#like I'm sorry but they do things that I'm like 'OKAY WHAT THE FUCK?'

[notenoughdragons]

so… with the. let's call it hindsight, sure, of having played veilguard………

marching into the deep roads to kill the remaining archdemons would have been a good plan, actually. like, i personally think the whole 'uhhhh yeah killing the archdemons killed or at least nerfed the evanuris they're connected to, to a degree where they're basically not a problem anymore' is a weakass copout to get out of actually Dealing with them in any meaningful way

but! ~~~canonically~~~, killing razikale and whatever elgar'nan's lizard is called, WOULD have diminished him and ghilan'nain to the point they couldn't cause any more problems. would it have fixed the blight as a whole? nope! but getting rid of the archdemons who rally darkspawn sure would've been an improvement!

………and it would also have brought the veil down. apparently. bc they decided to make it so that the life force of the evanuris themselves sustains it. which—look, okay, i'm not gonna get into it. let's just say it's a weirdass decision that feels Designed to get to the specific set-up of veilguard's ending (solas being able to promise he's totally not gonna bring the veil down, bc rook&co killing elgar'nan will do it for him)

so, pretending for the moment this was all definitely already planned exactly like this when da:i was made… why is solas so against it? it's basically doing the work for him! get the veil down and deal with the evanuris in one fell swoop!

the only thing that's LEFT is. y'know. the blight. locked up in the same prison as the evanuris.

and based on how veilguard shakes out, i don't think solas (or the devs, for that matter) actually had a plan to deal with that

like, in trespasser, the blight doesn't even come up. what solas talks about is the evanuris, and how he "had a plan", so… now we're kinda forced to assume he Also had a plan of how to deal with the blight. but given how he acts in da:i, see (far) above, he clearly doesn't think there IS a way to deal with the blight!

even in the fucking ~redeem~ ending he's like, yeah i can't cure the blight but i can try to soothe it like. buddy. my dude. the prison in veilguard is A NEW THING, bc he had to fucking pivot after he lost the orb like, what could your plan Possibly have been before that???

and look okay i can't not talk about the fact that the games/devs clearly don't want to deal with the blight anymore. yes, i know the sixth blight is all over veilguard, i know you walk across blight pods for half of that game, i know they literally explain where it comes from and what it is, etc etc

(sidenote, i just. deeply dislike the responsibility musical chairs veilguard plays wrt solas. oh the veil cutting off the fade entirely wasn't intentional actually? oh The BlightTM is fully his and mythal's fault actually?? christ, he already Had a perfectly good tragic guilt complex.)

but at the end it just… kind of gets fixed? apparently? bc the veil's not leaky anymore??? neve or bellara can get fully blighted and it's just GONE at the end, you can just walk over blight pods for the entire game and you're Fine, there aren't gonna be anymore blights-the-event bc the archdemons are all dead, there have been MULTIPLE instances of ppl cleansing the blight (merrill with the eluvian, fiona getting de-tainted, SOLAS WITH THE LYRIUM DAGGER) but it NEVER gets explained how, or is attempted to be used elsewhere

it's just, oh, we can't cure the blight nevermind that the hof has been looking for that Since Origins but we also don't need to! don't even worry about it! we just armaggedon-ed half of thedas with it but it's fine!

sorry i don't have a conclusion here this just makes me Scream

I GUESS THE TITAN SOULS ARE JUST GONNA BE LOCKED UP AND IN PAIN FOREVER BUT IT'S FINE, WE DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THAT ANYMORE

Okay so I'm giving @corseque 's super-important audio of all Solas' comments about the Blight a second (or fifteenth, whatever) listen and taking notes as I go.

Solas doesn't think for a second that once the archdemons are gone the Blight will be gone. Which really makes sense because it's the Blight that makes them an archdemon, not the other way around. Supposedly, they're blighted when the darkspawn reach and corrupt them. But of course that begs the question of why it's only darkspawn (and uh, honorary darkspawn like the Wardens) that hear their call. Anyway, the way he says it, it sounds more like the archdemons are a limiting factor than a driving factor.

Varric: "What's so confusing about endless darkspawn?" Solas: "A great deal!" So yeah, whatever the plan was, he didn't foresee darkspawn as a consequence. So did he not foresee them existing at all, or not foresee them being free to cause problems? Worth noting that it's really clear both in general and in Descent that dwarves as a whole were a huge blind spot for him.

He is really really surprised that the Western Approach ever recovered from the Blight. Pretty clear he didn't think that was possible.

He thinks that everything the Wardens have done up til now is a deeply misguided effort that's served (mostly accidentally) as a delaying tactic. Gotta say, with the information we have at hand, this point pairs about as well with the last as a nice dry red with spicy pickles. If the Wardens shouldn't have done what they've done, but he didn't think recovery from the Blight was possible, I'd love to hear what he thought the alternative was.

Same dialogue as above, but when Solas talks about stopping the Blight and when Blackwall and Varric talk about it, one gets the distinct impression that they're talking at cross purposes, because Varric and Blackwall are talking about the experience of Blights, as in, periodic events, whereas I think Solas is talking about THE Blight, that is, its true nature, which is yet untouched.

He thinks Erimond is dumb as shit, which is fair and valid. "That's madness! For all we know, killing the Old Gods could make things even worse!" he says. Well, he knows a lot more than "we" know, but it's entirely possible that he doesn't for sure know this. Increasingly clear that he thinks it, though.

I'd forgotten just how pissed off he was about the Grey Warden plan to kill the Old Gods before they were corrupted. It really doesn't give "hey you're killing my relatives" energy. It really gives "wow that would fuck us all" vibes.

Of course, with a side of my remembering that Solas' besetting flaw was always thinking people should know better even though they don't have access to the knowledge he has. That flaw I WILL grant. He displays it repeatedly--you could even say the writers went out of their way to make the point.

"The Blight is the real problem"

"The fools who first unleashed the Blight on this world thought they were unlocking ultimate power." Anyway yeah those are the absolute core of everything here. The Blight is the real problem and the Blight was deliberate. Deliberately made or deliberately freed.

Even during the events of Inquisition, Solas obviously sees Corypheus as secondary to the Blight as a danger.

Cassandra suggests that the archdemons were really just dragons--"Pets to those who no longer exist", by which she probably means the Old Gods, not specifically the gods of Elvhen, just because of her cultural background. Solas finds this suggestion amusingly wrong--a quiet snort, and "I would not go so far as that."

Last notes: he doesn't sound like he thinks the Blight can be stopped, and he's adamant that it can't be controlled. Which is presumably why he broke the world in an attempt to contain it, assuming I'm right that that was the underlying reason for the Veil. That it didn't quite work the way he'd hoped is also pretty evident, though I wanna be clear that I assume he was working from a place of desperation, and that not knowing every possible outcome of an action is not a condemnation of having taken it.

[m0nsterzl0ve]

(wip) virgin!gojo x reader a/n: its 5am whoops also errrm 0 note post but idk i felt like posting this. also i've.. never written smut in my life so ummm sowry if u died of cringe and sneakpeak if anyone cares 🥹 i prob wont ever post the entire thing tho RIP to all the one-shots in my drafts

✰🌺✰ You clenched around the length inside you, sucking him in. "Please..." you begged. "I need you all the way in, baby."

You arched into him, sliding your arms out from the near bear hug he had you in. You stretched your arms around his back, embracing him tightly. Hiking your knees further onto the bed, you slammed your hips down as your gooey walls engulfed the rest of his girthy length.

His breath hitched, and he found himself choking out a warning, "Fuuuck baby I think I'm cumming–"

Gripping onto your hip and upper back, he yanked you off of him, spurting hot white ropes of cum up onto the mushy lips of your pussy. He came with a loud, pornographic moan in your ear. He panted, "Shit, sorry, m'sorry–"

You blinked in shock as you felt the hot, gooey substance paint your labia. You looked down at the mess he made, then let out a quiet, surprised gasp.

You looked back up at his face, cerulean eyes wide and face red with embarrassment. You smiled. "Shh, it's okay baby," you said in a cooing tone.

He flinched at the pet name, just now registering it. He blushed, averting your gaze.

You slowly moved your hands to his chest, gently pushing yourself off of him. "Let's try a slightly different position."

Seeing his look of confusion, you elaborated on what you meant. "Just scoot up my bed and sit up on my pillows 'n stuff."

He eagerly followed your directions, looking back up at you for approval. His cheeks were still flushed red, having spread to his ears and the tip of his nose. His cock had stood up again, impatient to feel your clingy walls around him.

You crawled over to him slowly with predatory eyes, getting onto your knees as you straddled him, hovering over his round, strawberry tip.

Your breasts were pushed up against his toned chest, and you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes half-lidded with lust.

He was layed back on your bed, staring at you in awe. "You're so beautiful," he gasped.

You smiled, feeling a gentle warmth come up to your cheeks. You cupped his cheek, reaching the other down to one of wrists, sliding it up to rest on your hip. You slightly pushed yourself up, holding onto him by his shoulders.

He felt his cock harden even more, gulping as he hesitantly moved his other hand to line himself up with your hole, only sparing glances down to see what he was doing.

You looked between your breasts and down at where Satoru's tip and your sopping entrance met, slowly sinking your hips down onto him.

He gulped and felt his breath hitch again, sliding his hand back to rest on your hip, tightening his grip.

"Shit," he muttered breathlessly as your warm, rippled walls tightened around him. He bucked his hips into yours, unintentionally bottoming out, earning a yelp of surprise that escaped your lips. "Sorry- m'sorry-"

"No, it's okay—fuck—you're so big, baby."

He still hadn't gotten used to the name, bashfully staring down at your cleavage, the view only making him blush harder. He briefly wondered again, 'Is this really happening?'

[boysluts]

The way you write sanji with a reader who's in love with him but accepts their fate to not be loved by him like that- its AMAZING and keeps punching me in the heart, sooo for the request

Hurt/comfort love confession with sanji🙏 the reader is talking to another crewmate they trust, they talk about their feelings for sanji and how its tearing them apart. And Sanji overhears it all, maybe it reinforce his own wants with the reader

Okay, I'm so sorry this is SO beyond delayed,,

Heh... I hope this'll be okay, I feel my writing is a tad rusty nowadays, so excuse me!

This is not proofread..so I apologise immensely!

I hope this is actually somewhat enjoyable, I'm fuckin scrambling my brains out

I feel as if this is utterly messy and all over the place,, so please bear with me!

I feel it's rather slow-burn,, and considered just posting this and making a second part, but I might post it as one..not sure if that's better or worse

And I'm so sorry for how long this has taken, and how long it is taking..I promise you I'm trying my best mls 🙏

Okay I know I've said it but this is so rubbish I'm so sorry guys

Sanji calls you Cherie,, cutesy loving nickname, it's already pretty shit but the ending is..more..shit??? Read at your own risk 🙏

AUGHHH AGAIN IM SO SORRY FOR HOW DELAYED THIS IS!! I HOPR ITS KINDA ENJOYABLE! MWAUH MWAUH THANK YOU <3

_ _

You and the crew just finished breakfast,,

God it is always such a delight eating meals prepared by your Angel of a cook, anything he makes quite literally tastes like heaven itself.

No matter what he makes, he always makes it taste so good, fuck, he looks so good.

Its a bit shameful how often you find yourself thinking of him, staring at him, stealing glances, you can't help it. He's perfect in your eyes.

Needless to say, you've for sure caught on to your own feelings, you were self aware you had somewhat of a schoolgirl crush on Sanji, and boy did you figure out crushing on a man that treats all women like deities would drain your soul.

It was easy to fall for the treatment and affection, but you liked him beyond that, you love him beyond that, you've been trying so hard to get to know him, and you feel you've made progress, progress in getting to know him, it lights up your world knowing things about him no women, or man would've cared to know or really ask about...

But of course, seeing him flirt with others has taken its toll, of course you know he means well, and nothing much by it, and fuck. Why are you so jealous??? It's not like he's your man, he can do whatever pleases him.

But it sucks, your heart yearns for him, it yearns for him so bad, you hate how such an angelic man has the key to your heart, but doesn't seem to care. Now, unfortunately the crew has noticed your mood has been..quite down

It wasn't much of a surprise they'd noticed though, you were quite literally a ball of fucking sunshine, you matched or..tried to match everyone's energy, but to you, it was quite startling when you were sitting alone on deck, and robin approached you..or rather seemed to have appeared next to you

You didn't notice her presence, for awhile actually, until she cleared her throat, this startled you slightly, and you broke your staring at Sanji being scolded by Nami for doing whatever he was..

"Ahh..! Robin..hi- I didn't see you there" you say, politely, and flashing her a quick smile

She's silent for awhile.

.

.

.

"You don't have to do that, we can tell something is on your mind" she offers, sharing a neutral expression, you nod and sigh "Robin.." You start and you feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to continue "this is so stupid, God. I." You falter and hold your knees up to your chest Robin places a hand on your shoulder and offers a small smile

"It's not stupid, you can talk about it, if you'd like. No pressure, but I hope you know I'm willing to lend my ears anytime" and you silently thank her

She smiles

"Would..would you consider me stupid, for well.." You take a deep breath "I really like him." "Robin- I really, I really like him. I think. I think I love him."

She isn't surprised, she's seen how at a time your mood really depended on how Sanji was that day, how much you spoke, if it was negative or positive, she had quite an insight.

She sighs, and smiles "I know." You look up at her, through teary eyes "but it hurts, because I know this is the same treatment you and nami get too." Untrue she thinks to herself, she's seen in ways Sanji treats you differently than her and Nami..though, she supposes she sees your perspective.

"I know he treats all women equally, but It hurts, i- I know this is selfish, but is it..really that much to ask for him to truly consider something..with me?" Your frown somehow deepens, and you then go on about how hard it is to not just grab his face, kiss him, which..kinda gave her the ick, but she respectfully listens, regardless..

It seems as if you've spent hours venting about how this is weighing you down, how such a stupid thing as a crush is really anchoring and crushing your soul, and as Robin anticipated the waterworks had started, she can't think of words that would be much helpful to your case, so she just tries her hardest to provide physical comfort.

And in the time you'd been spilling your heart out about the stupid love-cook, Robin was aware he was actually listening, she'd noticed him listening, she' noticed him.

And she was sure his ears were burning red.

So when she looked to her side and saw him with a solemn expression but face somehow flushed, she just slightly nodded to him and herself.

She looks over at you, still sulking "it'll be okay, I'm sure you'll figure it out." She says, her tone hinting the obvious, the obvious you were oblivious to.

.

.

.

After awhile of sitting with Robin in pure silence, she speaks up "it's getting late, let's wash up and get some rest, I think you absolutely need some." The same smile still plastered on her face, you sigh, "Ahh right.."

She gets up dusting herself off, and before she walks away you stop her "Robin" and she looks back at you, tilting her head "Thank you, for all of this, thank you for everything" you smile at her, and she smiles back "Always, y/n, you're always welcomed, this is definitely the least I could do for you" you nod, following her, just until you part ways. She shares a room with Nami and you're fortunate enough to have your own room.

You got to your room, rummaging for your nightwear and undergarments, thinking to just wash off quickly and have a proper shower when you wake up. A couple of knocks pause your rummaging

You think it's Nami, probably asking if she could borrow your snowglobe, you know she wants to break it to get the cat out of it, nit thinking it could anyone but her you open the door eyes shut, finger already accusingly pointing "No Nami, You cannot break the snow globe to get the kitty from inside it" you say, letting out a small huff

Instead of the huff and sigh you thought you'd hear, you heard a chuckle instead, ...that doesn't sound like Nami you say to yourself,, you open your eyes to find no one other than Sanji standing right outside your door, a little Embarrassed, you smile awkwardly, and apologise.

"Its alright cherie" Cherie.. he's only called you Cherie a few times, and your not used to it at all, but still, you can't help the smile that spreads or perhaps the slight redness on your face either "is now a bad time?" He asks, smiling at you, confused you look on your bed remembering what you were just about to do, you smile at him "ahh, no no not at all, do you need something?" He looks nervous you think..

"Come with me, Cherie, let's talk over a drink if you don't mind" he says, all smiley, you smile too following close behind. You reach the kitchen and he ushers you to have a seat, while he brings out soda from the fridge. He sits in a way the two of you are looking at each other, he opens your Soda and you thank him with a smile, "So, what's up? What can I help you with, Sanji?" God, you're so fucking cute. He thinks to himself

He takes a breath, before sipping his drink, looking at you to find that your eyes are already all over him, leaving red to flush across his features..not that you could make out in the dim light. "Cherie i like you too." He says, but it comes out as a whisper, as if its a secret so sacred he has no choice but to protect it with his life, you stare at him, in shock, in awe, disbelief even, are you hearing this right?? Are you..Are you dreaming?

He notices your shock and chuckles, " 'm so sorry I wasn't aware that i hadn't made it as obvious as I thought I had.." he says, sounding a little nervous. He's looking at you as if your his whole word. "I- I know it was invasive, but I overheard the whole thing with Robin. I'm sorry, for being so slow, being so oblivious to your feelings," he says again, rubbing the back of his neck. You wanna lunge onto him and kiss him and ask him if he's being serious.

But you're still in awe. He'd been courting you as you'd been him? He Likes you too?

