Can you get out of work long enough for that,” Cecily joked. “It’s like Beacon Hills has a never-ending stream of dangerous animals,” she sighed and Stiles nodded because she was all too right.

“Speaking of… I don’t know if I’ll be able to go to the party your family is throwing. I signed on for a night shift so we could do dinner,” Stiles told her, and Cecily’s smile fell.

“I thought you had the night off?”

“Split shift,” Stiles muttered

“My mom spent all day setting up an amazing party for our anniversary,” Cecily told him. “You said you would be off tonight for dinner.”

“And I am,” Stiles retorted. “You said dinner at six and I don’t work until nine. I figured we could have dinner, I’ll help with dishes and then we could watch a movie before I go to work.”

Cecily twirled her fork in the pasta on her plate. “Can’t you call out this one time,” she asked.

“I would if I could,” Stiles told her. Yes, he should not go on patrol where it’s his job to make sure nobody else died because of a murderous creature living in the woods of Beacon Hills that could definitely make it into the town and kill even more people.

“It’s just that… this would be the third time you skipped out on something with my family because of ‘work’,” she said slightly accusatorily, taking a mouthful of her pasta.

Stiles picked at his own food but couldn’t bring himself to stomach it. She was right. He felt like a horrible boyfriend. He was a horrible boyfriend. Maybe he should just tell her. If she knew he was trying to make sure people didn’t die, maybe she’d reconsider.

“There are a few rabid coyotes living on the edge of town,” Stiles told her. He saw the way Cecily struggled to swallow the bite of food she’d taken. “We need more than one person for that so I have to go. People could get hurt.”

Cecily laid her fork down, the topic must have killed her appetite too. “But why can’t it be someone else? You have missed date after date. You’ve had to leave early almost every time you didn’t miss them completely. You can never stay here. You come home looking like someone beat the Hell out of you regularly… If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a wife and kids or were in the mob or a gang or something,” Cecily huffed. “And I don’t think it’ll be better when you become a cop.”

Stiles was going to say something but he knew she was right. It would never be any better. He looked down at his bowl of pasta. He couldn’t stop helping. He was supposed to protect Beacon Hills and he couldn’t stop doing that.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Stiles sighed.

His phone rang and he was quick to grab it. The look on Cecily’s face told him all he needed to know. He’d seen it so many times. He was about to lose her. He was about to lose all of this. Better make it quick.

Stiles answered the phone and stood up. Cecily stood up too and it began. Telling him to come back. Warning that this was the last straw. Telling him exactly what he was doing wrong. Listing other times he’d done this same thing. Another warning. Stiles ignored it all and walked to the door. He pulled his shoes on and looked up to see Cecily down the hall.

“That damn job pulls you away from everything,” Cecily yelled, tears brimming her eyes. “Stiles, I swear to god, if you walk out that door again then it’s over.”

“I have to go,” was all Stiles could say. He opened the door and left.

Only when a grumbled “she sounded lovely” came through the phone did he realize who called.

“Where are they, Derek,” Stiles asked, not in the mood.

“Come to the apartment. We're gathering supplies," Derek told him and hung up.

Stiles groaned and rubbed his face. He walked to the jeep, thinking about what Cecily had said. Why couldn’t it be someone else? Why was Stiles the one stuck in the middle of this supernatural cluster fuck? Because Stiles was the idiot that dragged his best friend out of bed and into the woods at night to look for a dead body.

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Four

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They had gotten better about treating wounds since they started. Deaton was practically obsolete at this point. Between Stiles, Lydia, and Scott, they could stitch the pack back together on their own.

Isaac laid on the tile bathroom floor– it stained the least– and Lydia put a thick bite strap between his teeth. Scott and Liam held Isaac down and looked at Stiles. Isaac had fallen into a tiger trap pit filled with wolf's bane. As such, Stiles was going to have to burn and stuff wolfsbane into the deep stab wounds. Deep wounds, meaning the ash would have to go as far in as the spikes had.

Stiles’s hands were shaking as he tried to light the lighter. He had plenty of wounds himself, not the least of which was broken ribs. It was hard to breathe and each breath send shooting pains across his body. He was trying to ignore the pain and focus on the delicate task at hand which only served to fuel his anxiety.

A hand rested on Stiles’s shoulder and he almost moaned from the relief as his pain was slowly drained away. He closed his eyes and took a deep, painless breath. His hands slowly grew less shaky. He glanced behind him and saw Derek looming over their group wearily. He had taken the brunt of the attack and was still healing. Even so, black lines ran up his arms, leaching away Stiles’s pain.

“You don’t have to—”

“Issac needs your help. You can’t help in that much pain,” Derek grumbled, leaving no room for argument. When Stiles was steady enough, Derek stopped pulling away the pain but his hand stayed.

Treating Issac’s wounds was a long and painful process. Even with Scott and Cora holding him down, there were moments Stiles thought he might jump up and kill him for it. Something they learned the hard way was that severe pain made people and werewolves lash out, even if you were trying to help them.

It took over an hour to get everyone back to a point of semi-health. Hours that meant Stiles was late to his boyfriend’s Christmas party.

Stiles sighed, looking at the numerous missed texts from Harvey, the last of which read not to bother showing without a good reason.

“Trouble in paradise,” Cora asked.