"Well, Sanji. I'm glad it's you"

He reaches for your hand, comfortingly rubbing it. And you just beam at him, he swears he feels his heartbeat 100x faster now, but he smiles back, a little unsure what to take from the ever growing silence. So then you speak "i'm- I'm sorry, I'm just shocked, I had never expected my feelings to be reciprocated, by You nonetheless" God, you can't help but look at him lovingly, like he hung the very stars in the sky.

And then you start, again.

"It'll always be you." You mutter, a little nervously

So, he speaks.

"And I'm glad it's you too, Cherie."

He's glad definitely.

And you can't help the smile you can only imagine gracing your lips. With nervous hands you cup his face and look deep into his eyes, your smile never faltering once. With shaky hands he cups your face too, he's so cute you think. Blush suits him, maybe only when it's you making him blush like this. Such a genuine smile, and you're the cause.

"Cherie" ... he pulls you out of your thoughts and you look at him, can't help but bat your eyelashes at him. You smile.

"Can.. can, i kiss you?" He asks, so Sacred, you had to make sure you were hearing right. But you nod anyway, "Cherie, let me hear you. Please."

You flush, and take in a shaky breath, "of course, you can" and before you know it he's pulled you closer to him, but he so very delicately kisses you, it would've fooled you. A man with no experience? He's quite the kisser.. you've seemed to have pulled his face closer, and you just look at him, he's becoming fidgety,

could you really blame him? He just kissed you. And once the nerves settles he pulls you into him, and you hold him too.

He chuckles nervously, "don't regret me, okay, Cherie?" And you kiss his shoulder, a silent response, but you hope he understands.

You can finally take the time and wrack your brain, make sense of what you two are, that your crewmate dynamic is now changed, you're now what you've wanted to be for a long time, his lover. And he is yours, too.

[bluem1lls]

Hi! Could you do a fluff Se-mi one shot? Unfortunately I don’t really have any prompt to give you but I think a out of squid game AU would be pretty cool! Like it could be when they first met, or first date sm like that!

I would really appreciate it if you write it, but if not that’s absolutely fine! I hope you have an amazing day! <3

headcanons gf! se-mi

✦ synopsis: never let your annoying best friends to stop you from finding your girlfriend!

tw: a bit of nsfw

authors note: hiii im sorry for the no update, work is killing me but here's this! i hope u like it💓 tysm for the requests!

-> se-mi, who you've met because of a close friends hangout.

"would it be okay if i bring se-mi?" min su asked as i passed the joint to thanos.

"is she cute?" nam gyu asked.

"she's a lesbian" min-su answered with a chuckle.

"oh?" i said as i pay more attention to the conversation.

"she's probably not your type tho, you're so picky" min su said rolling his eyes as i scoffed.

-> se-mi, who was totally your type.

when you two met, you bonded immediately, laughing and smoking together as the other three were sitting on the couch staring.

"what about us man? when it's our turn?" nam-gyu said, watching as she said something that made you blush.

thanos and min su shook their head as they kept smoking.

"i bet i can drink more than you" she said as you laughed. "wanna bet?" she said with a smirk. "if i win, i get your number"

no need. two shots in and you were giving her your number no matter what.

-> se-mi, who texted you while you were passed out on nam gyu's bed as he was sprawled on the floor with thanos's arm around him.

you tried to find your phone, lowering the brightness as you grabbed it while your head throbbed.

pretty girl w the piercings: hi

pretty girl w the piercings: maybe its too soon but would you like to have dinner tonight? we can do something chill :)

-> se-mi, who has you waking up thanos and nam gyu with screams of happiness.

"who died?!" nam-gyu opened his eyes wide.

"min-su?! my boy?" thanos asks, alarmed

"se-mi texted me! she wants to hang out tonight! it's a date!" i said getting up the bed to quickly shower.

"this can't happen anymore bro. she needs to stop getting drunk and sleeping in your room" thanos says to nam gyu as he throws himself into his bed and covers himself with the blankets.

nam gyu blinks. two people already slept in his bed, none of those being him. he sighs as he goes into thanos's room to sleep some more.

"for fucks sakes" he mumbles.

-> se-mi, who's soon arriving to your house.

"i need you two idiots out of here tonight" you said, putting your earrings on and brushing your hair as they stared.

thanos winked as he grabbed his phone to call someone. "we're on our way" i could hear min-su over the phone screaming to thanos, alarmed, because he was on a family reunion. "we're your family too boy! be there in 20" he said, hanging up.

well. they're min-su's problem now.

-> se-mi, who stood there in all back, as she played with her lip piercing, smirking and looking up and down as you open the door.

"hi!"

"hey pretty" she said, as you moved aside, letting her in.

"we're just leaving" she got in as the guys got out, giving a quick head nod to her.

"get laid" thanos shouted from outside.

"she needs it" nam-gyu followed him.

of course you stood there all blushy as she chuckled.

you'll kill them later.

-> se-mi, who brought everything you told her you liked! a horror movie, your favorite snacks, diet coke and ice cream as dessert.

"it's this is okay? maybe i should've bought more things. now i'm nervous maybe it's time for a smoke break-" she rambles too much. you don't give her time to think as you cup her face and kiss her. her eyes widen in surprise but she quickly melts into it.

-> se-mi, who's quickly stopping the makeout sesh to turn on some 'cigarettes after sex' on the speaker.

-> se-mi, who starts hanging out more with the boys and talks a lot about you.

-like a lot. nam-gyu is tired. he has to see you at home and now hear about you??

-> se-mi, who loves chill dates with you, like staying at home and watching some movie.

-> se-mi, who has to get used to the guys because half of the dates probably include them bc they feel left out:(

its like you two are mothers going out with three kids. three very dumb kids (26 year old adults). but you love them and se-mi learns to love them too .. kind of. give her time.

-> se-mi, who not even two months in she's decoring your room with your favorite flowers and a sign that says 'would you let me be your girlfriend?' you kiss her until your lips go numb.

-> gf!se-mi who doesn't know how to keep her hands out of you. her hands on your hips, hugging you from behind, circles on your waist, underneath your shirt.

-> gf!se-mi who loves playing video games. she's SO happy when she finds out you don't actually like playing but you like watching. she buys all your favorite games and plays them all for you

"BABY, TURN RIGHT. I'VE WATCHED THIS 20 TIMES, GO RIGHT" you shout at her.

"do you wANNA PLAY?" she replies, getting exasperated trying to follow your indications.

you pout as you shook your head.

she loves this. wouldn't trade it for the world.

-> gf!se-mi who loves taking you shopping to the mall. clearly for the lingerie stores. probably ends up fingering you in there.

she buys anything you like, baby is poor but she tries SO hard for her girl:(

you're pointing at a plushie?? it's yours.

clothes u like? she knows your size, it's yours.

-> gf!se-mi who discovered your music tastes are so different that she can't believe she's listening to taylor swift and olivia rodrigo songs to learn them for you. she's incredibly down bad.

-> gf!se-mi who gets you a necklace with her initial

"for: baby

it's not because i own you, but because i really know you :)"

-> gf!se-mi who gets SO nervous when you wanna introduce her to ur parents. and she's so happy when they approved her.

-> gf!se-mi that is SOO smart, everytime she helps u study you're moaning.

-> gf!se-mi that's not studying for now, just working. but you are.

and when she sees you burned out? oh she's the first one to be there helping.

"baby, you've been studying for hours, let's take a break"

"i can't sem. my parents-"

"okay okay, let's go through the flashcards again and we'll take a nap, how does that sound?"

-> gf!se-mi that is there when you get a 87 and not a 100. and you're crying about what your parents are going to say while she caress your hair and kisses you.

"we'll start again in a bit if you want to, but for now let it out princess" she kisses your temple.

-> gf!se-mi who everyone stares when she takes you to campus. but she has no idea, she's just looking at you.

-> gf!se-mi who's a fuckgirl in recovery tho..

like the idea of cheating does not cross her mind. but sometimes she smiles. too much.

and maybe some girl is winking at her because god you have a HOT girlfriend.

and she just turns to you, smirking.

"did u see that babe? i haven't lost my charm ;)" she says as you scoff in disbelief. you two end up making out until her brain is too fuzzy to remember what she told you.

"just wanted her to see that you're mine" you say as you clean up any of your messed up lipstick.

her boxers are wet. sticky and wet.

and if someone you know is frequently flirting with her? next time they'll see her, she has three big bruised spots on her neck, and she's SO happy.

one time she had a little admirer at her job who went to see her like three times a week.

baby: she's here!!!!!!!!!!!

me: who???

me: wait.. stalker??

baby: mhm.

and when you leave her on seen, she frowns. she scans everything this girl is taking as she feels her phone vibrating. she checks her messages and oh! it's you!

two photos. one of you in her favorite red lingerie and the second one, you moving aside those pretty panties to send your bare pussy.

she's drooling. and her brain is pretty much broken.

"i-m-m sorry" she stutters to the girl in front of her, who frowns. "min-su cover for me! i'll stay tomorrow" se-mi screams at him and smiles at the girl who looks like her heart got crushed.

-> gf!se-mi who also gets jealous easily. match made in heaven!

give her two seconds before she's eyeing up and down with a cold stare to anyone who's talking to you. her hands grip your waist as they start to roam over your body, she leaves a wet neck kiss as she gets close to your ear.

"bathroom. right now. or you wanna show them you're only my whore? because i'll fuck you right here and i'll make them watch" she whispers on your ear while you're talking, making you shiver.

yeah forget the chat, it wasn't that interesting anyways.

-> gf!se-mi that spends every sundays with you

lazy days, laying in bed hugging and kissing eachother, picking two books out of your book shelf to read for a while. if it's raining?? movie, take out food and a nap.

she just wants to be with you, does not care about anything else.

-> gf!se-mi that if you're into romantic stuff, she's doing her best for her girl. sometimes she forgets tbh but there it is min-su to remind her!

se-mi: 😭 she's mad at me

min-su: it's flower day. according to tik tok, girl's wanna receive a yellow bouquet

se-mi: you're my second favorite person.

and she's at your door 30 minutes after you got mad with a yellow bouquet, smiling behind it.

she really tries.

-> gf!se-mi who knows how to draw so well, she actually draws a bouquet of ur favorite flowers to give u every month.

-> gf!se-mi who finds tik toks about kitties and sends them to you.

you open tik tok once again as you see a new video sent by your girlfriend. is a black cat licking a white cat with a pink bow

semisucks: das us:)

-> gf!se-mi who loves when you do skincare on her but she already has a pretty spotless face. although she uses hand soup to wash her face

-> gf!se-mi who never stopped flirting with you, she has to keep her girl

" you look so good tonight, you're lucky i have a wife or ill be taking you to bed real fast" she says winking as you roll your eyes.

-> gf!se-mi that after two years of dating, wants to move with you.

"you didnt ask for our consent" thanos says, shooking his head no as you both tell them the news.

"you steal our best friend and now you want her to move? that's not happening" nam gyu agrees with him.

you stare at the three of them who are fighting about you like little kids.

"well, i guess its time to bring the second choice" i say to se-mi as she places her head on the table as she mumbles 'fuck'

"she moves here" i say, staring at those two as they stare at eachother.

"fine. but no moaning" thanos says as nam gyu nods.

-> gf!se-mi who hates her birthday, except this year, when you throw her a mini surprise party with nam-gyu, thanos and min-su.

-> gf!se-mi who can't cook... please don't make her.

-> gf!se-mi who protects you and puts you on top of anything.

you're her girl after all.

nsfw hc!

-> gf!se-mi who has an obsession with your tits, when youre riding her? shes having a blast seeing your tits bounce

-> gf!se-mi who fucks u in public places. 100%

-> gf!se-mi who has a broken brain when she sees you with a new lingerie set.

-> gf!se-mi who has a black strap. and god she knows how to use it

-> gf!se-mi who didn't do it right if you're not crying and trembling by the end of the night.

-> gf!se-mi who loves quickies. everytime you two are about to go out you're suddenly 15 minutes late because you just looked so cute in that oufit, that she had to eat you out.

-> gf!se-mi who quiets her whimpers everytime you're eating her out while she's playing with the guys.

"are you okay? focus dip shit" nam-gyu says to her.

she's on her chair, completely flustered and out of breath, biting her lips while you're swirling around her clit.

"i'm- i'm fine" she sttuters as she quickly mutters the mic, her hand grabs your hair. "right there princess"

-> gf!se-mi who loves to hear you while she fucks you. if you're not screaming she's not happy.

-> gf!se-mi that gets extremely frustrated when you tease her in public.

it's okay, she'll make you her slut when you're back home<3

[carasspice]

I'd been invited over to an old college friend's new house along with two other semi close friends if you can have such a thing. I guess I'd been there for maybe forty minutes with Jason happily chatting along about work, homes and so on when I asked where his fiancée was as I'd expected the two of them to be present along with the other two who hadn't turned up yet.

His face was almost ashen as he took a ring from his pocket, held it in the palm of his hand and dissolved into tears.

"She's gone Wendy, two days ago we had a chat followed by one hell of an argument and she said she couldn't live with me any longer. We only bought this place a few months ago, I spent a fortune decorating it as she wanted and she walked out. What do I do? I can't afford to pay for this on my own and she wants her half back as soon as it's sold."

"I knew something was wrong when you opened the door but never imagined, oh fuck it, I'm so sorry Jason, I thought you two were so happy together."

"So did I, how wrong can you be but I don't know what to do."

I had my arms around him with his head on my shoulder for a while before I noticed his hand stroking up and down my side. Maybe I was stupid or out of order but I took that hand and placed him on my breast. As soon as I'd done it I realised that I was probably as surprised as he was and even more so when he kissed me and his hand settled on my thigh.

"Suspenders Wendy?" he queried just as I wiped his tears away with my thumb.

"Always Jason, tights are functional for work or whatever, any other time I go for stockings."

"That's good, I like stockings." he replied rather nervously but his fingers appeared to like following the outline of the suspender clasps on my leg. I looked at his face and streaks of those tears and my brain jumped into one of those moments when you can't tell if you're being stupid or whatever.

"Listen Jason, why are we wasting time? Don't be angry with me but would you like to take me to bed? I suspect you might and I'd like the same, what do you think? You need a life after ... what was her name? Anyhow, I can fuck as well as she could most likely."

"Her name? I forget but we shouldn't, should we, could we?"

"Why not? She's gone and won't be back. You're single and so am I, I'm happy to share your bed and if you are then ... tell you what, give me ten minutes, take the champagne to your bedroom and I'll join you. Allow me to show you what this gal has to offer and I promise not to walk out in the next hour or two."

My dress was hanging behind the bathroom door as I gave my teeth a swift clean with my fingertip. I checked the mirror and tried to make my hair look a little more attractive or even sexy, took a little make-up from my bag and immediately put it back. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a moment and told myself there was no going back but maybe I wasn't looking for a way to go back. I should have checked before stepping into the bathroom but I only discovered the correct bedroom after looking into two others.

"Wow, now that is some bed. Am I okay Jason? I don't want to disappoint you and more importantly are you okay with me being here. I left my dress ... I'm talking too much, right?"

He smiled, shook his head and then nodded whatever those movements meant, pulled down the bed clothes and held out his hand.

"You look sensational Wendy, turn around and ... how many straps do you have there?"

"No idea Jason, you'll have to check them out and why are you wearing boxers? I never wear anything in bed for very long and always sleep in the buff. Did you remember her name yet?"

"The boxers can go and the name will be on the calendar somewhere."

"Hey, I'll deal with the boxers, you do whatever you like with the lingerie. I'm not a shy girl Jason. Let's look at this as your first step in your new life without whatever her name was ... was and not is as she's gone."

"You do talk too much Wendy, I need to check out those straps and you can ... mmmmmm ."

I never allowed him to say another word as I tugged those boxers away, his left hand was inside the back of my thong while his right pulled my bra up and over my boobs.

"Unfasten the thing Jason, get rid of it all, I love naked and I'm staying the night, okay?"

"I think so, yes Wendy, absolutely." he replied as my bra strap was unfastened first with the one at my waist and one just above my hips being twanged and unfastened."

"Don't forget the straps to my stockings Jason."

"I'm leaving those but this thong has to go and then I'll refasten the belt."

"Oh okay, funny how guys love stockings and suspenders, did you remember her name yet?" I teased. "So how do you plan to get the thong out of your way?"

"Bugger, I hadn't worked that bit out, I need to unfasten one stocking don't I?"

"Forget it, just get me naked and fuck me. Oh hell, you have no idea how much I wanted you to fuck me back at uni, but you were with the nameless one."

Within seconds my belt and thong were stripped down my legs taking my stockings with with them and just as all was stuck around my ankles his face plunged to my muff with his nose and mouth swiping and twisting from side to side, every which way there was. I was in hysterics by the time his rather lovely cock slid inside me while my feet tried to get free from at least one leg's encumbrances.

"Fuck me harder you college boy."

"Yes Miss Wendy."

So our friendship was well and truly cemented about seven times that evening and during the night plus another two after a breakfast break.

Jason was in the bathroom when I answered a call for him only to discover it was the ex. "Oh good morning Alice, I hear you two split up and ... What was that? Okay so yes I am in his bed and yes I stayed the night as his fiancée fucked off and left him in tears, yes I fucked him for hours and yes I will fuck him again once he's finished in the bathroom. I don't give a shit if my language offends you, I fucked him Alice and not the other way round. I've wanted to fuck with him since our second week at uni so you can blame me as much as you like but not Jason. Actually, you can blame yourself, did you want something?"