Stiles walked into the kitchen where everyone had congregated now that they were healing. He looked down at his clothes– what was a brand new sweater and slacks– and asked “On a scale of one to ten—”

“Negative a thousand,” Cora told him harshly. “And it’s not just your clothes.”

“Gee, thanks,” Stiles grumbled at her.

Corashrugged. “I’m sorry. Did you want me to lie because you have a black eye, fresh stitches in your eyebrow, and Issac’s blood is still on your hands and clothes.”

“Actually, I think that might be my blood,” Stiles muttered.

“Point is, your man would be pissed and might actually call the cops if you showed up like that. You at least need a shower and a change of clothes,” Cora said, sliding off the counter. “You shower. I’ll raid Derek’s closet.”

“Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, ask,” Lydia piped up, sipping her mug of tea to soothe her throat.

Eric snorted, “if he had any objections, he’s have made them known already.”

Stiles didn’t bother to argue with her, it would have been pointless anyway, and headed for the bathroom. He paused to look at himself in the mirror, leaning closer to see the damage. He touched the skin around his new stitches and winced. Maybe he’d get pity points for getting beat to shit.

Ya, Harvey would kill him for showing up like this to family Christmas. His parents already hated Stiles for ‘making their son gay’ and he really didn’t feel like dealing with their disgusted looks. Stiles took a breath. He wasn’t doing this for them, it was for Harvey.

He got in the shower, not letting himself dwell on the fact that even that thought didn’t make him want to go. Stiles just wanted the feeling of dried blood gone and put on clean clothes– Derek’s clean clothes– and to lay on the couch with his pack.

There was a knock on the bathroom door and it opened. “Clothes,” a gruff voice muttered. Derek. It was quiet, only the sound of running water filling the room. Stiles almost thought Derek had left, then he cleared his throat. “So, you're going to see Harry?”

Stiles scoffed in amusement, “his name is Harvey and his parents are having a Christmas party.”

Derek scrunched his nose. “Christmas isn’t for three weeks.”

“They have family in town or something,” Stiles said, carefully washing the blood off his face.

“You don’t want to go,” Derek said plainly.

“Nope.”

“Then why are you going?”

“Because I lo–” Stiles stopped. Did he? “Because Harvey wants me to.”

Stiles turned off the water and reach out of the curtain just enough to grab his towel– he didn’t remember hearing the door shut– and dried his hair carefully. He wrapped it around his waist and stepped out of the shower. He looked at Derek, waiting for him to get the hint.

“You could stay here. The others want to have a game night,” Derek shrugged.

“I would love to, big guy,” Stiles said with a smile, “but I don’t need to piss Harv off anymore. He might kill me anyway if I don’t come up with a great excuse for all this.”

Derek hummed, “deer have been crazy lately. Lots of accidents happening…”

Stiles laughed, “thanks Sourwolf. Now get out.”

Derek ducked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Stiles locked the door and shook his head with a smile. He stared blankly at the bathroom floor. What if he did lie? Surely Harvey couldn’t be mad if Stiles had hit a deer on the way and jacked up the jeep. Then again, that meant Stiles wouldn’t be able to drive the jeep until it ‘got out of the shop’ and that was just too much to commit to a lie.

An hour later, Stiles stared at the huge house blankly. He didn’t want to go in. He didn’t want the disapproving looks or the backhanded remarks. He didn’t want to hear another ‘oh, we must have forgotten’ when presents come out or get a two-dollar gift compared to everyone else’s expensyve ones. He was tired of being treated like a nuisance or as less than them. They were snobby and rich and horrible.

He put the jeep in gear and started back to the apartment he shared with Harvey. He trudged up the stairs and looked around. He couldn’t help but scoff at the stupid expensive furniture Harvey had insisted on and started packing what little belonged to him.

He was carrying one of his bags to the door when Harvey walked in. Stiles ducked his head, not wanting to face him.

Harvey huffed a disbelieving laugh. “I can’t fucking believe you,” he said. “What? Were you fucking your side piece? Is that why you missed my parents’ party?”

“What are you talking about,” Stiles asked, walking back to their room to pack more of his clothes.

“Oh, don’t play stupid,” Harvey said, following Stiles to the bedroom. “I knew you were lying, nobody works that fucking much, I just didn’t think you were cheating on me!” Stiles looked at Harvey in shock. "I'm not an idiot! What, did you think I wouldn't notice that you came home in different clothes? In Derek fucking Hale's clothes?"

Stiles frowned, more confused than ever. "How do you know Derek?"

"I followed you! I knew you weren't at work."

"Obviously not long enough! I work with Derek! Us and some other people we work with met at his place so we took fewer vehicles!"

Harvey scoffed. "Oh, I'm sure you did. You don’t even know what day I’m talking about."

"You're an ass! Can't you see my face," Stiles said, pointing at his eyebrow. "I had to get fucking stitches! How do you explain that if I'm cheating on you?"

"Considering your new boy toy has been a murder suspect more than once—"

"Don’t fucking talk about him like that," Stiles said bitterly, throwing his clothes in the bag. "I'm getting my shit and leaving. We're fucking done."

Harvey scoffed, "my parents were right about you," and walked away.

Stiles didn’t answer no matter how much he wanted to. It wasn’t worth it. He just packed his stuff and put it in the jeep.

He sat there feeling lost. He was back to living with his dad until he got a new apartment. Was it him? It really seemed like it at this point.

Everything was a mess. Was there any point in him dating now? Or ever? He had to put the safety of the city at the top of his priorities; not dates, not sleep, not school, not family, not even himself.

Fuck it.

He drove to Derek’s apartment and walked up the stairs. He flopped down on the couch between Scott and Derek and groaned.

"Just fucking shoot me if I ever try to get an apartment with someone again," Stiles groaned.

"It would probably be easier if you told them or, better yet, date someone who already knows," Lydia said. "That's what we did."

"Ya, Derek said that too," Stiles muttered.

"Have you maybe stopped to think that I might know what I'm talking about," Derek asked.

"No. Not, really," Stiles said sarcastically. "Think about it! Who would I end up dating then? Huh, Derek?"

Theo snorted and Liam shook his head. Stifled laughs ran through the room and the side conversation and mumbled comments went back to usual.

Stiles sighed, closing his eyes and letting himself relax. He was with his friends so who gave a shit about a stupid boyfriend? He opened his eyes, intending on forgetting about his dumpter fire of a love life, and he saw Hayden sitting in the armchair with Liam and painter her nails while he held the polish bottle. He rolled his eyes. Forgetting about dating is easier said than done when your entire friend group was in a relationship.

Worse yet, he couldn’t even wallow in his pity silently because they could all tell.

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Five

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Stiles knocked on his boyfriend’s door. He shifted nervously as he waited. The door opened to reveal his smiling, fantastic, sweet, boyfriend.

“Hey you,” Evan said with a smile. He looked Stiles over and saw how nervous he was. “Is everything okay?”

“Ya,” Stiles said, not looking very sure of his answer. “Ya, everything’s good. We just– I need to tell you some things and…”

Evan’s smile fell. “Okay,” he opened the door more to let Stiles in. He stopped him with a hand on his chest right as he crossed the threshold of the door. “I have two questions but I’m going to sound like an ass for the first one…” Stiles nodded and Evan took a deep breath. “Did you… you didn’t cheat on me, right?”

“What,” Stiles asked, his eyes going wide. “No! No, god no.”

“I figured it was a stupid question but, you know… Question two: are you moving away? Because other than those two things, I think we can make anything work, and moving might not have to be a big deal either if… Are you moving,” he asked softly.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Stiles said, starting to feel more at ease. They could make it work. Evan said they could make anything work. Maybe telling him about the pack wouldn’t be so bad.

Evan kissed Stiles and he could taste the hot chocolate Evan had been drinking. He was so warm and sweet and Stiles pulled him closer, savoring the moment in case it was the last.

All those fears came rushing back. What if Evan thought he was crazy or he hated him or he called him psychotic or a lier. The feeling of Evan’s hand resting on his cheek pulled him back from the fear. They could make anything work.

Evan pulled away to breath and laughed. “You look fucking drunk off one kiss,” he teased, pulling Stiles further into the apartment.

“Let’s sit down. I have something important to talk to you about,” Stiles said, noticing that Evan was starting to pull him towards the bedroom. “Maybe in the living room?”

Evan stopped and looked at Stiles sceptically. “Promise you aren’t proposing first,” he said.

Stiles shook his head. “No, that’s not it. Do you want me to… soon,” Stiles asked in confusion.

Evan thought for a moment and answered, “no. Not until we graduate, at least.”

Stiles nodded, leaning in to kiss Evan again. They walked back to the living room and sat down together. Stiles chewed his lip, not sure where to start.

“I’m not crazy.” Great start Stiles. No crazy person ever says that. Evan huffed a laugh so maybe Stiles hadn’t completely screwed up. “I’m about to tell you some really unbelievable things. You won’t want to believe them because of how unbelievable they are but you should believe them because they’re true.”

“What?”

Stiles should really be better at explaining this by now. What he did know was that it was better to run through all of it and take questions at the end. “Supernatural creatures are real. All of them; well, pretty much. Werewolves, Banshee, Kitsune, Vampires– all the things that go bump in the night are real. My friends– Scott, Derek, Liam, Isaac, kind of Malia– they’re all werewolves– I mean, Malia’s a werecoyote. Lydia’s a banshee and Kira’s a Kitsune. And we all fight evil supernatural creatures that try to kill or take over Beacon Hills because this thing called the Nemeton is attracting all of them here after Scott and ME and this girl Allison all died a while back and reactivated the magic and… Please don’t give me that look,” Stiles said, looking at Evan. He was giving Stiles the you’re insane but I’m more scared than worried look.

Evan looked like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t. He thought it was a joke except that Stiles was acting so serious. He swallowed a lump in his throat and took Stiles’s hand in his. “Stiles, are you being serious?”

“Yes,” Stiles said firmly. He was terrified of what would come next. God, Evan thought he was crazy. He thought Stiles had lost it was was definitely going to want to have him committed or something.

Evan nodded and took a deep breath. “None of that is real. There is no such thing–”

“There is and I can prove it,” Stiles said, pulling his hand out of Evan’s to grab his phone.

“Are you on something? Like, did you get high or take some halucenegenics when you went camping with your friends,” Evan asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“No, look,” Stiles said, showing Evan a picture of some of the pack in bate shifts.