"How much, no chance you bitch?" I exclaimed as she demanded a fortune yet couldn't be bothered to speak to Jason. "You must be in fucking cloud cuckoo land, I know how much this would sell for and I can imagine how much the mortgage is, you'll get twenty quid after legal fees and not much more."

We had a few more words before I slammed the phone down.

"Hey Jason, Alice is on her way round to empty the wardrobe unless you want me to dump her things on the drive. I'm going nowhere and if the evil bitch wants a fight I'll give her one."

"No, it's not your fight Wendy."

"Oh I think it is now, I just told her she'll get twenty quid from the sale if she's lucky and that I fucked you about fifty times, shall we make it fifty-one before she gets here?"

xxxx

[fuctacles]

<< 15 | 0 | 17 >>

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For the first half of the night, Eddie tries to focus on their next movie but the anxiety bubbling inside doesn't let him. He realizes his feelings are real, and as scary as his own infatuation might be, the idea of Steve feeling the same is even more terrifying. Because where does he go from there? Being friends is easy, he knows how to do that. But dating? Dating a guy? Steve The Hair Harrington, no less—?!

He's jolted from his thoughts when his fingers are pried open and his joint slips out. A frowning Argyle is kneeling in front of him, and a frowning Argyle is the last thing anyone would want to see. 

But his big, warm hand is rubbing Eddie's knee soothingly and it helps him settle back into his body and the soft couch.

"No more weed for you, brochacho," Argyle tells him. "Your vibe is off and I don't want you to have a bad trip."

Eddie nods, knowing better than to argue.

"Okay. Can I have a beer?"

"I guess," Argyle shrugs, before turning to crawl back to his place between Jonathan and Robin, in a makeshift nest of pillows and blankets. 

"Here." A can of beer dangles in front of Eddie's face. "You can finish mine," Steve offers. 

Eddie shakes his head slowly. 

"Nah, I'll get another one." He unglues himself from the couch, but immediately gets pushed back into it. 

"Sit. I'll do it."

"Oh, how the turns have tabled," Robin grins up at them and Steve flips her off as he stands. 

He leaves Eddie with his unfinished beer and it fills him with warmth. Before he takes a sip, he briefly holds it to his chest, like it's a precious gift from a lover. 

"These are the last ones, so make them count." Steve puts the beers on the coffee table, grabbing one for himself. He scratches Eddie's head before sitting down and oh, yeah, he gets now why he likes it so much. It feels so fucking good he could purr. 

"You alright?" Steve leans close, too close, his breath warming Eddie's cheek. "Wanna turn in early?"

Eddie shakes his head, briefly hoping the movement makes him brush against Steve's lips. His thoughts are a needy mush.

"But thank you," he whispers. 

He's not prepared for Steve's arm to wrap around him and push him close but he quickly melts against the embrace. He's warm and relaxed and briefly regrets turning down the offer to go to bed. But he wants to finish the movie, even if he knows he won't remember the ending tomorrow. 

When he chugs down the last drops of his beer, Steve takes the empty can from him and they share the last one together, the rest already distributed between their friends. The night is winding down, the movie is coming to an end, and Eddie is blissed out in everything that's Steve Harrington. 

"Can I sleep with you?" 

Eddie blinks his eyes open, not even sure when he closed them. Robin is kneeling in front of him, wobbly and pouting. 

"No, sorry," the quiet words rumble through Eddie's body. "Already promised Eddie."

She huffs, knocks her head against Steve's knee and turns around to crawl back to the fluffy nest made by Jonathan and Argyle. 

"Fine, our pillow nest is better anyway," she says, slurring the words together. 

Steve chuckles, shaking Eddie in the process, and it's only then, when a warm hand rubs against his side, that he realizes he's curled against his friend's chest. Thank gods for substances because he'd burn to a crisp from shame otherwise. 

"I'm already jealous," Steve says. "You really okay sleeping here?" he asks, straightening up slightly. His arm curls tighter around Eddie to secure him from falling. 

Argyle flops in the middle of the pillow pile with a sigh.

"It's perfect," he assures. 

"Do you want extra blankets or something?"

"Nah," Robin says, wrapping herself into what she's already snatched from the linen closet. 

"Well, yell if you need anything, then. Eddie?" The hand on his side rubs with purpose, to gain his attention. "Ready to go upstairs?"

"No." Something petulant and childish wakes up in Eddie's chest. Well, more childish than usual. "Carry me," he demands, blinking up at his friend. 

"I'd love to." Steve's hands tighten around him and he has to press his lips together not to make a sound. "But I'm too drunk not to drop you on the stairs. Maybe another time."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, standing up along with him. "Another time." Of course there will be another time, they share the bed so often these days. 

They say their goodnight and stumble upstairs, pushing each other and giggling. It's a miracle none of the photos lining the wall fall down. (The miracle is also called Steve's reflexes.)

Eddie has forgotten all about his little detour earlier, until he bumps into his friend's back, frozen in the door frame while he sniffs the air. 

"What is that?"

"Huh?"

Steve flips the light switch and the mortifying memory of what he's done hits him in all its decades old glory. Then again, the contrast of Frankenbunny and the atrocious blue sheets, mixed with the alcohol and weed, make Eddie snort out an ugly laugh. 

"Well, I caught a rabbit for you, I guess," he barks out, and gets a mixed look of amusement and concern. 

Steve hastily closes the door so Eddie's antics don't bother their friends downstairs. 

"What?" he asks with confusion, reaching for the plushie sitting on top of his bed. Eddie has half a mind to stop him, but then Steve is cradling Frankenbunny's floppy, long ears and gently fixing his vest, and whatever he wanted to say gets stuck in his throat. "What do you mean?" he asks again, sitting down to look at him curiously, the plushie in his lap. Looking up at Eddie as well, with its stitched black eyes. 

"Uh, from the song?" Eddie answers, focusing on his childhood friend. "The Elvis one." He suddenly feels extremely dumb. What was he thinking? Well, he was thinking about the old rabbit plushie in his closet and how it would be a funny reference to the song and okay, maybe he let his freshly discovered crush guide his actions, yeah, he can see it now.

"Sorry, thought it would be funny," he shrugs helplessly, before looking from the bunny up to Steve. And he doesn't like what he's seeing. "Shit, did I offend you? I didn't mean to, I swear, I was just being dumb—"

Steve shakes his head to stop him.

"No, this is very nice, I appreciate it. It's just..." he sighs deeply, his shoulders sagging. With a grunt, he falls backwards on the mattress, Frankenbunny following close to his chest. Eddie feels like he's being hugged himself, air being squeezed out of his lungs. He tentatively follows onto the bed. 

"We're supposed to be pack creatures, you know?" Steve continues once he feels the mattress dip as Eddie joins him. He turns his head to look at him, the angle slightly upside down. "But I presented later than most, my parents didn't even think I have a wolf at all," he scoffs. "Well, I don't, apparently. They called me a "domesticated mutt" and left for somewhere in California. I think."

It takes Eddie a moment to process what he's just heard. 

"Excuse me, what?" he frowns. 

"I'm not wolf-y enough so they didn't want me in the pack," he explains, looking back at Frankenbunny. He props him up to sit on his chest so he can play with his mismatched ears. "They actually told me not to spread the faulty genes, even."

The silence stretches for even longer, because Eddie fears he'd start screaming if he opened his mouth. 

"They're faulty genes," he grits through his teeth. "Pack animals my ass."

Steve shrugs awkwardly in his laying position.

"Well, at least they left me the house. I know it was just so I wouldn't follow them, but I've heard of wolves being killed or left for dead, so..."

He looks up when his head dips between Eddie's hands, who leans over to look at him properly. 

"It's shitty what they've done to you, and you should never think this is better than death," he tells him the obvious, knowing sometimes it's good to get reminded of the most mundane things. "Well, it is, I'd rather have you alive, but you can't settle down with this 'oh thank you for not killing me' attitude. Dude, fuck your parents," he says with passion.

And Steve, finally, smiles. 

"Fuck my parents."

tags:

@noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot

@dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1

@stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible

@bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets

@ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight

@eyehartart @ellietheasexylibrarian @im-sam-fucking-winchester

[marscantread7]

Sylus x Plus Size Reader/mc

Slight nsfw mention so mdni please!!!

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I'm a bit on the heavier side, like. Very plus size, and it's been on my mind for the past few days, like. Sylus w/ a plus size mc, and I'm not talking like average, what the media's idea of plus size is, I'm talkin like actual plus size.

Kinda a self insert, but thinking of mc just like poking and prodding at her skin bc it's just ugh! Like, this shirt just isn't looking right on her... maybe she should just go w/ the hoodie or wear a jacket over it like she originally planned, but here comes Sylus and he's all like, "🤨what r u doing?" And mc turns around and she's like, "this shirt just doesn't look right! Or feel right! None of this would be happening if I was smaller!" And Sylus just shuts it down real quick bc, "Sweetie. Ur perfect the way u r. U look absolutely stunning right now." And mc is very skeptical at first, bc she's literally just in typical lounge wear, but Sylus catches her gaze and decides to show her just how beautiful she is.

Omfg and like, thinking of how strong Sylus is. Like, okay another self insert😛 I'm 5'7 which isn't short, but it isn't necessarily tall either. So like, mc trying to like reach something on the highest shelf, and instead of just grabbing it for her, Sylus will lift her up so she can reach it. Just imagine her gripping onto his shoulders and looking down at him like, "Omg! Put me down, I'm too big!" And Sylus just giving her that look to try that again. "Sweetie, that means nothing to me. I'd be an inadequate partner if I couldn't support u in every way hm?" And just to spite her, he carries her away. Mmmmffffffggghhhh Sylus just randomly picking mc up at random bc he just loves holding her and🤤 Sylus holding her up and just fucking her. Like he doesn't even need to hold her against the wall! He can just pick her up and just go to town, no support.

And honestly another self insert, but I personally hate when I get insecure abt my weight and I'm ranting abt it and people get offended like "Ur not fat Marshall." Like that's such an insulting thing. Like, half the time I don't even mean it in a negative way when I point out my weight, I'm just stating an obvious fact. Like I'm big, that's a fact, u getting offended and acting like it's a bad thing that I'm big just makes me feel worse abt myself, hope this helps🙏🏾

Anyways, thinking abt mc like, criticizing her weight one day. Like, "I just don't see what u see in me. Like I'm not saying I'm ugly, but doesn't my weight make me a bit... unappealing?" And Sylus, oh the loverboy he is... "How dare u! Kitten, ur the sexiest person I've ever laid my eyes on." And he goes on this whole spiel abt how weight means nothing to him bc like??? Why should it? Like, genuinely what's so unappealing abt a little extra weight? If anything, he likes her size personally, and boy does he make it obvious. Always pinching those chubby lil cheeks, squeezing her thighs, resting his head on her stomach after a long day. And don't get him started on that ass😛😛😛 the way it bounces as he's fucking mc from behind. The recoil when he gives it a light smack, signaling her to "stay still baby, I'm gonna cum too soon if u move like that." BOY... like wow! Yeah #needthatNEOW

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Anyways that's all. Sorry for like the poor grammar and not spelling words out all the way😭😭😭 I didn't intend for this to be as long as it is. I would have written it properly if I knew I was gonna be doin allat. But anyways yeah. This was just one giant thought I had bc it's like ugh! I just know Sylus would treat a big girl so well and squish down and anxieties and doubts she has abt herself and his thoughts on her. Like yeah... this was literally just written for myself😭😭😭

Also ik I use mc, but u can read it as like a y/n or reader type of thing. I just didn't feel like using "you" atm😪😪😪

[jareaul0ver]

I love you, I'm Sorry

wc: 978 warnings: angsty but a happy ending! pairings: nika muhl x fem!reader

A/N: omg im actually posting?? don't get used to this i go back to school soon and probably wont post anything til either spring break or the summer

Two Years Ago

You were pacing around your apartment, waiting for Nika to come over like she said she would.

Nika's been your unofficial girlfriend for a while, but you never put a label on what you had.

But she was leaving for the W soon, and you either wanted all or nothing with her.

A few minutes into your pacing, there was a knock on the door. You walked over and opened it, seeing Nika's smiling face. "You wanted to talk?" She said.

You nodded and invited her in. "Do you want anything to drink? Coffee or tea?"

Nika shook her head and sat down on your couch. "I'm okay, thank you."

A small sigh left your body as you went over and sat down, leaving a bit of space between the two of you just in case everything went south.

"What's this about?" She asked cautiously.

You took a deep breath and leaned back into the couch a little. "You're leaving soon, and-"

"That doesn't mean this has to end, if that's where you're going with this," Nika interjected.

A small frustrated sigh left your lips. "What even is this, Nika? Are we girlfriends? Or just casually fucking?" She stayed silent and you just scoffed. "It's your choice, either we put a label on this, or I'm done."

The last thing Nika wanted was to completely lose you, but she didn't like the ultimatum you were giving her. "That's not fair, I need to focus on basketball-"

"And just lead me on the whole time? Have me thinking we could be something more, even though we never will be?" You tried to keep your voice steady, but it was getting difficult.

She sighed and stood up. "I- I'm sorry, but I can't do this," she said before grabbing her things and walking to the door.

You stood up and watched her. She was so ready to leave, no hesitation. "So that's it then? You're just leaving?"

Nika's jaw twitched and she stared at you for a moment. "I"m sorry," she mumbled before opening the door and leaving, letting it close behind her.

You forced your eyes away from the door and looked out the window, watching the May atmosphere warming up the world, but it felt so cold in your apartment without Nika.

It hadn't been that long since Nika left for the W, and everyone already loved her. She charmed everyone she met, other players, fans, the media.

It's like she trained herself, got lessons on how to be a people person. She never was before. She was always polite, but kept to herself.

Except around you. You always were able to break down her walls and see what was really going on with her, how she really was.

But now you see this people pleaser on TV and social media, and all you can do is complain to your friends about it.

Two Summers from Now

After a while, you had managed to get over Nika. Well, more so over what happened with her.

You'd always have a soft spot for the girl, she saw you and supported you at your worst, and you could never stop loving her because of it.

It was ironic. You were about to head out to Seattle to visit some friends, and Nika was about to get on a plane back to Storrs to see her friends.

At this moment, you broke no contact with her. You sent her a text, hoping she didn't have you blocked, or that she didn't change her number.

You were a little surprised to see an answer from her short after you sent the message. The two of you ended up talking about life, realizing that just maybe, you could be cool with her.

She gave you some advice about Seattle, and you let her know how excited the other UConn girls would be to see her again.

The next few days went by in a blur. You were in Seattle, taking in the scenery, leaning out the window of your hotel and having a drink.

I love you, I'm Sorry

You were still in Seattle. You didn't realize that Nika had messaged your friends, asking what hotel you were at and your room number.

She came back early, and she wanted needed to see you before you left. She wanted to attempt to fix things.

Nika's feelings for you never left. She knew that she reacted badly when you told her what you wanted, and she wasn't sure that she could forgive herself for walking away so easily.

But she at least needed you to know that she still loved you.

At about 10pm that night, there was a knock on your hotel door. You looked over in confusion before getting up from your bed and walking over.

You opened the door, and it was like everything from the past few years came flooding back. "Nika?" You invited her inside. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to say sorry for everything. For the way I reacted back then, I was a dick about it, and you didn't deserver any of it," she said.

You were speechless, so she took it as her que to keep going. "I was the worst, and every time I go for a drive I think about the ones we used to take to clear our heads. I swear, it haunts me-" She cleared her through.

"Nika-" You said, but she cut you off.

"I still love you, I'm sorry." The words fell from her lips so effortlessly, you couldn't help but want to give in and see where it led.

So you did. You caved and rushed up to her, pressing your lips against hers.

It lasted for a few seconds before you rested your forehead against hers. "I love you, and I'm sorry, too."

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Family

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: While you thought you're about to spend your perfect anniversary night with your boyfriend, life reminds you otherwise.

Warnings: sadness, depressive thoughts, infertility, pregnancy, endometriosis

Word count: 1k

A/N: What can I even say.. I've been at the doctor's today, for check up after my surgery, which was a year ago and I got confirmed that my endometriosis is growing back. Not that I wouldn't know, because I know my body, but being said the facts out loud is hard. I spent my afternoon crying, curled on the couch, questioning myself in case of being able to have a child one day. To get myself out of the misery, I wrote this, because I would like to have someone to come home to me and hold me in his arms, just giving me the support through all this shit. I already wrote a few pieces endometriosis related, so if you want, check it out too. Love you all. <3

---

It was meant to be a perfect day, you had plans to cook some dinner and also had some spicy things in your mind for the night.

Getting through your doctors appointments was something you got used to in the last year, after you had a surgery for your endometriosis. You felt something was off for a few months, your cramps crawling, stabbing you in the back again, those flares being harsh to the point you couldn't even sit. But you held your optimism, trying not to scare George, because worrying him while he was at his prime perfomance during the season wasn't on the list.

Today was meant to be special because you had a two years anniversary.

"Can you see these lesions here? It's back again, I'm sorry."

The words you somehow expected, but didn’t want to hear. The same spiral of pain, hormone shots, nausea and... infertility.