Evan finally laughed, his head falling in his hands like Stiles had just told him the funniest joke ever. He looked at the picture and smiled. “That’s really cool makeup but… why don’t they have eyebrows,” Evan asked. “What, is this for a film class?”

Stiles sighed. “No! It’s not a class and it’s definitely not makeup but I’m glad someone else noticed the eyebrow thing,” Stiles huffed. “No, Evan, it’s real.”

Evan’s smile slowly fell. “You really believe all of this, don’t you?”

“Please trust me! You can meet Scott and he can show you. Or Danny! Danny’s human but he knows all about it!”

Evan nodded, sitting up and subtly leaning away from Stiles. “I’m going to say this in the nicest way I possibly can: you need to talk to someone– a professional– about what you just told me,” Evan said, starting to pick at his nails. It was a nervous habit he’d almost kicked; he only did it was afraid now.

“I mean, probably. I’ve died twice and come close to it god only knows how many times.” Stiles huffed. It felt almost easy. It felt like a weight had fallen off his shoulder now that he could speak honestly even if he sounded insane. “I haven’t had a normal life since, what, sophomore year of high school when Scott was bitten.”

“I’m… going to call your dad, okay. You stay here,” Evan said and stood up. Stiles stood up too.

“Why are you calling him?”

“Stiles, you’re sick. I think it would be best if someone drove to somewhere where you can get help, okay,” Evan said gently, standing up and walking toward his kitchen.

“I’m not crazy,” Stiles yelled, following his boyfriend. “I can prove it to you if you’d just– I can facetime Scott and he can show you! His eyes ruin pictures! They turn red and he grows fangs and hair on his face—”

“That’s not real,” Evan yelled back. “You are delusional! You’re brain is- is making things up! It’s not your fault but none of that is real!”

Stiles froze. Was he crazy? What if he had made up that last six years? What if he really was delusional? What if… “No, ya know what, call my dad! He knows the truth. He’ll tell you the same thing I did, are you going to say he’s crazy?”

“You convinced your dad that– Stiles, you need help,” Evan said, his voice shaking. “You’re freaking me out. I don’t know how to help.”

“Trust me! For five minutes, trust that I’m not crazy,” Stiles sighed.

Evan shook his head. “You just told me that monsters are real and you want me to believe you?”

“I just–” Stiles growled out of irritation. “I told Derek this was a horrible idea,” he huffed.

“Stiles, I—”

“Can I do anything to make you believe I’m not fucking insane,” Stiles asked in a huff. Evan shook his head and Stiles took a raged breath. “Okay… Well, I’m not lying so,” Stiles huffed, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Then we can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

“Stiles, you need help,” Evan said softly.

“But not for what you think,” Stiles told him. “I love you but… this just isn’t going to work.”

Stiles left Evan’s apartment and sat in the jeep. He felt tears starting to roll down his face. He was embarrassed and frustrated and scared and just… lost. How was he ever supposed to find someone to share the wild, unpredictable, insane life he lived with someone if nobody would give him a change or believe him when he tried to explain? It was almost like the world wanted him to be alone.

Stiles wiped his face and went where he knew he’d be welcomed in the mess of a state he was in. He went to Derek’s.

Like every time before, the door was unlocked. This time, Derek wasn’t on the couch with a book. This time, Derek was at the door when Stiles walked in. No doubt he could hear Stiles’s frantic heart rate, the pained emotions rolling off of him and the scent of tears on his clothes.

“You got a tv,” Stiles commented, holding back tears. He could see Derek’s eyes searching for injury or blood, anything to warent the amount of distress Stiles was in.

“What happened,” Derek asked.

And, fuck, Stiles couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I told him,” Stiles mumbled in a broken voice, tears filling his eyes at the words. He sniffed, rubbing his eyes as discretely as he could. “I knew it would happen, that he’d think I was fucking crazy but… Why does it hurt so bad?”

Derek walked back to Stiles with a fresh cup of coffee. He must have started it when he unlocked the door. He stood, waiting, watching.

“He’s amazing, Derek. Evan is so… He’s funny and patient and fucking gorgous. His perfect black hair and green eyes. The way he listened and never made me feel like I was too loud or talkative and that smile.” Stiles huffed a sad laugh. “He always tasted like sugar because of that damn sweet tooth.”

“Stiles,” Derek grumbled.

“No, you’re right,” Stiles mumbled. “He sucks! He didn’t even give me a second to explain and just instantly went to me being crazy! He was gonna call my dad and tell him I needed help! What kind of person just passes the buck when their friend– their boyfriend infact– needs help? You wouldn’t do that– I mean, you might have in the past but you just don’t do that to a friend!” Stiles looked at Derek, the sadness changing to anger the more he thought about it. “I tried to prove it to him and he didn’t want to listen or see it. He just wanted to get crazy-fucking-Stiles out of his apartment!”

Derek listened to Stiles rant, placing a hand on his back to gently guide him to the couch. Derek sat on the couch and grabbed the tv remote. He nodded along with Stiles’s rambling as he clicked around to find a movie. He squinted at the screen, trying to read the titles with Stiles in the way.

“And the worst part of it is—” Derek clicked play. “Is that New Hope?” Stiles sat down on the couch with Derek, his eyes on the screen.