Yeah, you discussed it with George, because everything seems so easy to talk about with him, the idea of having kids.

It gutted you deeply, that you might not be able to give him a child.

As you got home, the space was quiet, only the soft humming of aircondition was heard, making your heart clench, that he's not even there to embrace your mess, even though it's not his fault. George was meant to be home in the evening, but you had a message in your voicemail, that he can’t get home in time, because of the delayed flight. Okay, he'll be here in the morning.

But your sadness and depresive thoughts will be with you through the night. Torturing your mind, getting the best of you, making you feel worthless and weak.

---

"Baby...?"

The faint sound of the deep voice woke you from the nap. You cried yourself to sleep in the living room, still wearing your clothes you went to the doctors in. The coat scattered on the ground next to the couch, your shoes kicked in the hallway, tissues to which you drowned your tears everywhere around you.

George knew something happened, it tugged at his heartstrings, when he saw you like this. Sad, messy and depressed.

You groaned a little, disoriented, while he sat beside you, his gaze locked on your face.

"What happened?"

Softly, he took your hand into his, brushing over your knuckles, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

Then it hit you again. "It's back again, I'm sorry."

Tears burning in your eyes, you avert them to the side, not able to look into his beautiful ocean blue eyes.

"Hey, love... Don't do this. I know, that something is wrong, but don't try to avoid me, I'm here for you, remember?"

The flicker of hope, that you’re not that worthless went through your mind, your gaze finally locking on his, pouring all your hurt into the pool of his positivity.

"I was at the doctor's today."

Oh no. There's was only one thing that was able to get this reaction out of you.

"How bad is it?"

His hand wander slowly to your cheek, brushing a thumb over it.

"It's not worse than last time, but still... It's there. Again. For fucks sake, again. I hate it so much. I hate myself."

The breaking point, your emotions flew out, your voice cracking and your tears staining your cheeks, your eyes red even more than before.

George pulled you closer to him, letting you lean against him, as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. The scent of him mixed with his cologne was enough to calm you down a little bit. He was your safe haven.

"Shhh... It's okay, just- just let it out. Be angry, scream and cry. Don't hold it in your mind. I'm here to hold you, to pick up your shattered pieces." his voice was soothing lullaby, when your cries got louder and more desperate. Brushing his fingers through your hair, he pressed the kiss on your temple, rocking you as his arms were wrapped around you tightly.

"I might not be able to have a child, George." you choked out between your sobs, and he looked down at your face with frown.

"Is that the thing that concern you the most?"

"Obviously. What a woman I am, to not give her man a child."

George felt partly offended by your words, but he kept his composure, because he was used to your hateful comments towards yourself, even, for the most of the time, you were a hell of a confident woman, loving yourself.

"Don't talk like this, please. You're much more than a baby machine." he tried to be funny and.. it worked. You smiled through your tears. He reached for your cheek, wiping off your emotions, smiling a little.

"You can't lose hope just like that. We can be lucky, you know. We just have to try, be patient and somewhere along the way, we're gonna be blessed. I don't care if it's gonna be in a month or in years. I'll be there for you along the way. As I always am. And even though we don't get lucky, I'm lucky to have you. And that's all that matters in my life, because you're my family."

And as ever, he managed to give you peace, calming warmth flooded your soul, making you sure in that George is the one.

---

Watching the screen of the ultrasound machine as you laid down on the examination table at your doctor’s, you couldn’t shake the excitement. George, holding your hand, standing beside you, was watching your expression, his chest fluttering at how happy you were.

"Ah, seems like you got very lucky." The doctor chuckled, pointing to the screen, showing two strong fetuses.

"What does it mean?" George asked first, clearly confused.

"That means that you're gonna have twins."

You nearly passed out while you gasped loudly.

"What?! Two of them?"

George only chuckled, kissing your forehead, nuzzling his nose to your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

"Guess we were pretty thorough with our trying." he whispered with teasing tone in his voice.

[l0relaii]

cockwarming with josh please please pretty please with a cherry on top 🙏🏻🙏🏻 or just misc. thoughts about him that you haven’t written about yet

oh well, since you asked so nicely i guess i have to write this 🤭

this is gonna be another long one, enjoy slutsss sjajw 🌝

you came home after a long day and found josh watching a psychology documentary for a college project

jeez he's so hot when he's all concentrated, his brows a bit furrowed and pretty green eyes so focused

you wish they'd stop for a second and focus on you instead

you decide to not disturb him, even though the ache between your legs only intensified when you leaned down where he was seated on the couch and landed a soft kiss to his cheek

he was startled a bit since he did not even notice when you entered his apartment, he didn't even hear you knocking over the old man that was speaking on tv, good thing he left the door unlocked

"oh hi babe, sorry if i ignored you, i was just so caught up i guess i didn't notice you"

"no problem josh, whatchu watching?"

"just some documentary for a project"

"that sounds.. fun"

"trust me, it's not"

he leans back on the couch cushions letting out a long sigh closing his eyes. after a moment he opens them and you can see a grin on his face when he notices you on your knees between his legs

"why don't you let me.. help you relax for a bit? i imagine it's veeery hard working when you have other.. problems"

your hand sneaks up his thigh and slides across his crotch the moment you say the last word

problems

huh, maybe he does need to relax a bit and let you take care of him.

no, knowing himself he'd forget all about the documentary and the project and he wouldn't get anything done if he surrenders to your offer

"as much as i appreciate your offer babe- i'll have to decline, at least until i'm done with this bullshit"

the little sly smirk on your face is replaced by a confused frown. what's wrong with him? he never refused you. maybe this project really is that important after all

"oh, okay then.."

you say as you lift yourself up and go around the couch heading for the bathroom

"i'm gonna take a bath"

"maybe if i'm done after that we can continue what we started"

"oh i like the sound of that.. in that case i'll take my time in the bathroom to let you finish"

it's been one hour. your skin got all wrinkly from how long you had sat in the water filled bathtub.

what were you expecting? for him to join you?

is that why you left the bathroom door wide open? or was it to listen and check if that goddamn documentary was finally over?

well it wasn't.

you could still hear that old man's voice from the living room, echoing through the hallway and into the bathroom

jesus, you wondered how could he listen so intently to him? you couldn't even process one thing that he said since you arrived home

maybe you just didn't care about anything he had to say, or you refused to listen to him out of spite for 'stealing' away your boyfriend, a childish way to behave but what could you do?

you came home from a long exhausting day and all you wanted was for josh to fuck you silly

you finally step out of the bathtub and wrap a towel around yourself before exiting the bathroom and heading back to the living room

if josh wasn't going to take a break on his own accord, you were going to make him

you move so fast, it's like you're possessed by something and can't control yourself. you step in front of the tv and drop your towel without even thinking

but then you snap out of your frenzy and realize what you've just done, your face heating up from the embarrassment

you can't even bring yourself to look at josh, but you don't have to do that to notice the way he's shifting on the couch

"come here"

"josh-"

"i said come here"

you obey him stepping towards the couch and only then you notice his pants and underwear are off. ohhh, so that's why he was shifting so much

"what has gotten into you, huh? can't even wait 'till i'm done baby?"

"i'm sorry i-"

"i don't think you are, i think you wanted this since the beginning sweetheart"

"josh, please-"

you don't get to finish because he's grabbing your hand and pulling you in his lap. your breath hitches when your back hits his chest. your skin is still a bit damp from your bath but he doesn't seem to care

"now, you're gonna sit still on my cock until it's all over and listen to every single damn thing, are we clear?"

"y-yes"

he lifts you a bit and drags his length through your already slick folds before nudging his tip at your entrance and pushing you all the way down

your breath hitches at the slight sting but you don't get to protest because he shoves a notebook and a pen in you hands

"maybe you could even help me a little with my notes, huh? you think you can do that?"

absolutely not. you spent the last hour despising the sound of anything from that documentary, and now you're expected to write down notes? oh hell n-

"yes josh"

"good girl.."

holy shit, what are you gonna do? how are you supposed to write anything with his cock pulsing deep inside you?

oh but that's not all.. the teasing bastard decided to start rubbing circles around your clit while nipping at your shoulder blade

"what's wrong babe..? is it hard? trying to do something and being constantly distracted?"

"mfuck, josh-"

his hand slaps down on your sensitive nub, not hard enough to cause actual pain, but hard enough to send a stinging feeling straight to your core

"ohh, d'you like that baby? you're squeezing me so damn hard, fuck-"

you can feel him throbbing inside you, is he close? jeez, and he hasn't even moved, and you're not sure he will with the iron grip his other hand has on your hip holding you down

"oh c'mon josh, this is ridiculous"

you say turning your head and trying to wiggle your hips a little. maybe you'll convince him to finally give you what you wanted all evening?

you feel another slap on your pussy, this time a little harsher than before

"eyes forward babe, you should be watching the documentary, not me. ohhh look, you haven't taken any notes?"

another slap.

"what a shame.. i guess we're gonna have to watch the whole thing again? maybe then you'll be a good girl and do as you're told.. how long was it? 2 or 3 hours if i remember correctly..? "

"jesus fucking christ josh, i'm sorry, look i'm writing please please don't start it over please"

you start scribbling down on the paper in a desperate attempt to make him change his mind

maybe you are gonna have to listen to this shit after all

and you notice that the old man's voice you heard from the bathroom is not that unpleasant at all, on the contrary, he captivates you

maybe that's why josh was so drawn to this thing in the first place

after you're done and you show him what you've written down josh praises you and actually starts moving his hips pulling you tightly into his chest

"that's my smart girl.. look at you darling.. maybe we should watch some more documentaries together from now on, huh?"

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Continuation.... (stalkers!taskforce 141 x reader)

Incorrect quotes.... Let's goo!!!!

Warning: It does get NSFW

*loud arguing from inside the walls*

Y/N yelling from the couch: Can I get a waffle?

*silence*

Y/N: Can I please get a waffle?

*silence*

Y/N: That's what I though.... Suckers.

.................

Y/N: Helloooo

Ghost: It's 4am. Shut the fuck up or we are shutting down the WiFi.

*silence*

Ghost: Finally.

*le several minutes later*

Y/N leaning close to Ghost's ear: Herroooo

Ghost falling of the bed: Fucking 'ell!! It's illegal for you to be this QUIET!!!!

Soap rushing in the room: Simon wh- Y/N!!! How did you get in here? This fortress.. is impenetrable?

Y/N: Door was unlocked

Ghost: Son of a bitch

..............

Price: Okay kid.... I'm gonna put this bag over your head, now. Don't struggle.

Y/N: Why?

Price: So you don't see where we are taking you.

Y/N: is it.... somewhere....in my own house?

Price: Well-

Y/N: In the same house I constantly bust you in?

Price:

Y/N: This house?

Price, impatient: Yes, this house. Now, put this on.

Y/N: Can't.

Price, irritated: Why not.

Y/N, quietly: Tied up.

Price: Right.

Y/N: It's not gonna last you know.... It's not that big of a house. I will find you again.

Soap: Shouldn't WE say that.

Gaz: I feel threatened.

Ghost: We made renovations.

Price: Don't tell her that.

Y/N: So you made extra space.

Price: Maybe...

Y/N: ....And didn't fix the leaking roof.

*silence*

Soap chiming in: I dug holes under the house for the water.

Y/N: You did WHAT?!

Price: Shit. Don't trash around... My duck tape!!!

.........

Price fixing the holes from under the house: Kid, listen. I am sorry for my sergent.

Y/N: Man with your cake shouldn't call me "kid".

Price: My what?

Y/N: I have too many spicy thoughts to consider you a father figure.

Price: Not sure I want to understand that.

Y/N: I unfrathered you soon after our first meeting.

Price: Please, stop.

*silence*

*Price reaching toward his shirt*

Y/N: No, keep your shirt off.

Price:

Y/N: Yeah...Flex them muscles.

Price, frantically looking around: What? Where are you?

Y/N: Don't worry about it.

Price spotting a small camera: Did you put surveillance on us.

Y/N: Shhh.... Keep working bby girl. Do your thing.

Price: Don't call me that!

.......

Y/N: It's a crime I am being stalked but nothing more.

*silence*

Y/N: I said-

Ghost: We heard what you said. We can hear everything you are saying.

Y/N: So?

Ghost: What do you want more? Torture?

Y/N, mischievously: I will send you some clips.

Ghost: Our network is secured. You can't just-

*ding*

Ghost: Okay... Not happy about that.

*ding* *ding*

Ghost: I got it.

*ding* *ding* *ding* *ding*

Ghost: Captain!

Price: Yeah. I got it. Opening now.

Price: Oh my-

Ghost: We are NOT doing that!!!

Gaz: This is deranged.

Soap, stripping: Guess I will take one for the team.

Soap, yelling: Hey lass. If I do that, ya need to put on a helmet.

Price: Don't even think about it!

...........

Soap: It's a very quiet evening.

*silence*

Soap: I will fix the roof in the morning.

*silence*

Soap: Will you just talk to me?

*silence*

Soap, activating his puppy eyes: Your silence is killing me.

*silence*

Soap, angrily: Fine. Be like that. I don't care!

*from another room*

Ghost: Should we tell him, he is talking to a decoy doll for the past 20 minutes?

Price: Nah, let him be. Where is Y/N anyway?

Ghost: Shop? I think.

Price: You think?

Ghost: That's what I've heard.

Price, suspicious: Didn't Kyle say he was going shopping?

Ghost: Yeah.

Price:

Ghost:

Price: Fuck.

..........

*Gaz leisurely stretching on the couch*

Y/N: One down! Three more to go!

*on the other side of the house*

Ghost: Captain! The sergent is down.

Price: Shit. Y/N you will pay for this.

*Gaz laughing cause he can hear them through his ear piece*

Soap, stripping: I will avenge you.

Price: Mactavish! I said no!

...........

*in bed*

Y/N: Wasn't that bad, huh.

Price taking a deep drag from his cigar: Never said it was, doll.

Y/N, scrabbling something in a notebook and whispering: One more to go!

Price: Why one more?

Y/N: Mactavish ambushed me as soon as you feel asleep.

Price, laughing: God dammit.

Price wrapping his arms tightly around Y/N: Now we are never gonna leave... You know that, right? *planting a little kiss on Y/N forehead*

Y/N: I am counting on that.

.........

Y/N, dramatically: You are the last one left. Surrender.

Ghost, tryng not to laugh: Never.

Y/N: There is nowhere to go, Simon.

Ghost: You sure about that?

Y/N: Surrender! Or else.

Ghost: Alright. *drops pants*

Y/N: Shit- How? What do you eat?

Ghost, stretching his arms out: Come 'ere sweetheart.

Y/N, walking backwards toward the door: I think I forgot the bathroom oven opened.

Ghost, walking towards her: No, no. Come 'ere and take what you bargained for.

..........

That's it!

[gh0stly-mp3]

would you break my heart, oliver?

oliver aiku x teammate male!reader

synopisis: oliver aiku, your best friend, shows up at your apartment at 3 AM after breaking up with his gf cause he cheated, but you get mad at him

tags: bff!reader, center back!reader, reader is lovely, oliver is bad with real feelings, both are secretly in love

warnings: cheating, angst w happy ending, fear of unreciprocated love, pretty gn (like 2 mentions of gender)

Oliver is the typical womanizer (but with all genders) who never dates the same person for more than two months. According to him, he gets bored very quickly, which is why he has a new partner every few months.

You, on the other hand, have always been in long-term, consistent relationships, taking a while to confess to whomever you liked and always wanting to make sure that you both feel the same way about each other.

Even though you were opposites, you were still best friends and teammates for a long time, and you always scolded Oliver for his inconsequential attitudes towards his love life (but he hardly ever listened).

The last straw for you was when he showed up at your house at 3 AM because his then-girlfriend kicked him out after discovering he was talking to someone else on instagram. You were incredulous; you knew he was a scumbag, but you didn't expect it to be this bad; after all, he was there when you got cheated on, something that affected you a lot.

"What the fuck, Oliver? What are you thinking, man? Jumping from relationship to relationship is one thing, but cheating is another level! I can't believe this, dude." - You yelled.

"I made a mistake, okay? I'm sorry, it's just..." - Oliver tried to explain himself, visibly nervous about your reaction.

"I don't care! If you stay at my place tonight, tomorrow you'll have to apologize to her and admit that you're an idiot... Oh, and you'll sleep on the couch".

"What? I know i fucked up, but it's cold, man, you always let me sleep with you".

"Not today, cause if you betray the trust of someone who trusted you with their body and heart, why the fuck would anyone else trust you? Grow the fuck up..." - You said harshly, heading for the cupboards and taking out a pillow and a blanket for Oliver. - "Good night, Oliver. We'll talk tomorrow"

As you lay down on your bed, you curled up, clutching your legs. If he could do this to a girl as beautiful as Haruka, what could he do to you? You were just one of his male friends.

You've been friends forever, you were the first guy to talk to Oliver when he joined your team. Your bond was incredible, you understood each other so well, you liked the same things and had the same mindset on a match. You two occupied the same defensive position as center backs, and together you were unstoppable.

But how did it all end up like this? How did you end up falling in love with him? Oliver was incredible at everything except relationships, and the one thing you shouldn't have wanted was exactly what you did want. His love.

You listened to the way he talked about his partners and wished he'd talk about you the same way, but then you remembered what was to follow, a dry and emotionless breakup. How could such a gentleman be such a whore at the same time?