It was like pushing pause on Stiles’s brain. Stiles was watching and quoting lines from the movie; he’d watched hundreds of times. He’d say his favorite lines louder than others. Derek found himself smiling at Stiles. It used to annoy him that Stiles said the lines along with the characters but it started to grow on him. Now he found it almost endearing.

They watched all three movies– well, Derek did. At some point during The Empire Strikes Back, Stiles laid on the couch like he would with the pack. His head was on Derek’s leg and his feet were over the arm of the couch. Stiles fell asleep halfway through Return of the Jedi. It was how Derek had learned he actually did like Star Wars, watching them with Stiles and still watching when he feel asleep.

When the movie ended, Derek moved to grab the remote and turned it off. He set the remote down, his hand going back to where it had been before– playing with Stiles’s hair. Derek picked up his book and started reading again.

With the movie off and the strange silence of the apartment, Stiles was drifting in and out of sleep. The feeling of someone playing with his hair helped him fade back to sleep even in the deafening silence. He squinted his eyes, looking into the black sceen of the tv reflecting his own image back to him. He could see them on the couch. He closed his eyes, feeling like things were finally right, He opened his eyes again, remembering where he was, and his heart rate jumped. Derek. It was Derek playing with his hair.

“Are you okay,” Derek asked, lowering his book. The hand in Stiles’s hair stopped, moving away.

"Huh? Oh," Stiles mumbled, sitting up. "Ya… Ya, I'm fine." He rubbed his eyes, not even thinking about the response. Ways to pass a werewolf lie detector.

Derek glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s almost two. You might as well go to sleep.”

“What about you,” Stiles asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

Derek took a deep breath. “I don’t sleep much,” he mumbled.

~○~●~♡~●~○~●~♡~●~○~●~♡~●~○~●~♡~●~○~●~♡~●~○~●~♡~●~○~●~♡~●~○

Six

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“Of fucking course it’s a Darach! All the animals are acting weird with runes randomly appearing near by? Darach! And I said that! But does anyone listen to Stiles? Noooo! It’s all ‘Scott, what do we do’ and ‘Lydia do you know about this’ and ‘Peter do you know’ and ‘Let’s just charge in and GET OURSELVES KILLED’!””

“Okay, Stiles. We get it. You were right,” Malia mumbled.

“Again! I was right again,” Stiles said. “For once, why can’t it be gnomes or a ghost? Hell, at this point I’d take pixies!”

“If you’r so smart then what should be do,” Malia asked, glaring at him.

Stiles looked at her, deadpan. “The same thing we do everytime there’s a Darach, load up on weapons and Mistletoe.”

“That’s great and all but we don’t know who it is,” Scott said.

“Why don’t we just follow the invitations,” Lydia asked, holding up on of the red envelopes that had been left on the pack’s porch and Stiles cringed.

“Oh, so we’re going with those being a part of this and not actually being Stiles and Derek’s wedding announcements,” Theo asked, as pompous as ever.

“Shut up,” Liam grumbled.

“Stiles and Derek are hardly friends. I don’t think they plan on getting married anytime soon,” Scott scoffed.

“Definately not getting married,” Theo muttered, “Derek made the smart move and ran. Not that I blame him,” he said, looking at Stiles.

*************************

“I fucking hate Darachs,” Stiles mumbled. “They always choose the worst hide-outs.” He scratched his arm. He was getting chewed up by chiggers and mosquitos as he followed the werewolves through an especially grassy area in the woods.

“Shut up and pick up the pace,” Theo grumbled, pushing Stiles from behind him. He was especially bitchy today. Stiles didn’t see why, he wasn’t the one covered in itchy, bleeding bug bites.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Someone needs to get laid,” he mumbled, earning a warning growl from Theo. Stlies almost laughed. Being growled at is a lot less threatening when you had seen the person whine like a kicked puppy because the person the were cuddling moved.

The pack crept deeper into the forest, they could hear music. It grew louder and more clear the closer they got. Drums and gongs and a woman singing rang through the forest. They shared a look of confusion as they drew closer.

There was a clearing in the woods. Even if you didn’t know it was there before, you couldn’t miss it now. It shown with daylight in the dark forest. It grew warmer as they drew closer. The clearing was full of color and light. When they got close enough, they could see a young woman singing and dancing in the clearing. She wore a long red dress, her gold bracelets and necklace jingling and clinking together as she danced. Her black hair was pined up. The whole clearing was filled with red leaves and golden decorations, blessings of happiness, as a cold spring breeze filled the rest of the forest.

“You should distract her,” Theo whispered to Stiles and he looked at him like he was crazy.

“What? No way!”

Lydia shrugged, “it is your wedding.”

Stiles looked around at the group, hearing no objections. “You’re going to feel really bad if I get sacrificed. Again.”

He stood up, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his favorite grey hoodie and started into the clearing. It was like walking through a portal. It felt weird and disorrienting. He looked back and saw no signs of the forest behind him. He looked down at himself to take note that he was still in tact.

His hoodie and jeans had been turned to a red and gold Chang Pao Ma Gua. He felt strings and cypress leaves in his hair. Gold bracelets jinggled as he moved his hands. “What the Hell,” he sighed.

“Ah, the boy who walks with wolves,” the girls said in Middle Chinese, looking at Stiles excitedly. “Where is your wolf?”

“I have no clue what you’re you’re saying but I don’t think it’s good,” Stiles said.

“It is good, child. I have brought you hear to show you and bridge a gap you won’t by yourself,” the woman declared in english, looking about. “Where is your wolf?”

“My what,” Stiles asked.

“The wolf,” she said patiently as if she was speaking to a little kid. “Where is he?”

Leaves rustled as the pack stepped into the clearing. None of their clothes changed as they stepped in which was so stupid, why was it just Stiles? The woman looked at each face and shook her head.

“No, no. Not that one. Where is your wolf, dear boy,” she asked calmly. The woman took Stiles’s hand in hers. Stiles didn’t pull away, feeling a kind of calm as she held his hand. When she touch him, strings appeared. Green and Blue and Black and Red strings each tied to one of his fingers appeared.

“Holy shit,” Stiles yelled.

Scott moved forward, placing a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Are you okay…. Whoah. What the…”

“Uh, Dude. Can you see this,” Stiles asked.

The woman lifts the red string with a finger, she hums at the tension in the string and smiles to herself. “Strange. I thought he’d be here,” she hummed.

An arrow whizzed through the air and stuck into the woman. As close as she was, the the feather at the end of the arrow brush Stiles as the woman moved. She straightened up and looked downa t the arrow quizzically.

“Sorry Stiles,” Hayden said, cringing. Sometimes Stiles wished she’d stick to claws.

“Mistletoe,” she whispered, pulling it out of her chest. “What a silly choice,” she said with a smile looking at the pack, spotting Hayden who had readied another arrow. “Dear girl, what do you think I am?”

Stiles looked at the woman. “You’re not a Darach?”

“A Darach?” The woman laughs. “Silly wolves, I’m not a Darach. I’m Yue Lao.” Her eyes landed on Kira among the pack. “Gekkahyoujin for the little fox.”

“Isn’t Gekkahyoujin an old man,” Kira asked, trying to recall the stories she’d been told as a child.”

“Gods are not bound to one form my dear,” the woman, Yue Lao told her.

“Why are you here,” Malia asked.

Yue Lao looked up at her. “Isn’t it obvious? Look around, dear child! This was to be a wedding. Look up at the beautiful moon and see. You will understand soon my child.”

Without another word, the woods was left bare. The pack was left to look around in bewilderment. It was all gone in a second.

“Uh, dude,” Scott said.

Stiles didn’t pay any attention to whatever Scott was trying to point out, to struck by how the strings remained tired to his fingers. His gaze came to his wrist and saw red clothing. He pulled at his hoodie and noticed it had been turned red.

“Aw man,” Stiles sighed.

After a conversation with Kira and a few minutes of research, it was obvious what they were: Strings of fate. He knows what the red is but he can't see who it’s is attached to. The others took more to figure out. Blue is friendship. Blue strings connect him to most of the pack. Green is for relatives. Black makes him sick. He has two black strings that look like they were cut. Black means the person your string was tied to died. They all have black strings. Scott has the most.

He’d noticed that all of his strings looked like thay had been knotted, so had Scott’s. He wondered if it had something to do with the whole dying and coming back thing Sophmore year.

Stiles learned he could tell when someone he was tied to was close. He joked it was his own supernatural super sense. He decided then that he didn't want to meet who his red string was tied to until all this supernatural bullshit was over– meaning never.

Time came and went. Derek had yet to come back, something about a Kanima in San Francisco. Stiles started to like sitting in the park, watching people. He smiles when he sees couples with red strings that connect them tied in a neat bow. He’d learned that that bow was a turning point. For some it was marriage or a kid or almost losing each other. He cried the first time he watches a string snap and turn black. The person didn't notice.

When the pack learns what he can see, they ask about their strings. Stiles refuses to tell Scott he doesn't have a red string. He's pretty sure Scott's red string turned black.

Stiles was sitting in the park when he got a text from Derek that he’s back and Stiles shivers. He can't imagine the number of black strings he has. So, Stiles avoids seeing it. He only talks with the pack through calls and texts. It’s strange. He had grown used to spending time at Derek’s. It was like he realized how much free time he really had.

Stiles froze the first time he felt the string get really tight. He knew they were close so he ran. He ran as in the opposite direction so he dind’t have to know. Anytime his red string tightened, he went in the opposite direction no matter how his heart aches to know. He wants so badly to have someone to love and be loved by. But meeting the person he was meant to be with felt too risky. His supernatural baggage had destroyed so many relationships and he couldn't risk this one.

Seeing the world wrapped up in strings got overwhelming. Seeing people's loved ones silently slipping away was wearing on him.

Stiles found himself walking through the preserve with a bottle of Jack far too many nights. He was trying to escape other people. He didn't know why he was there instead of his room but he was. He doen’t know why the preserve felt safe, it wasn’t. Ever type of monster and big bad had come through the preserve.

He was out one night and found the clearing what they’d met Yue Lao. He drunkenly giggled to himself. It was about a good a spot as any to lay down and drown in his sorrows. He'd blame the alcohol for numbing him to the tightening of his red string but he felt it, he just didn’t care. He was too tired, too overwhelmed, too drunk, too done with it all.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t move when he started hearing footsteps. Stiles lifted his head as the string tugged on his pinky and saw Derek walk into the clearing.

Stiles dropped his head back to the ground. "Of course, it's you," Stiles chuckled drunkenly, slowly shaking his head. He closes his eyes, feeling dizzy.