Anyway, there you were, crying silent tears, thinking that if you tried to confess your love for him, you would end up with a heart broken into more than a thousand pieces. While these thoughts were running through your head, you heard footsteps and then a knock on the door.

"Hey... Can we talk? I..." - It was Oliver, speaking in a low, weak voice. "I don't want you to think I'm terrible..."

"Oliver, not now..." - You replied, distressed at the thought of him seeing you cry. - "It's okay, man..."

"Promise you won't hate me?" - He asked, scared. - "I didn't know you'd be so pissed off and... You're the only person I really have, I don't want to lose you over something I did without thinking..." - Definitely something you'd rarely hear come out of Oliver's mouth, he was finally putting his real feelings into something.

"It's not that, Oliver..." - The words, stuck in your throat, urgently wanted to come out. Just say it, three words, that's all. - "I..."

The door handle is pushed down slowly, you see the face of a distressed Oliver, which makes your heart squeeze a bit. You don't hate him, it's quite the opposite actually, but you can't tell him that, can you?

"Look... I was a jerk to Haruka, and besides, I did exactly what you said I should never do. I'm sorry, okay? I just don't want you to hate me, even though I might deserve it... I just want to have someone like you around, you know?" - Deep down, Oliver knew exactly what his problem was, his stomach full of fluttering butterflies was a symptom he'd hardly ever felt. A symptom of this so-called love.

"Would you cheat on me? If you loved me, would you betray me too? Would you get tired of me?" - You asked hopelessly, not wanting to hear the answer.

"Never. Absolutely never." - He answered without hesitation. - "You?... only a complete lunatic would cheat on you. For fuck's sake, I've been your friend for years and I've never even been bored around you! I'd give anything to have someone like you!" - Oliver shut up abruptly when he realized that perhaps he had said too much.

"How could I be sure of that?"

"If I cheated on you, I'd give up soccer" - a direct and honest answer, the truth of his heart. Few words would have such an impact on you as those.

You widened your eyes, wondering if you had actually heard those words come out of Oliver's mouth. He would give up soccer for you? Really? A wave of emotions washed over your body and with an impulse you got out of bed and hugged him tightly.

"Please don't give up soccer... Keep playing with me... And love me." - the most heartfelt words you've ever said, put into play, all your cards on the table. Now it was his turn.

"I already love you, idiot."

[skele-bunny]

Hi, have a Pt 2 of Mountains Grief.

Grief. (CW) Mountain/Aether/Dewdrop

CW - Mentioned Past Deaths, Wrongful Blame of Death

Tags: Grief, Unhealthy Coping, Self-Blame, Depression, Mountain Has Anger Issues

Characters: Mountain, Aurora, Ifrit, (past) Dewdrop, (past) Aether, Misc Mentioned

(banners by @ wrathofrats. MDNI )

"They're not HERE! Get a fucking grip!" Ifrit followed after Mountain, the rest of the pack quiet as they watched.

It caused a flinch from the fire from how sharp Mountain had turned on his heel. "At least one would be if it wasn't for YOU and being fucking selfish! You chose against us— Against your pack! Dewdrop is dead because of you!"

He could feel his own chest caving in, finally speaking what he didn't want to acknowledge into existence. "Y-Yes! Okay! I get it! Zephyr was sick, you wanted to be with them, and you could've been! You knew the consequences of retiring yourself and look, you're still fucking here! Maybe even Papa Terzo would still be here if you weren't so damn selfish!"

"Selfish?! Me?! Where have you been! You don't talk to anyone, you don't even come out of your room anymore! Do you think you're the only one hurting? That you're the only one who loved Dew and Aether?" The fire desperately yelled back, anger rising on both of their expression and body language.

"Because I AM!" Mountain quickly got in Ifrit's personal space, towering over the much smaller ghoul. His hackles were raised, fangs bared that showed drool.

It was a threat.

The room went silent, the only sound coming from Mountain and being both his panting and growling. "I was the only one who loved them. If you did, then you're one of the most sorry excuses of a mate I've ever met."

That's all he could say before escalating more, taking a single step back before turning and stomping out, slamming the door so hard that it cracked; Phantom hiding against Swiss' arm but still staring at Ifrit who's tail was between his legs.

Mountain sat quietly on the dock, holding his cupped hands out with both a water lily and hyacinth, how softly the flowers were moving, intertwining with each other. The sound of footsteps made his ear flick, nose wiggling as he picked up the smell of star dust.

"I know you're there, Aurora." He sighed, letting the flowers in his hand shrivel and fade back into his skin as he turned to face the ghoulette.

"Hey... Sorry for interrupting you." She mumbled, walking closer and sitting next to him. "That was pretty rough."

"It's irrelevant."

"Not if it's making you this way."

The earth ghoul stayed quiet, letting a sunflower sprout from his wrist to pick the seed and throw into the lake; fish immediately surfacing to chase the delicacy.

She leaned back on her arms, staring at the sun beams through heavy clouds. "What were they like?"

A chuff followed, Mountain picking another seed. "...Beautiful. They were beautiful, and they still are." His floppy ears seemed to only lay flatter with each syllable. "They were my everything. In such a short time I-I felt... Complete. Like I was a person again. That they showed me just how— how good I could be."

Rory faced Mountain as he spoke, face settled in a frown as her heart ached for the other. But she let him speak.

"I wish you got to meet them... Dew... Dew really would've loved you. Aether would get excited about all the quints in the den," He laughed a little. "Even if you only kinda count."

"Hey! I'm a kickass quint! ...When I want to be."

Mountain hummed. "That's exactly what he'd be proud about. A-and Rain, god, Rain and Dewdrop would be the most perfect things together. Dew had this thing where he'd always sing us to sleep. When the stress would get to all of us, when we were restless, or just because. He'd be the last one awake and just sing... I know it's meant to be hypnotic but it really was. It was the only thing that would ease all the tension. With Rain only able to hum, I think they'd sound really pretty together."

Aurora looked back up, only to quickly look back down as Mountain tore off the sunflower protruding from his body and tossing it into the lake. Holding his arm to put pressure on the small wound.

"You okay?"

He nodded, "I am. Sorry for rambling your ear off."

"Hey, this is the most you've talked to me since we met, I'll take what I can get."

"I'm sorry for that." He turned to face her, eyes locked for once and she could truly see the exhaustion within. "Ever since I lost them... I feel like I lost myself, too."

Aurora leaned close, holding his arm. She felt his fur rise from uncertainly and muscles stiffen before relaxing. "I don't blame you. I'm not mad, no one is. We're all worried about you."

"And I appreciate that, I do, I just... I can't be around you all for long. Without thinking and getting angry. I can't stand seeing such a happy place and not seeing my happy place. I can't see Ifrit, or Phantom, or Rain without getting so..." The ghoul trailed off with a sigh. "Look, I appreciate you talking to me. Truly, I do. But this is how I'll always be. I've always been this way."

Aurora let out a soft, hurt noise as Mountain took his arm away, standing up and picking a gardenia from his hair to hand to her.

"I'm sorry."

As she cupped the white flower, he walked away again, Aurora left to just stare at his back as he entered the forest nearby.

[27spoons]

Feeling Myself | Natalie Scatorccio

summary: Your best friend's been ignoring you since you hooked up a few days ago. Determined to speak with her again, you decide to visit her in the changing rooms after a soccer game. What's the worst that happens?

pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

warnings: porn/what plot, smut (afab!reader), slightly ooc nat (in the name of porn), no proofreading we die like jackie

a/n: this shit corny asf LMAOOOO (this is a "what-if" from part two.) (also see: i had a thought while writing part two. this is 90% smut.) (this is also 10x as crude as the previous smut I've done sorry not sorry)

wc: 3430

[you don't need to read either part to read this.]

part one / part two

A quick recap of the events that took place the past week.

You slept with your best friend at a party. Your best friend who happens to be knee-deep in denial when it comes to her sexuality. She's been avoiding you like the plague since then. You've just finished watching her play a soccer game, and now you're awkwardly standing outside the locker rooms.

Great. Recap over.

Okay, thirty minutes is overkill, especially for Nat, who typically likes getting in and out as fast as possible. Sure, maybe you'd spend thirty minutes in a shower at home, but in a public place? With the floors that definitely have bacteria on them that could kill a Victorian child?

That's practically a carnal sin.

You aren't sure why you're steeling yourself; I mean… odds are she just left through the other entrance, right? And it's not like you aren't allowed in this change room, it's just the general change room for the school facilities…

Whatever.

You stand up straight and throw the door open to the changing room, not that surprised to find it completely empty—save for the sound of a shower running in the back of the space. Realistically, if it is Nat, you should probably let her finish her shower. You don't really know where the two of you stand right now, and intruding on a shower hardly seems like a good time to find out. And, if it isn't Nat, intruding on a shower would be a really, really bad idea.

Still, you decide to investigate further. 

Quietly making your way toward the shower stalls, you glance around and look for anything that could give you an idea about whoever it is, showering and praying to whatever God there is that it's Nat and not some random stranger. 

When you reach the benches in front of the stalls, you let out a relieved breath you didn't even realise you were holding—you'd recognize those combat boots anywhere.

Is confronting her while she's in the shower the most intelligent idea? No. But honestly? You're more than a little frustrated and pretty sure that she'll continue to avoid you unless you do something now.

So, you do the mature thing, much like she did.

You storm to the front of the stall and bang on the door, "Natalie?!" You call out, voice slightly shaky at the idea that it might not be her after all. 

A long, tense moment of silence passes after you speak, save for the sound of water hitting the tiles below. You start to panic, worrying that you really did just knock on a stranger's shower stall, scaring the everliving shit out of—

"Are you fucking kidding me?" A voice, unmistakenly belonging to a certain Natalie Scatorccio, rings out over the sounds of the shower, "You couldn't fucking… wait until I wasn't fucking showering?!"

"You've been avoiding me!" You yell back, "What the fuck was I supposed to do? You haven't been showing up to class, you've been avoiding my calls… I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" She yells back, "Maybe wait for me to come to you when I'm ready to talk, ideally not when I'm in the fucking shower?!"

"Yeah, well…" You mutter, realising that… yeah… maybe this wasn't the best time, but you're already here! There's no backing down now! "That's not the point!" You eventually continue, "Why have you been avoiding me since Friday night?"

She doesn't respond for a long moment.

"Well?" You scoff, calling over the water, "Natalie? Are you gonna answer me—"

The stall door flings open, revealing a very naked and very wet Natalie Scatorccio.

Your jaw drops. Sure, you saw her naked during the night of the party, but this is much different. She looks very upset with your sudden appearance, and for a moment, when she draws her hand back, you worry she's about to clock you in the jaw. And, honestly? You'd probably deserve it.

What you aren't expecting, however, is her to grab the back of your head and mash your lips against hers, all tongue and teeth.

It's only a moment's hesitation before you return the kiss, and she's drawing you back into the shower stall. "We better be alone," Natalie murmurs, tugging your hoodie off and over your head as it begins to soak through. "I'm not about to have one of the girls walk in on this." 

"No, uh, yeah, we're alone." You stammer out, kicking off your shoes and pants, "I wouldn't have caused a scene if there were still people in here—"

"Good." Nat breathes out as she tugs you into the shower's spray, despite the fact you haven't even gotten the chance to remove your underwear yet. "Because I haven't been able to stop thinking about this." And her lips are back against yours, free hand immediately moving to find purchase between your thighs, fingers rubbing you through the damp fabric. (Which, you'll note, is now damp for more than one reason.) 

"Holy fuck—" A shaky exhale parts from your lips, your head falling back to hit the shower wall, one hand attempting to find some sort of grip on the wall while the other grasps uselessly at her wrist, "Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you in the time we weren't talking?" You ask breathlessly, hips pushing into her hand.

"I spent a lot of time thinking about this." She murmurs, fingers pushing the soaked fabric aside and pushing two fingers through your slick folds, teasing the length of your slit for a few moments before she quickly sinks two fingers into the wet heat at the apex of your thighs.

"F-fuck—" A full-body shiver rakes through your form as your back arches off the wall, a shocked gasp leaving your lips once she starts fucking her fingers into you with reckless abandon. "Jesus Christ—" "You seem to be saying his name a lot. Last I checked, it's my fingers inside of you and not his." She says with a smug grin, resting her free hand on the wall next to your head. "Unless you got really religious in the past few days."

"Asshole." You grunt out, nails digging into her wrist as you desperately roll your hips against her hand, "You are knuckle deep inside me, and I'm not about to just start saying your full name—"

"No." She cuts you off, "But you could just say Natalie."

"That's not—" She cuts you off when she stretches you further with a third finger, and you're almost positive her wrist has to be cramping with the angle it's at, but she shows zero signs of stopping or slowing down. "—the point—" You stammer out, eyes screwing shut as squelching sounds from her fingers fucking your pussy manage just to be loud enough to be heard over the rush of water beating against the porcelain.  

"No, you're right. The point is that you shouldn't be thinking of anyone else while I'm the one inside of you."

If there was something you expected Nat to say, that was not it, but you can't help the way you clench around her fingers at the comment.

"Oh, shit." A low laugh spills from her throat, "You like that, huh? When I'm all possessive? Didn't realise you'd be into that sorta stuff."

"Fuck off." You mutter, "I've never heard you get possessive before. It's kinda hot."

"Yeah? Guess I'll have to keep that in mind." Her palm grinds hard into your clit as her fingers brush against that spot inside of you that has your hips bucking and losing the rhythm you had found. "Oh. That was a fun spot." Nat murmurs to herself, "I liked that. Let's do it again."

So, she does. She presses her fingers right against that spot with every flick of her wrist, and you can't help but wonder how the fuck she became so damn good at this when at times, it felt like she barely had two brain cells to rub together that night of the party—

Shit, you didn't even notice the fact she was trailing her lips along the hollow of your throat, tongue collecting the water that streams down your body from your face. "Nat—" You gasp when you feel her teeth bite at your jaw, "Shit—"

"Mm, yeah." You can feel her grin against your throat, "See? Knew you had it in you to say my name. Just needed some gentle encouragement, is all."

You can't even form coherent thoughts at this point. You aren't sure what turns you on more: doing this in a public place where anyone could walk in and hear the deplorable things currently transpiring, the fact that Nat seems to be eager to have you like this, the way her lips trace along your neck reverently, or her completely making you forget the whole reason you walked into the changing rooms to begin with.

Nat spends some time alternating between the stretch of three fingers and the ruthless pace of two, occasionally completely retracting her fingers in favour of circling your clit with the pads of her index and middle before sinking them back in.

"You, fuck, I'm close." You stammer out the next time she sinks her fingers back into the tight heat, "Don't fucking stop—"

She shakes her head against your neck, "Not stopping." A shaky exhale, and you start to feel her hips rolling against your thigh, "Not stopping until I feel you fucking come around my fingers."

Your eyes roll back into your head at the words that fall from her lips, and you find yourself gripping her arm again for support. "Oh, holy fuck, Natalie—"

With a stuttering movement of your hips against the heel of her palm, you find yourself crashing into a climax that you were not expecting to get right in the fucking changing rooms.

And, despite how you clench around her fingers and your knees buckle slightly, Nat doesn't even stop. Not for half a second. The crude sounds of her fingers fucking your spasming pussy at breakneck speed don't slow, and your head thrashes back and forth against the wall, "Nat, fuck, wait—"

"No." She hisses into the side of your neck, biting at the skin, "I'm not done yet."

Thank causes a broken groan to slip from your lips as her fingers press against that one spot over and over again to the point the edges of your vision start to turn fuzzy amid the ecstasy. "F-fuck, I just came—"

"I know." She growls out, fingers seemingly plunging in deeper to your tight heat with every thrust of her wrist, "And I want you to come again."

"Oh." You exhale, eyes screwing shut again, "Oh…"

Nat grins at your breathless sounds, "Yeah, baby. Like that." Three fingers, "Fuck, love how tight you feel around my fingers. How fucking wet you are for me." "We're, ah, in a shower. Of course, I'm wet—"

She bites down on your neck particularly harshly at your words, "Shut up. You know that isn't what I fucking meant."

"N-no, but it's funny—"

You barely even register it when Nat drops to her knees before you, bringing one of your legs over her shoulder, "God, shut up."

And, well, you don't get a chance to speak again before she's burying her face against your heat, fingers continuing in their harsh movements as her tongue attaches itself to your clit, swirling around and sucking at the nub.

One of your hands immediately finds itself tangled in her blonde hair, the other trying to hold your body up against the stall wall behind you, which proves… to be a hard enough task on its own, given that the walls are slick with water and smooth.

"Oh, fuck—" You hiss out, tugging slightly on her hair, "Shit, give me a second—"

Nat doesn't. She doesn't stop or slow, either. Hell, she doesn't even humour you with a response, just choosing to focus on her task at hand: making you come again.

It's slightly embarrassing how quickly you're right back on the precipice of an orgasm. You'd probably be mortified if you could form thoughts other than "yes" and "please."

You swear you can feel the way Nat smirks against you as she wraps her lips around your clit, creating a suction that has a full-body shudder raking through you and—

…

Even Nat has to stop for half a second when she feels you come again, less than a minute after the first one. "Fuck." She breathes out, looking up at you with her jaw slightly slack, fingers still buried inside of you. "Did you just…?"