"Are you going to be able to find your way home later," Derek asked, walking closer.

"Sure," Stiles slurs. He could feel how close Derek was but refused to look at him. He didn't want to see the black strings hanging off of him. It would hurt too much.

"Any reason you won't look at me?"

Stiles hums. "The world's spinning too much," he mumbled. It wasn't a lie, just not the whole truth.

Stiles had learned werewolves couldn't tell the difference. If something was objectively true and you believed it was at least partially true, they couldn't tell. That and them not being able to accurately tell lies over the phone were major tools in Stiles's arsenal.

Derek sighed that annoyed sigh he always did when the pack did something stupid– like a disappointed parent Stiles thought. Derek would believe the half-truth, Stiles knew that for sure. It was very believable at the moment. Stiles probably reeks of alcohol to the werewolf. He'd managed to spill some on himself when he broke the seal. Stiles could tell his breath smelled of the stuff.

Derek looked around the forest. It was teeming with life. It was unsettling that Stiles had seemingly unknowingly laid himself on the ground not far from the Nematon. Were it anyone else, Derek would have already left them to fend for themselves, but it was Stiles.

"If you don't plan on dying out here, you might want to head back," Derek said, watching the treeline as much as he watched Stiles.

Stiles groaned. "Come here, Derek," he sighed.

He heard the leaves crunching as Derek walked closer and Stiles smirked. Derek grunted, falling back on his ass. Stiles laughed to himself. He’d surrounded himself in mountain ash for the very reason of being in the preserve. The image in his head was too good not to get to see the real thing.

Stiles opened his eyes, using his hand to help him balance as he rolled to his side, and looked at Derek. His laughing quickly ceased, his mouth going dry. It was like all the air had been knocked out of him. Stiles thought it would be the black strings that hung heavily off Derek that would throw him but that red string… Stiles’s eyes followed the tight line of red string from Derek to his hand.

When Stiles’s brain caught up to what it was seeing, an avalanche of thoughts and memories piled onto him. It’s Derek. Of course, it’s Derek. He went to Derek every time someone kicked him to the curb. Derek didn’t need Stiles’s chaos dragging him down. Derek had let Stiles rant to him for hours. Derek was more than out of his league, he was out of Stiles’s universe! Derek had played with Stiles’s hair when he fell asleep on him. Derek was still trying to get used to letting people in. Derek had never turned Stiles away when he showed up at random. Derek had been burned by relationships every time he tried. Stiles had abandoned his dreams and let his lovelife fall apart to help Derek and the pack. Derek didn’t need to worry about Stiles’s human ass all the time. Didn’t he already? Wasn’t Derek the one pulling away Stiles’s pain while he was stitched up after fights? It was stupid and would never happen. Stiles had yet to see the strings be wrong, though. They were always right in the end. It didn’t matter because Derek deserved better! He deserved more than Stiles. He deserved someone who knew what was going on. Someone who would be helplfull in protecting Beacon Hills, not someone who was one good hit away from death. He was seven years older than Stiles! Stiles was a child next to him. Derek shouldn’t have to play babysitter for a stupid, talkitive, hyperactive, loud, annoying—

“—iles! Stiles!”

Stiles was staring at Derek, at that stupid string. His breathig was fast. It was hard to take a full breath– hey, when did that happen? Stiles squeezed his eyes closed again. Fuck his head hurt. He could feel his pulse against his skull. Stiles dug his fingers into the dirt beneath him. Breath. Calm down, breath. He opened his eyes, trying to ground himself, and saw Derek fighting to get through the mountain ash surrounding him. He closed his eyes again, his hand sweeping out of it’s own accord and breaking the circle.

Leaves crunched and shifted as Derek crawled the last bit of distance between them. He Pushed Stiles to sit up, a hand pressed to his back to hold him up and the other on his arm.

Stiles opened his eyes, he wanted to see the red string, just to be sure but not before– “I’m gonna throw up,” he mumbled, turning away from Derek and Barfing all over the forest floor. Stiles leaned into Derek, feeling him tense. Stiles huffed a laugh, looking down at Derek’s hand next to his.

And a little red string tied in a neat bow.

Stiles smiled at it and, just as quickly as they appeared, all of the strings were gone.

“Derek?”

“What?”

Stiles took a breath and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything…”

This time it was Derek who laughed. “Gonna have to be more specific than that,” he said.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Stiles mumbled.

Derek tensed for a moment and then relaxed next to Stiles, pulling him closer. “I know I love you.”

“Just had to one-up me,” Stiles huffed a laugh. “As romantic as this is, could we maybe not end up having our first kiss by a pile of my own vomit?”

Derek nodded, helping Stiles stand up. “Believe me, you won’t have to worry about doing any kissing until you brush your teeth and sober up.”

[pharmaciacatholica]

Have you any advice on how to live a Christian life? In the sense of ordinary daily life, I mean. What exactly do I do to "show" God I follow Him? I really don't know how to exist minute by minute.

I had been stuck in this kind of thought for a while but ultimately it’s not a good or healthy way to think. There is no one way to “live minute by minute” although it can feel like there should be at times. Growing in your relationship with Jesus Christ with a daily prayer routine is the most important thing. Starting small with something like the rosary, the angelus, or the little book of hours is a good way to build the habit and eventually you can increase as you see fit. Just as important not to take on something large at first because you will burn out by trying to do too much. On a situation like yours it would also be beneficial to find a spiritual director; local parish office can help with that. There is also the compendium of Catholic social teaching which is made for education on this exact thing (how to live) which I did a couple installations of here but nobody seemed very interested and I got very busy with other stuff so I fell off.

Link to the compendium if you are interested

[yuseirra]

I should draw this out before it becomes proven irrelevant-

Amenouzume seems to have this gremlin energy, I look up her description and she's SO AI... I really like her from what I read. She seems precious and adorable. I laughed when I read she seduced her husband into marrying her

Myths record that she certainly isn’t ashamed of her body and is often depicted as a youthful and radiant goddess, exuding vibrant energy.

The goddess of revelry embodies a playful and mischievous nature, which makes her one of the most prominent figures in Japanese mythology. Her role is to bring joy, laughter, and a sense of lightheartedness to both the divine and human realms. Ame-no-Uzume emphasizes the importance of finding delight and merriment in life, which is crucial to lead a happy and fulfilling existence.

Together, she and Sarutahiko are kami deities of matrimonial happiness, fulfilled wishes, and creative pursuits.

[eznii]

made a lil something something ;)

some frames under the cut:

[punchouthottakes]

FLAMING HOT TAKE INCOMING, DISCLAIMER FIRST: punch out is a game with no lore and little to no characterization so it’s natural that different people have different takes on a character and I 10000% respect that and I love seeing how people interpret stuff differently from me!!!!! this is not a dig or a diss this is just personal observation!!!!!!!!!!

i don’t get why the overall fandom consensus is that don flamenco is head over heels in love with the blonde lady [that the fandom calls Carmen (this I do understand why)] in his cinematic trailer. it’s always been apparent to me that this guy is supposed to be like a casanova/serial womanizer/harem enthusiast douchebag kinda guy.

1. country of origin and profession: every enemy character in this game is supposed to be an exaggerated cultural stereotype/caricature, so it’s natural to assume that most of their character traits are not meant to subvert audience expectations, and flamenco is no exception! Spaniards are stereotyped as carelessly romantic, and toreadors seem to be associated with more socially conservative or dare I say, sexist/woman objectifying behavior. it would be logical to presume that flamenco also embodies these traits

2. contender intro slideshow: most people (and I as well) like to use the final slide of his contender intro as evidence of his romantic status. however, I fail to see how it shows him as faithful; on the contrary, the fact that the girls around “Carmen” are a. (for one of them) also wearing roses - the same color as the one he’s giving her, in fact - and b. clearly looking shocked and disgusted seems to show me that those girls were also the object of flamenco’s short-lived affection and that the blonde girl is just his next “target” so to speak.

now how to justify his in-battle voice lines referring to his affection for carmen? well look no further than Carmen, the opera by Bizet, where the titular Carmen ends up being with a toreador (like don flamenco). it could be possible that he uses “Carmen” as a pet name for all of his flings rather than the actual name of his one true love

please feel free to prove me wrong bc I see nobody else with this interpretation and I wanna know why everyone agrees that he’s a faithful boyfriend/malewife lmao

[covertblizzard]

jaykyle au where they're theatre kids in the same school but they're not the actors jason's the scriptwriter/director and kyle is the prop manager (i don't know the official terms sorry) and they'd probably do an amazing job on the backstage setting if they could stop arguing for 5 whole seconds about their artistic visions and ideas and how "this would obviously work better this way"

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 251

so like remember when i said i was gonna be mentally ill about utena

[kissingarthurclaus]

Concept sketch of my new JJBA self insert and her stand, BellaDonna (who will eventually be known as Madonna). Inspired by the song 'Like a Prayer' by...well, Madonna! @sapphire-heart-tippy

(lore dump under the cut, TW for mentions of animal injury and religious trauma)

My self insert (who will also go by Jane) grew up in a deeply religious family and tried to be a good jehovah's witness child that made her parents proud.

One day, she comes up with the power to heal various injuries and ailments, almost to the point of being able to revive the dead. She figures she's given this power by the lord himself and vows to do good with it, but when she's found using them to heal a bird that had been wounded by a cat, her mother falls into hysterics thinking that she MUST be possessed by the devil to have such abilities.

She's punished and shunned by her community while her mother prays for a cure and though she tries to repent her power doesn't seem to go away, so eventually her mother snaps and drags her into the wilderness and attempts to throw her to the bottom of an old well.

Her Stand, which had previously not manifested physically, appears then to cushion her fall and eventually she manages to pull herself out of the well with her Stand's help, who she now believes to be a guardian angel. But not wanting to return home, she runs away to face the world alone, growing jaded and bitter over time. She loses all of her faith, and the power to heal inverts itself, becoming a sort of poison. Something that LEECHES life, rather than heal it.

When she's an adult (my age irl so 25 I guess) she's made her way by becomes a bounty hunter/assassin using her Stand and eventually catches the attention of Dio. Who takes her in and explains to her what her Stand REALLY is, promising to teach her how to properly wield those powers if she agrees to serve him. She reluctantly takes his offer, but starts to see him as a familial figure, since no one else had ever tried to nurture or even accept her gift. Dio is the one who giver her Stand the name BellaDonna, after the deadly plant!