Realistically, you could lie. But you get the feeling this is a hypothetical question.

"I… I told you I needed a second…" Comes your stammered response, "That's… I'm not… I don't… it's just…"

A dark chuckle leaves Nat's mouth as she removes your leg from her shoulder, ensuring you can stand properly before she rises back to her feet, "Mmn, I'm not mad. If anything, it's kinda flattering."

You scowl slightly at her, "What-whatever." 

You decide it's her turn, now. 

As fast as you can move without slipping on the tile, you pin Natalie to the wall in your place, lips finding her neck, tracing up the path of a water droplet with your tongue, then further up still until your lips are back on hers.

One of Nat's hands comes to rest on your shoulder, the other tangling itself into your hair as your kiss grows more and more heated. Although it's a little tricky to do with the slick walls, you spread her thighs slightly and press your knee up between them, encouraging her to grind down onto your leg. It's your turn to smirk now, finding some sort of pleasure in the way she immediately presses her pussy against you, hips rocking with urgency.

"Yeah," You grunt against her lips, "like that. Keep doing that." The blonde whimpers back, grinding herself faster, "Please." She breathes out, "I need more."

"What?" You chuckle, "Sorry, I didn't get that. Mind saying that again?"

She slaps your shoulder, "Stop being such a fucking tease, asshole. What do you want me to say? That I want your fingers inside of me?"

You grin, "Yeah. That works, actually." One of your hands runs down the flat of her stomach, two fingers run across her folds, not quite delving into the warmth between them. "But the begging is a little hot."

"I'm not going to beg." She immediately answers, "If you aren't gonna fuck me, I'll find someone else to do it."

Your jaw tenses immediately at the comment, and you aren't quite sure if it's jealousy or something else, but the very idea of that pisses you off to no end. "No the fuck you aren't." You hiss out, sinking your index and middle finger into her cunt without another word, earning you a keening sound. "I'm the only person doing this to you tonight."

"God, yes." She almost moans out the words, "Harder."

A scoff, but you oblige her anyway, turning two fingers to three and fucking them into her faster, grinding your palm into her as the digits move, and Nat doesn't think she's ever been more grateful for someone with long fingers.

She presses her tongue back against yours, using the hand that's tangled in your hair to guide your mouth where she wants it—against hers.

The press of your lips against yours makes the movements of your hand slow momentarily, but you quickly recover your speed when Nat tugs at the hair on the nape of your neck, reminding you that there's an end goal to this.

"Mm, my bad." You murmur, pressing a chaste kiss to the edge of her lips, "Your mouth is very distracting."

Nat rolls her eyes, "Yeah? Then maybe you should be somewhere it won't distract you." A half-grin twitches itself onto her lips, and the hand on your shoulder presses down, "On your knees, ideally."

"Just say you want me to eat you out." You lower yourself onto one knee, "Saying what you want is hot." Nat grins down at you and runs her fingers through your hair as you get down on your other knee, "Don't need to say what I want. You're already doing it."

You roll your eyes at her as you press some gentle kisses to her inner thighs, humming when she parts them for you. "Maybe." A small nip to the soft skin, "But I do enjoy you telling me what to do."

"Oh, yeah? What, you into being dominated?" She laughs lowly, "Interesting. I'll have to keep that in mind."

"You say that like you plan on doing this again." You take one of her legs and hoist it over your shoulder, pausing a beat, then taking the other leg and repeating the motion. "Do you plan on doing this again?" Nat gasps when you have her sit on your shoulders, fingers tightening in your hair, "Fuck, you keep pulling shit like this, and I just might keep doing it."

A grin graces your lips, "That so? Guess I'll have to keep you coming back." A chaste kiss to her clit, then you're delving your tongue into her cunt, greedily slurping at the wetness that's collected between her legs. 

Your fingers dig into the meat of her thighs, holding her against your face, encouraging her to squeeze your head like a goddamn watermelon. You could, quite honestly, die happy with your head where it is right now.

Nat is rolling her hips against your face, your nose brushing against her clit as your face remains buried in her pussy, obscene sounds echoing against the walls, and you aren't even sure when the shower clicked off, but you are aware that it makes the two of you much more audible.

You'd pull your head back to tell her or move one of your hands to swat at the button to turn the water back on, but you get the feeling she could care less how audible what's transpiring between the two of you is.

So, you try to put that into the back of your mind, letting the sounds of your mouth against her and Nat's broken gasps act as fuel for the way you fuck her with your tongue. 

It's a handful of minutes before her breathing becomes more stuttered, her grip on your hair starts to hurt slightly, and you don't think she would let you up for air if your face were literally turning blue, but that's okay.

In fact, it's more than okay, considering you feel her pussy pulsate around your tongue as a whimpering moan breaks from her throat, hips continuing to rock against your face for a few more seconds before ceasing. 

"Fuck." Her fingers run through your hair, as if serving an apology for the way she was tugging on it. "You're fucking good at that." You shoot a lazy grin up at her through between her thighs, which were effectively acting as earmuffs. "I aim to please. Happy that my goal was met."

Her head falls back against the wall as she laughs, "Yeah. Now, put me down."

"Mm, sure you can stand?" You tease, nipping at her thigh again.

"Positive, asshole." She rolls her eyes fondly, "Let me off."

A dramatic sigh parts from your lips, but you relent and help her get her feet back on the ground, "Fine, fine." You stand back at your full height, looking down at her slightly as you lean against the wall, "But I really wasn't done yet."

"Yeah, well, I was. I'm not in the mood to get caught by someone in here." She shoves your shoulder, causing you to take a step away from her. "We both got off."

You click your tongue, "Seriously? C'mon. Don't be like that…"

"We can get off more later."

"Oh?" You quirk an eyebrow, "That mean I'm coming back to your dorm?"

"Well. That was fun." Nat ignores the question, pushing off the wall and hitting the shower button again. "Now. I need to finish showering. You staying or leaving?"

You scoff, "Staying, I guess." You spare a glance down at your soaked clothes, "Gonna be soaked the whole walk home, anyway. Not in the mood for that walk."

She laughs deliciously, "Oh, trust me; if I have anything to say about it? You'll be soaked at home, too."

A beat. "And you said my dirty talk was terrible."

a/n: ok NOW crush act two part one next fr fr

[scoobywrites690]

Was going to reread your fics and saw that you are looking for an idea… the airline freaking lost my luggage and it’s day 5 with no news and it sucks ass.

ANYWAYS what if reader also lost her luggage while she’s visiting johnny (pre relationship or maybe they’re just “friends”) and he goes feral seeing her in his clothes?

I’m so sorry that they lost your luggage and that they still can’t find it. Hopefully you get it back, I’m routing for you and your luggage 🤞🏻💕

Anyway though, this request is scrumptious. I love it. In my eyes Johnny’s a bit feral when it comes to anything to do with his partner/crush but you in his clothes 😫 you’re gonna kill the man.

(Btw I don’t really know how the airline deal with lost luggage so I’m not sure how they tell you I’m just making it up as I go)

Johnny seeing you in his clothes🤭

With the airline losing your luggage as well as multiple other people’s, your annual stay at Johnnys is almost a disaster. But it’s salvaged by the few clothes in your carryon and some of Johnnys old clothes that are a bit snug on him now.

Even though Johnny said it was fine for you to wear as many as you need, you still didn’t want to ransack his drawers. Trying to hold off as long as possible but, it came to the point where you couldn’t keep spraying your clothes down with perfume to mask that they’ve been worn more than once.

So, you gathered up the few worn pieces you had, threw them in the washer and wandered into Johnny’s room to find something to wear. Wandering around in just your underwear was fine at the moment as Johnny had gone to grab some snacks as you were planning to have some sort of movie night together.

Digging through his drawers has you pulling out a T-shirt that you pull over your head, the fabric stopping just at the tops of your thighs. Continuing your search for something for your bottom half.

“Fuck me, lass” is all you heard from the doorway of Johnny's bedroom. And there stands Johnny frozen still in the doorway, with his eyes wide looking like they’re about to pop out his head. As you stand in his room with nothing but an oversized T-shirt on and your lace panties slightly peaking out from the bottom.

"What are ya tryna kill me?" Johnny questions as you scramble around trying to cover yourself.

"I'm so sorry, Johnny" You stamper out "I didn't think you'd be back yet" You explain.

"It's alright, don't apologise. Just cover yourself up I'm beggin ya" Johnny says his voiced sounding strained as adverts his eyes. an obvious tent forming in his trousers.

"You okay Johnny?" You ask a teasing tone to your voice, deciding then and there that you'd test the waters a bit.

"I'm fine" he says almost sounding strained as he continues to look anywhere but at you. refusing to meet your gaze

"Johnny" You say taking a step towards him "I think you've got a problem" You say trying to hold in your laugh as you point to the raging hard on.

"Fuck, yes I know" Johnny's says, his face twisting up into one that could be described as pain "And you're not helping right now lass. Standing there in nothing but my shirt and those sexy little panties, fuck me it's like you're tryna kill me" Johnny says frustration lacing his voice.

You're not sure how it happened. It was all very much a blur but next thing you know you're on the bed, legs spread out wide showing off your pretty little cunt to johnny. He doesn't waste any time before he's diving in for a taste of the things he's been craving.

His tongue instantly glides in between your folds lapping at your sweet sweet juices. his mouth latching onto your clit has your hips jerking up at the sudden sensation. Strong burly arms wrapping around the tops of your thighs soon have that problem sorted, locking you in place so you can't wiggle away from him.

His chin most definitely dripping in a layer of your slick, but that doesn't stop him. he continues his assault. his fingers are able to slide into you so easily. pumping your poor little pussy until your squeezing around his fingers as your orgasm comes crashing down.

But he doesn't let you recover, not even wasting a second before he's pushing your legs back. knees pressed to your chest as he's sliding his tip past the entrance of your weeping hole. a sharp hiss leaving his mouth at the sudden warmth and tightness that engulfs his aching cock.

Hands coming down on either side of your head as he pushes himself down on top of you, folding you in half has him bottoming out inside of you.

"Fuck me, lass" Johnny says through gritted teeth as he pulls his hips back before snapping them back into you, his cock ramming deep inside your pussy.

"If I had known you'd have looked so good in my clothes. I would have had you in them ages ago" Johnny tells you as he lets his head nuzzle into the crook of your neck. His teeth graze at your skin before they're biting down onto the tender flesh that connects your shoulder to your neck.

You can't help but let the lewdest sounding moan escape past your lips. Your pussy clenching in reaction to the sharp pain of the bite.

"Don't do that, darlin" Johnny mutters coming up to meet your gaze "or i'll finish faster than I want to"

"Please Johnny" You whine out "I need it, please"

and that's all it took for Johnny to pick up the pace. His cock rammed in and out at a brutal pace. his tip hitting your cervix with every thrust. the sound of his hips connecting with the back of your thighs fills the room as Johnny bottoms out over and over again. Your pussy clenched so tightly around him that every vein can be felt rubbing against your walls sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"i'll have you" - "In nothing but panties - "and my shirts" - "All the time" He says between thrust "And I'll fill" - "This pretty pussy" - "Full of my cum" - "Every time" He says as he thrust into you hard a few more times before hes spilling his seed inside you.

(I gave it a quick scan but i haven't properly proof read so i apologise for any mistakes)(not sure if he’s feral enough throughout this so I might have to redeem myself in the future)

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Meet Me At My Window

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: Meet Me At My Window

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

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

Summary: Stiles accidentally falls in love with Derek. Derek begrudgingly falls in love with Stiles. Derek has trust issues and an aversion to romantic entanglements. Stiles lacks tact and would very much like to avoid a painful, embarrassing, werewolf-related death. Stiles and Derek end up spending the better part of a year in each other's company, pretending to despise every minute of it. In short: Stiles and Derek are awkward, stubborn, angst-ridden, life-ruining idiots who can't seem to work up the nerve to admit that they're in love.

Derek sighs, rolling his eyes and nudging Stiles's cheek with the tip of his nose. "Stiles, you annoying little shit, I love you. Against my will and better judgment, I do. And I was stupid and wrong and all sorts of fucked up for having pushed you away like that, and I hope you can forgive me, because I'm really, really sorry. Okay?"

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The first time Stiles Stilinski meets Derek Hale, he's rendered with a peculiar combination of all-consuming fear, respect, and sympathy (and, admittedly, arousal…but hey, let's just shove that embarrassing fact to the side and stick a pin in it, shall we?) And of course, because Stiles wants absolutely nothing to do with the sociopathic sourwolf with the burned and broken past, and because his life is just a big pile of nonsensical bullshit, that's the exact opposite of what he gets.

After a while, Stiles starts to lose track of the number of times he ends up saving Derek's life, whether it's reluctantly agreeing (under the threat of a brutal mauling involving the removal of his head from the rest of his body) to cut off Derek's arm so that the poison from a Wolfsbane laced bullet won't spread to his heart…or harboring Derek in his bedroom to keep him hidden from the authorities while on the run for false murder charges…or holding onto a temporarily paralyzed two-hundred-and-something-pound werewolf in the middle of the Beacon Hills swimming pool for hours on end to keep him from drowning while, oh yeah, fighting off a homicidal were-lizard…

He isn't exactly sure which one of those times had officially sealed the deal, but somewhere along the line, Stiles actually starts to give a damn about whether Derek Hale lives or dies.

• • •

After his brief romantic entanglement with Kate Argent (read: the horrific incident that had lead to the death of his entire family and the destruction of his home in an inferno) Derek Hale is, understandably, a little reserved, a little distrusting, and generally, all-around unpleasant company. 

For years following the incident, Derek had mostly just kept to himself, locked away from the rest of the world, skulking in the shadows in the ruins of his old home, fraught with all-consuming guilt and regret, only poking his head out when his older sister had all but dragged him into the Camaro to take them on destination-less road trips across the countryside, whenever the memories of their old life became too much for them to bear. 

They were all each had anymore; all throughout those long and lonely years, Laura had been Derek's alpha, his anchor, the only thing that kept him tethered to his sanity, the one and only person that Derek swore he would ever trust…that is, until she'd been taken from him, too. 

Nearly six years after the fire, mere hours after he'd buried the last remaining member of his family (not counting, of course, the power-hungry uncle responsible for her death) a boy called Stiles Stilinski had come along and utterly demolished that carefully crafted facade that Derek had worked so hard to build. 

Mind you, not all at once. After all, Derek's first impression of Stiles hadn't exactly been all that positive. Even now, after everything they've been through together, how in the fuck a loudmouthed, loquacious, opinionated, irritating whirlwind of a person could have possibly woven his way so deeply under Derek's skin is still beyond him. 

Although, admittedly, the fact that Stiles had saved Derek's life more times than he can count could possibly have something to do with it.

No matter how hard he tries, Derek can't seem to escape the memory of one of those nights in particular, his mind reeling on repeat, piecing together every infinitesimal detail with perfect clarity.

Blood red satin and dark blue denim hugging saturated skin. Beads of water rippling down his pale, freckled face, neck, and shoulders, caught on the edge of his reddened lips. The rhythm of Stiles's heartbeat thrumming against Derek's back, reverberating through the hollow of his chest as he'd held him close, head tipping forward to rest against Derek's shoulder, warm breath ghosting over the shell of his ear, sending shivers down the length of his spine. 

The sound of their ragged breathing echoing across the hall of the swimming pool as they fought to stay afloat. As Stiles fought with every last ounce of his strength to keep them both alive. Stiles clinging to Derek for dear life, arms coiled tight around his torso, like he's afraid to let him go. And then—

Paralysis. Submersion. That all-consuming fear of abandonment he'd come to know so well, at war with the blissful desire to welcome the darkness that threatened to envelop him as he'd sunk to the depths of the pool. And how poetic, really, that he should die in a way that's almost polar opposite of the fiery death he'd so narrowly escaped last time. 

And then, just moments before he'd lost consciousness — the terrifying realization that someone actually cares enough about him to keep him from drowning. 

Because Stiles had come back for him. 

Because Stiles had plunged to the bottom of the pool and pulled Derek back to the surface. 

Because Stiles had saved Derek's life. 

Again. 

He could have run, could've heeded Derek's warning and gotten himself to safety, could've just let go and left Derek to die, could've saved himself instead of exhausting all of his strength just to make sure that Derek didn't drown. But he hadn't. Unlike everyone else in Derek's life, Stiles had stayed.

Initially, Derek writes it off as the intrinsic, primal, entirely human need for self-preservation, because Stiles is smart enough to know that Derek is integral to his survival. After all, a werewolf with supernatural strength and agility stands a far better chance of protecting itself against a murderous reptilian hybrid of a monster with the ability to incite full-body paralysis with a single swipe of its claws than a skinny, defenseless human does. For Stiles, keeping Derek alive means keeping himself alive. 

It's survival instinct, plain and simple. 

At least, that's how Derek keeps choosing to rationalize it.

Can't you just trust me, just this once?

No!

Hey, I'm the one keeping you alive, okay? Have you noticed that?

And when the paralysis wears off, who's going to be able to fight that thing? You or me?

What, so that's the only reason I've been holding you up for the past two hours?

You don't trust me, and I don't trust you. You need me to survive, which is why you aren't letting me go.

But then, Derek can't help but wonder why Stiles had saved his life countless other times before that night, well before the kanima had ever become a threat. In spite of a seemingly endless running commentary of sarcasm and unconvincing threats to leave him for dead, Stiles had looked after Derek when he'd been shot with a Wolfsbane bullet, had given Derek sanctuary when he'd been on the run for a false murder conviction (thanks, Scott.) He didn't have to do any of that, but he still did it.

And the strangest thing of all is that it keeps happening. Stiles keeps saving Derek's life, over and over again in a multitude of different ways, often risking his own life in the process, and never expects anything but Derek's trust in return. 

Stranger still is the fact that Derek keeps inexplicably seeking out Stiles, of all people, whenever he's in trouble, despite his insistence that he doesn't trust him. He'll talk a big game with intimidation tactics and threats of bodily harm, yet his first instinct is always to protect Stiles, to make sure he's safe, to push him out of harm's way at the first sign of danger, even from his own pack, his own family.

It's only after that night that Derek begrudgingly comes to accept the fact that he not only doesn't mind having Stiles around, but might actually even like him, his stupid, traitorous brain keeping tallies of every positive quality Stiles possesses.

Like the fact that he's brave, and loyal, and compassionate, and clever, mind racing at lightning speed, a hundred different ideas, plans, and theories bouncing around inside his head at any given moment.

Stiles is a challenge, a constant battle of wit and fury to rival his own. Unlike everyone else, Stiles doesn't give Derek the chance to intimidate him, always at the ready to prove that he isn't afraid of him, seeing right through Derek's bullshit tough guy facade to the fragile ego underneath, throwing his own weak threats right back in his face, and giving just as good as he gets.

Stiles is comfort in the form of foolishly optimistic reassurance, shaky laughter, and self-deprecating humor, staving off the never-ending waves of fear and desperation that threaten to consume them both in every seemingly hopeless predicament they find themselves in.

After a while, scenario after mad, perilous, life-or-death scenario, time spent in each other's company becomes almost addictive, exhilarating, rather than vexing and obligatory. Melodramatic death threats carelessly thrown without cause start to lack conviction. Playful banter and lighthearted shoving all but replace heated bickering and power moves. After a while, thrusting Stiles up against hard surfaces becomes so much more than a necessity for garnering respect and gaining favor; it becomes a game.

• • •

They're outside of a club one night, tracking down the kanima's latest potential target, and Derek has got Stiles pressed up against the jagged brick wall of the building, black leather jacket and tight-fitted jeans crushed against worn plaid flannel and dark blue denim. His hands are fisted in the front of Stiles's shirt, canines grazing his ear as he growls out weak threats detailing all the things he's going to do to Stiles if tonight's plan goes awry. 

It's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing Derek hasn't already done before, (most effectively, he muses, against Stiles's own bedroom wall) except that, this time, something feels different. Something about Stiles smells different. Without thinking, Derek presses in closer, buries his nose into the curve of Stiles's neck, and breathes him in, catching notes of cinnamon, woodsmoke, and black currant wine, twisting into an intoxicating helix and radiating throughout his entire body, swimming in his veins, inexplicably evident with every pulse of Stiles's heartbeat as it thunders against his ribcage.

Derek would be lying if he said that he hadn't caught a hint of that scent before; a subtle, lingering aroma, hidden just beneath the surface of Stiles's skin, every time Derek had gotten too close for comfort. Before now, he had never quite been able to place it, had never concentrated hard enough to bother with riddling it out, always too preoccupied dealing with the monster of the week. 

Never before had it been this potent, this intense, this…

Oh. 

With a sharp twist, the cogs inside Derek's head finally start to turn, and he realizes that he is a complete fucking moron, because in that moment, Stiles smells like pure arousal, like all-encompassing desire, and really, how had it taken him this long to figure it out? After all, it's not like Stiles has ever responded to any of Derek's threats like a normal person.

"If you say one word," Derek warns as he shoves Stiles against his bedroom door, hands fisting into the front of Stiles's shirt.

"Oh what, you mean like, 'Hey dad, Derek Hale is in my room, bring your gun'?" Stiles says cooly, and just like that, the threat dies in the back of Derek's throat, fear and vulnerability slipping through the cracks just long enough for Stiles to take notice; invisible to anyone else, but glaringly obvious to the detail-oriented observer standing right in front of him.

"Yeah, that's right," Stiles asserts, a cocky smirk tugging at the corners of his lips like Derek's the one pinned to the wall, caught in a compromising position. "If I'm harboring your fugitive ass, it's my house, my rules, buddy."

He swats Derek's shoulder with the back of his hand, and Derek just stares down at it, dumbfounded. When he looks back up, Stiles's eyes are trained on his lips, and Derek finds himself momentarily frozen by the sight of Stiles's tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, struck speechless by the way his pupils scatter to the edge of his irises as he locks eyes with Derek, the faint uptick of Stiles's heartbeat threatening to jumpstart his own. He swallows thickly, unable to give anything more than a curt nod, before releasing his grip on Stiles's shirt.

But he can't just concede, can't just let Stiles win. He gets one last petty jab in, straightening Stiles's jacket with a harder tug than he knows is strictly necessary. But Stiles, it seems, is just as determined to not let Derek have the upper hand, reaching forward to grasp the collar of his leather jacket, and tugging down just as hard. Derek has to fight the foreign burst of laughter bubbling up inside his chest at the soft "oh my god" that escapes Stiles's mouth as he dodges Derek's glare and nearly topples over his desk chair.

Or—

"Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out…with my teeth," Derek growls, emphasizing the threat with a flash of his teeth that he hopes come across as intimidating, rather than the wincing grimace it actually is.

Stiles stares at him for a few moments, fixing him with narrowed eyes and a glare that nearly calls his bluff, silently screaming 'do it, I dare you,' before heaving a long-suffering sigh and swiftly turning away to expose the long, pale canvas of his neck as he gives in to Derek's demands. 

And even though he is literally dying, and should probably be more concerned about the fact that he's bleeding out all over Stiles's passenger seat, Derek spends far more time than he cares to admit wondering if that wasn't an invitation.

It hits him with all the force of a tidal wave, sweeping him under the current. In that moment, Derek finds himself inexplicably drawn toward Stiles, like he's sunlight dancing across the surface of the water, a fresh breath of salty sea air in the lungs of a drowning man. As the seconds tick past, Derek finds it increasingly more difficult to let Stiles go, driven wild by the desire to press himself further into Stiles's personal space and drink in that warm, inviting scent, to nuzzle against the curves of his neck and collarbones and mark Stiles with his own scent. And it's that fact that sends a jolt of absolute terror spiking through Derek's chest, because he's never wanted to do that with anyone before.

He reigns himself in just long enough to shove Stiles away from him, tearing his gaze away from Stiles's retreating form as he makes his way back into the nightclub in a flustered huff. Once he's certain that Stiles is safely tucked away inside, Derek makes a run for it, bolting back to his hideaway and locking himself in his makeshift bedroom. He slides down the doorframe to the cold concrete floor and buries his face in the palms of his hands, shoulders shaking with the stirrings of a breakdown.

• • •

The next morning, Derek wakes with a cold, calculating satisfaction, convinced that feelings are stupid, that opening yourself up to that kind of vulnerability only leads to self-destruction, and that his interest in Stiles Stilinski is merely that; an interest, an infatuation, a distraction; hoping like hell that these foreign feelings will falter and disappear on their own. 

Because Derek simply refuses to allow himself to even entertain the idea of ever falling in love again, far too broken and haunted by the ever-present guilt of losing his family, of loving and trusting someone so much and so blindly that it had cost him everything and everyone he had ever loved. After Kate, after…the incident, Derek had written off romance for the rest of his foreseeable future, promising himself that he would never again make the mistake of falling for someone as hard as he had fallen for her.

It's in shameless illogicality and childish avoidance that Derek places the blame (at least, partially) on Stiles. Convinces himself that he hates Stiles for making him feel this way. Hates himself for having fallen victim to Stiles's maddeningly adorable charm, for having foolishly let him weave his way under Derek's skin in a way that even Kate never could. Finds his fear of the thought of what inevitable heartbreak Stiles could cause him if he were to give in to his feelings as perfectly justifiable grounds for taking out all of his aggression and unresolved tension on Stiles.

Repeatedly shoving him up against walls at random. 

Shouting at him for no apparent reason other than because he can. 

Using any excuse he can think of to get closer to Stiles, to pull him deeper into pointless, repetitive arguments, just so he can spend more time in his company. 

Delighting in the way Stiles's heartbeat thunders against his ribcage, the way the rush of emotion paints his pulse points and the hollows of his cheekbones. 

Relishing the fact that he is the cause, that he has the power to elicit such an impassioned response in this infuriating, silver-tongued little shit. 

Reveling in the way Stiles's clever, zealous words rip through Derek's skin, latching onto every fiber of his being and lighting up his nerves like a live wire.

It's easier this way, pretending that this innate connection between them, this weird brand of accidental flirting that straddles the line between intimidation and sexual tension, doesn't exist. That it's merely a figment of his imagination gone rogue, a looming nightmare hell-bent on capturing him and swallowing him whole, just as viciously as it had the last time. Only this time, he's not going to give in. He won't allow himself to fall victim to his own vulnerability. He's determined not to.

Besides, even if Derek could entertain the idea that he's even capable of having romantic feelings for someone else, let alone Stiles, of all people, there's still the complication of it being—

Unrequited.

Because Derek knows full well that Stiles is, and always has been, madly in love with Lydia Martin. And how does Derek know that? Because Stiles never shuts up about it. So even if he wanted to, there's no way in hell that Derek could ever convince Stiles to change his mind, to choose him instead, because, as Derek finally comes to realize one quiet afternoon spent in the company of his pack, loving someone isn't a choice. It's not something you can just will away through sheer spite, either, burying it deep down and pretending it doesn't exist. Love takes a hold of you whether you want it to or not, and Stiles, Derek realizes with a resigned sigh, has dug his claws in deep.

Not that it matters.

Although, sometimes—

Sometimes, he'll get foolishly hopeful. He'll catch a hint of that familiar, intoxicating scent, paired with the quickening pace of Stiles's heartbeat every time they accidentally touch, a simple brush of skin against skin that sends an electric spark through Derek's chest…but, because Derek is stubbornly self-deprecating, he simply writes those moments off as coincidence, as Stiles's inherent nervousness and awkwardness, chalking it up to sheer curiosity and raging teenage hormones. 

And even if, by some miracle, the near-constant aroma of Stiles's arousal is because of Derek, well…that alone isn't enough. There's no affection or deeper meaning to be found in lust, after all. And one night with Stiles isn't what Derek is after. If Stiles ever chooses to be with him, what Derek wants is a long-term connection…life-long, if he's being honest…if he should ever be so lucky. 

Still, the nagging notion that he'll never be good enough, that he isn't whole enough, that he hasn't healed enough, to be the kind of companion that someone like Stiles truly needs, eats away at him, stops him from wishing and wanting, from trying. Despite Stiles's infectious optimism that could change the hearts and minds of even the most stubborn, foolish, and broken of people, Derek isn't certain if he'll ever be capable. So he resolves to keep his affections hidden, waiting in vain for someone who will likely never want him as he is.

• • •

Time wears on, and in the summer that follows Scott and Stiles's sophomore year, after the events surrounding Gerard Argent's death and Jackson's transformation from kanima to werewolf, permanently binding Lydia and Jackson as soulmates, Stiles finds himself rapidly losing interest in his pursuit of Lydia Martin, convinced that he never had a chance with her to begin with, and is honestly just content with the fact that she finally seems happy, even if it isn't with him. 

The imposing threat of the alpha pack ends up being much less dramatic than they had originally anticipated. Apparently, the alpha pack is comprised of a makeshift council, containing alphas from each pack in the surrounding area. According to Peter Hale, there have been several werewolf packs living in secrecy across the west coast for quite some time now. 

They'd primarily kept to themselves…that is, until the kanima threatened to expose the existence of their kind. The council traveled to Beacon Hills with the sole intent of putting an end to the problem in the only way that they saw fit: by putting down the abomination, ending the reign of the alpha responsible, acquiring the remaining members of their pack, and dividing them amongst the alphas of the council and their respective packs.

In a rare moment of bravery (or perhaps stupidity) Peter takes it upon himself to negotiate a compromise, and travels to the hidden location of the council. Consequently, the alpha pack is never heard from again, nor is Peter Hale. It can only be assumed that one of three things happened: either the council mistook Peter for the alpha of the Beacon Hills werewolf pack and killed him on the spot, living up to their legend; Peter somehow escaped their conviction and is currently on the run; or, more likely, sassy, silver-tongued Peter Hale talked his way into joining a new pack, and he now runs with an entirely different class of werewolves. Whatever the case, Derek is relieved to finally have his creepy, murderous, meddlesome uncle gone.

In the beginning of the summer, Derek forges a peace treaty with Chris Argent, agreeing to work together in the event of future catastrophes, and the group of reckless, misfit adolescent werewolves and humans becomes a hybrid pack. Derek, Stiles, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd spend the summer lounging around in the ruins of the old Hale house, regarding Derek's rules, regulations, and attempts at training them with reluctance and rebellion. 

On the edge of summer's end, Derek finally gives in to Stiles's relentless insistence that Derek might actually require Stiles's help reigning in his newly formed pack. And so, much to Derek's indignation, Stiles becomes the official designated researcher of all things supernatural, and, annoyingly enough, Derek's go-to guide for advice and assistance.

• • •

Over the course of his junior year, Stiles and Derek are wrought even closer, collaborating over ideas for pack activities and training exercises. And, staying true to his new role in the group, in nearly no time at all, Stiles becomes incredibly well-versed in pack dynamics and werewolf lore, presenting Derek with detailed sketches of his plans for strengthening their senses to full peak, exercises in anchor grounding and emotional control, agility and strength training, physical defensive and combative strategies, and, most importantly, pack bonding activities. 

Slowly, gradually, the tension between the two of them shifts, builds, ever so subtly with each passing day, and before Stiles can even register what's happening, his attention veers, rather aggressively, toward Derek Hale. 

And, okay, just so we're clear, it's not like Stiles has never noticed how attractive the guy is. He's not one to dismiss physical beauty worthy of a statuesque god so willingly, even if its owner happens to be a snarky, sassy, surly sourwolf with a penchant (or perhaps a kink? no, shut up) for shoving him up against hard surfaces like his own goddamn bedroom wall as a means of intimidation. 

(And seriously, his traitorous body needs to stop reacting to that kind of shit in all the wrong ways, because one of these days, Derek is going to notice and then he'll die of embarrassment before Derek even has the chance to rip his throat out.)

So yeah. Obviously, it's not lost on Stiles that Derek Hale is hot. He gets it. He's well fucking aware of the fact that Derek is…ugh, really fucking gorgeous, actually, in an almost sinful how the hell are you not Photoshopped kind of way, with his perfectly sculpted body, his dark tousled hair, devil-may-care five o'clock shadow skating across his chiseled jawline, not to mention the fact that his eyes are this indescribable combination of blue, green, and hazel that Stiles can't even put a proper name to, but sometimes he kind of wants to paint it…

So.

Yeah.

He's always known Derek was attractive. It's just…it's getting a little harder to ignore lately, that's all.

Okay, so maybe it goes a little beyond simply finding Derek attractive. Maybe he'd imagined that night at the club more than a few times while he was in the shower, and maybe he'd called out Derek's name in a low, throaty moan as he'd climaxed. But it's totally not his fault, okay? It's just, you know, hormones and shit. Just because Stiles sometimes thinks about Derek in a non-platonic way doesn't mean that he's like, in love with him, or anything.

And even if, hypothetically speaking, he was starting to develop actual real feelings for Derek during all the time he'd been spending with him lately…it's not like it matters. It's not like he could actually do anything about it. It's not like he has a shot in hell of ever making that fantasy a reality.

First of all, there's the obvious attraction factor. Stiles, in comparison to Derek, with his short brown hair that's slowly growing out at awkward angles, his gangly physique, and his constant flailing, fidgeting, and anxiety-induced word vomit, isn't exactly the most alluring romantic prospect. (Or so he keeps telling himself.)

Second, there's the somewhat complicated matter of their age difference. Derek is basically a whole college and master's degree older than Stiles, and though he would argue that Derek is every bit the immature, sarcastic little shit that Stiles prides himself in being, Stiles knows for a fact that his dad would never approve. In fact, Stiles is fairly certain his father would rather shit in his own hands and clap than let his son date an older man. A convicted felon, no less. (Granted, it was a false accusation and the charges were dropped, but still.)

Third of all, Derek is…complicated. Mercurial. Cynical. Reclusive. Reticent. And Stiles gets it, completely. Because he knows what Derek has been through. He'd snuck into his dad's office and read the Hale house fire case so many times he's practically got every detail memorized. He knows full well why Derek is this broken shell of a man, drowning in undeserved survivor's guilt, haunted by his past mistakes and regrets. He's skeptical and distrusting for good reason, and probably only tolerates Stiles's company because Stiles is useful to him. 

Which brings him to fourth of all: Stiles isn't entirely certain of the exact nature of their relationship. Derek doesn't really do feelings…or even friendship, probably, for that matter. At least, not with a guy like Stiles. And certainly not willingly. They aren't enemies, exactly (never were, really, more like reluctant partners in crime) nor are they anywhere near the same level of friendship and trust that Stiles shares with Scott. 

So he's not about to test their constant-state-of-flux boundaries and budding friendship by confessing that he is possibly sort of completely in love with him. It would be awkward and embarrassing to the point of torture, and Derek would probably definitely rip his throat out…with his teeth (and ugh, Stiles really wishes that he could stop finding that particular interaction so goddamned hot, because he really shouldn't, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him.) 

Worst of all, it would mean no more Stiles and Derek bonding time, which Stiles has grown rather fond of. So, despite the fact that Derek has become a near-constant presence in his life and Stiles really, really wants to act on his stupid, dumb feelings every time Derek so much as looks in his direction, Stiles promises himself that he won't breathe a word to Derek, that he'll keep his mouth shut and keep his feelings a secret, even if it kills him. 

Stiles can manage to not talk about something, right? 

It's fine. It'll be fine.

• • •

Over time, as hard as he tries to pretend otherwise, Derek begrudgingly comes to terms with the fact that Stiles has become something of a permanent fixture in his life, and, terrifyingly enough, the one person he's come to trust most in this world. Which would explain why, over the course of the year that follows, Stiles also becomes the one person Derek comes to whenever he's wounded. 

Unfortunately, that tends to happen quite a lot, given the number of times Derek crosses paths with rogue werewolf hunters, or accidentally strays into another pack's territory. The majority of Derek's injuries are the direct result of involvement in foreign pack drama, which is difficult to avoid, given how reckless and impulsive Erica and Jackson can sometimes act.

But, despite the constant string of curses and complaints, Stiles always takes care of him. In fact, Stiles becomes so accustomed to playing werewolf doctor that he starts keeping a makeshift first aid kit hidden under his bed for just such occasions, courtesy of Dr. Deaton, local veterinarian and supernatural specialist. The kit is filled with all manner of cure-alls, from Spiderman Band-Aids, to gauze, to dissolvable stitches, as well as twenty-seven different poison antidotes, a dozen lighters, and spare Wolfsbane bullets. Sometimes, if Derek is on his best behavior, Stiles will even share a pint of Ben and Jerry's with him as he tucks Derek into his bed, because, obviously, ice cream is the cure to everything.

After a while, Stiles stops freaking out about Derek's Black Widow level skills of agility and finesse, stops flailing and whisper-screaming holy shit, wear a fucking bell every time he turns a corner in his house and Derek is suddenly just there, slinking out from the shadows with a self-satisfied smirk on his stupid handsome face, and stops reprimanding Derek for his inability to use the front door like a normal person, as opposed to climbing through Stiles's bedroom window at all hours of the goddamn night. 

Sometimes, Derek will drop by with special research projects for Stiles, deciphering strange symbols or concocting antidotes. Sometimes, it's to ask for his help in planning sessions for pack training activities and exercises. But then sometimes, more often than not, Derek will just show up on the ledge of Stiles's bedroom window without rhyme or reason, claiming that he's bored and would rather spend time in Stiles's company than stay at home by himself. 

The first time it happens, Stiles just stares at him for a few seconds before choking out a disbelieving Really? And Derek just rolls his eyes like it's not a huge fucking deal that a hot alpha werewolf doesn't have anything better to do on a Saturday night, shrugs his perfectly sculpted shoulders, and asks if Stiles is any good at making grilled cheese. 

He is. Stiles makes a mean grilled cheese, he'll have you know, despite what a certain sourwolf might claim otherwise. And no, they totally don't spend an entire hour making a huge stack of them, bickering over the merits of cheddar vs. mozzarella. Which definitely doesn't lead to an argument about which is better: cookies vs. brownies. How Stiles ends up with a kitchen countertop filled with all manner of baking supplies, insisting that they bake a batch of each from scratch (and one batch of cookie-brownie hybrids, you know, for science) so they can settle the debate once and for all, remains the greatest goddamned mystery of our time.

Derek's patience lasts all of five minutes as he watches Stiles struggle to open a bag of flour, before he's reaching for the bag so he can just do it himself. But Stiles won't let him have it, insisting that he's got it handled, that he'd just be loosening the pickle jar for Derek at this point, even though it's a flimsy paper bag, Stiles, not a pickle jar, but Stiles stubbornly refuses, playing keep-away with the bag of flour. They end up in a sort of vertical wrestling match over it, literally slapping each other's hands out of the way. 

And then the bag of flour bursts open and explodes in both of their faces, scattering the kitchen countertops, the sink, the fridge, the floor, in a blanket of white powder. Stiles blinks it out of his eyes and chances a glance over at Derek, who looks utterly ridiculous with a thick layer of flour coating his facial hair and embedded in his big surly eyebrows, and Stiles presses his lips together in an effort not to laugh, but ends up inhaling a mouthful of flour and a cloud of it puffs out of his mouth as he exhales. And Derek is just staring at him, not saying a word, and uh oh, he thinks, there I go pissing off the alpha again, never thought I'd die covered in baking ingredients, but here we are. 

But then something incredible happens. Without warning, Derek doubles over and bursts out laughing, just full belly laughing, eyes crinkling around the corners, and it's the most surreal experience because Stiles is not used to seeing this side of Derek, this lighter, happier, unencumbered version, and the sight of it sends a pang through his heart, making him ache for the person Derek probably was before the fire, for the person he probably could have been if his life hadn't been turned upside down. In that moment, Stiles vows to make it his personal mission to try to make Derek smile and laugh like that as much as he possibly can.

By the time they take the last batch out of the oven, the kitchen is an absolute war zone, mostly because, after the flour incident, they'd basically devolved into a low-key food fight, flinging chocolate chips at each other and swiping icing across each other's faces. And then Stiles realizes that it's nearly four in the morning and his dad will be home within the hour and will totally kill him if he sees the mess they've made, so he starts begrudgingly taking out the cleaning supplies and setting to work mopping the floor, while Derek tends to the giant tower of mixing bowls stacked in the sink. The kitchen gleams when they're finished, the Sheriff is none the wiser.

Stiles keeps expecting it to just be a one time thing, some weird twilight zone alternate universe where Derek is nice and they actually get along and like each other. But for some reason, it keeps happening. Derek keeps showing up outside his bedroom window, asking to come in. And no matter the time of night, or how much it kind of freaks Stiles out (because, really, Derek Hale wants to come over to his house and just…what, hang out? Like two normal people? Like they're friends? Or— no, oh my god, calm down, it's not a date) Stiles always obliges, immediately dropping whatever he'd been doing and leading Derek down to the kitchen for another round of experimental baking.

Or sometimes, they'll set up camp in the living room, and spend the evening curled around opposite ends of the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them. Hesitantly, like he's afraid one wrong move will send Derek running, Stiles turns toward him, manages a shaky, so, have you ever watched Doctor Who? and gets this impish little gleam in his eyes when Derek shakes his head. (Derek can't help but laugh and roll his eyes whenever Stiles insists on singing along, very loudly and off key, to the lyric-less theme song.)

Derek never really cared too much for television, but he likes watching Stiles binge his way through his favorite shows and movies, likes the way Stiles will look over at him every few minutes with a bright smile on his face to see if Derek's enjoying the content just as much as he is, the way Stiles gets so worked up over seemingly insignificant details, his entire body flailing as he delves into twenty-minute monologues about all the plot twists and character growth in BBC Sherlock, Supernatural, and the MCU.

And then there are those rare, magnificent moments in between. Nights when they don't watch anything at all. Instead, Stiles talks about his mother, about the illness that took her life, about all of the different destructive and detrimental ways in which his father had dealt with his grief, about how Scott had been there for him, every step of the way…and sometimes, Derek shares tiny little fragments about his family, too; brief glimpses into the life he'd led before the fire, before Kate Argent had stolen it all away from him. 

It's those moments that are the most difficult for Derek to admit he covets, and maybe that's what makes them so precious. Because Stiles is the only one who seems to understand the constant, all-consuming pain and self-inflicted guilt that Derek has been going through for over seven years now. 

Because Stiles is incredibly easy to talk to, and even easier to listen to. Because Stiles doesn't force Derek to open up about his past, doesn't expect him to continue, even if he'd stopped speaking mid-sentence, eyes glazing over as he disassociates. 

Because Stiles fills the silence where Derek had trailed off with his own words and memories, gently tugging Derek back to the present. Because Stiles is the first and only person with whom Derek feels comfortable enough to talk to about his family. 

On more than one occasion, Derek has to stop himself from wandering into the dangerous territory of time rewritten, imagining what life would have been like if Stiles could have met them, if Derek could have met Stiles's mother, if neither of them had been dragged, kicking and screaming, into the hollow heartbreak that death often brings.

Because, it's like Stiles always says, "Death doesn't just happen to you. It happens to everyone around you. To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives without you in it." 

And he's right, because it does. The loss of a loved one latches onto you, eats at you until you're just an empty shell. And Stiles is the first person he's come across who truly understands what that feels like.

In those moments, Derek can't help but admire how brilliant Stiles is, how well he keeps his own brokenness hidden from the rest of the world. Can't help but find solace in the fact that maybe, he doesn't have to anymore, that neither of them do, now that they've got each other to confide in. And that's…Derek doesn't want to call it hope, exactly…but it's definitely something.

• • •

As the months stack up and fall semester bleeds into spring, Stiles grows accustomed to finding himself in Derek's company more often than he spends the night alone, slipping into a cozy routine, night-owl movie marathons and kitchen adventures a tradition in the making. It should feel weird, shouldn't make sense, but somehow, it does. It feels…oddly natural, comfortable. 

So comfortable, in fact, that sometimes, Derek will fall asleep on Stiles's shoulder mid-marathon, his heavy, sprawled-out form sinking into the couch cushions as he coils his arms around Stiles's waist, his grip like a vice, all but pinning Stiles to his seat. And then Stiles is left with the impossible task of trying to coax a sleepy, surly werewolf upstairs before his dad comes home, threatening Derek with the task of having to explain to the Sheriff why Derek is practically lying on top of his son at such an ungodly hour of the morning. (Because, let's face it, there's no way they're going to be able to talk themselves out of that one.)

It's to no avail, though, because once Stiles finally does manage to drag Derek back up to his bedroom, Derek proceeds to fall asleep in Stiles's bed, leaving Stiles to curl up along the very edge of the mattress, because Derek apparently likes to sprawl. And the worst part about it is that, after Derek leaves in the morning, Stiles's bed always smells like sourwolf, his blankets, pillows, and sheets embedded with Derek's scent. Never mind the fact that it's actually an oddly comforting, earthy fragrance…like petrichor, like rain-soaked grass and autumn leaves, like an early morning run through the woods…not that Stiles would ever admit to that. Instead, he just pretends that it annoys him, especially when his best friend starts to take notice.

One afternoon, Scott comes over after school to study for an upcoming history exam. Scott is doing slightly better this semester than he had been all last year, but he still needs Stiles's help, or he is definitely going to fail the majority of his classes. Scott barrels into Stiles's bedroom and stretches out on his bed, burying his face into the comforter and pretending to cry over the mountain of notes and textbooks that Stiles has laid out in front of him. 

And then, mid-groan, Scott suddenly freezes, all traces of playful banter traded for alarm as he bounds up and glares at Stiles's comforter, head cocked to the side.

"Dude," he says, wrinkling his nose. "Why does your bed smell like Derek Hale? Has he…has he been sleeping here…with you?"

Of course, Stiles's initial reaction is to lie through his goddamn teeth, because how the hell is he supposed to explain their little domestic routine to Scott? But then he remembers that Scott is his best friend, and that, oh yeah, he also happens to possess supernatural werewolf senses, and could catch him in a lie just by listening for the subtle shift in his blood pressure. Plus, there's no way that he can deny the fact that his bed smells like their alpha. Scott would recognize Derek's scent anywhere. So Stiles puts on his best scowling face and starts rambling, hoping his racing heart and flushed skin are mistaken for irritation rather than nerves.

"Ugh, I know, dude, it's totally weird. So, you know how Derek is like, always getting himself into trouble, right? Well, the bastard always ends up coming to me, with like, no regard to the time of night. And I always fix him up, because, you know, the whole not wanting to get mauled to death by a werewolf thing. And, because he's always out all night playing werewolf Batman, the guy never gets any sleep, so he decides my bed is the perfect fucking place to crash, I guess, so that's why it always smells like him…no, don't look at me like that, it's not like he sleeps with me, okay, I just…I mean, it's my own fault, really, because I should probably just lock my window. Of course, Derek would probably just break it and come in anyway…"

No, hang on. That makes it sound like Derek would resort to vandalism just to get close to Stiles, and that's…no, that's not how Derek works. (Probably. He doesn't actually know. It's not like he's had ample opportunity to test that theory. He's just always left his window open for Derek to climb through without a second thought.) 

But then…come to think of it, Stiles isn't entirely certain why Derek always chooses to come to him, of all people, anyway. It's not like Stiles is the only person who's capable of fixing Derek up after a fight…there's Deaton, and Isaac, and Erica, and Boyd…people who've studied werewolves for far longer than Stiles has even been alive…people who actually are werewolves…

Stiles interrupts his own internal word vomit and glances over at Scott, hoping like hell that his short attention span has already moved on to other, more distracting topics (Allison…Lacrosse…Allison) and has already forgotten the fact that Derek's scent is not only all over Stiles's bedroom, but also all over Stiles himself, which, yeah, okay, he knows what that probably looks like to Scott, but Scott's got nothing to worry about, because that is so not ever going to happen because, well…Stiles just isn't that lucky. 

But Scott's got this look on his face like he's genuinely concerned and a little bit uncomfortable and definitely grossed out to the point where he might actually start crying for real, and he's fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and averting his eyes and then, horror of all horrors, he asks, "Are you and Derek dating, or something?"

Stiles splutters, issuing a series of choking noises that have got Scott legitimately worried now.

"I…what? No, of course not! That's…gross, Scott. Why would you even say that?" Stiles chokes out, the discordant crack in his voice completely giving him away. And now he's screaming internally, all-consuming mortification and relief at having finally been caught in the biggest lie of his life (because, hey, pretending not to have feelings for someone is exhausting) waging war for control inside his head. 

Scott raises his hands in surrender, offering Stiles his most convincing innocent puppy dog eyes (there's a joke in there somewhere, but Stiles doesn't have the patience to make it right now.)

"Okay, fine. So you're not dating Derek. I get it. But then…" Scott trails off, reaching underneath his ass to pull out a slightly lopsided stuffed wolf that he apparently hadn't realized he'd been sitting on.

"Why do you have this?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow. Without thinking, Stiles launches onto his bed and rips the little plush toy out of Scott's hands, stroking the top of its head and pressing its little black nose into his cheek.

"Dude, don't sit on Sourwolf," he scolds, and seriously, he's going to murder Scott for the ridiculous grin that spreads across his face at the mention of the wolf's name.

"…isn't that what you call Derek?" he asks, biting back laughter.

"No…maybe…whatever, fuck you," Stiles says, shoving Sourwolf under his pillow and pacing the length of his bedroom, striped socks slipping across the hardwood floor. And then he pauses, realization dawning on him as he catches the wide, shit-eating grin unfurling across Scott's face.

"Oh my god," Stiles gasps. "You're fucking with me, aren't you? You know."

"What do I know, Stiles?" Scott asks, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

"Okay," Stiles sighs in defeat, dropping down onto the bed to sit beside Scott. "So, exactly how long have you known that I've got a crush on Derek?"

Scott merely chuckles and tilts his head to the side, studying his best friend with a look of pure amusement.

"Probably a lot longer than you have, buddy," Scott laughs, fixing Stiles with one of his signature heart-melting crooked smiles.

Stiles lets out a little sigh of relief, anxiety uncoiling ever so slightly in the pit of his stomach at the notion that his best friend not only knows, but approves.

It's a nice moment.

And then Scott opens his mouth and ruins it.

"I mean, it's kind of obvious, you know? You just get really stupid around him. Like your whole brain just stops functioning whenever Derek's around. It's like someone took your brain, threw it into a jar, and shook it really hard."

Stiles maintains that Scott more than deserved getting punched in the arm.

• • •

One evening in late April, during a thunderstorm dredged up from the deepest depths of hell, Derek catches Stiles walking home in the pouring rain…or rather, Derek rescues Stiles from the potential threat of pneumonia. 

Stiles's Jeep is in the shop again, his dad is working late at the station, and he's just missed the last bus, so he's resorted to walking home from lacrosse practice, in the middle of what can only be described as a soft-core hurricane…without an umbrella, or a raincoat, or even proper footwear…just a pair of muddied-up sneakers and a bright red, rain-soaked hoodie.

Derek heaves a dramatic sigh as he pulls up along the sidewalk, rolls down the windows of his Camaro, and shouts, "Get the fuck in the car, Stiles." 

Stiles jerks up at the sudden noise, his eyes lingering on Derek's darkened features through the sliver of the window, before a huge, ridiculous grin spreads across his face and he immediately jumps into the passenger seat of Derek's car, shrugging out of his sweatshirt and splashing water all over the pristine leather. Derek winces, on the verge of telling Stiles off, but stops dead at the sight of him—

Rainwater dripping down the length of his neck, connecting the smattering of freckles and moles between pale patches of skin like constellations in the night sky.

White shirt clinging to every curve of his torso, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination (but that doesn't stop Derek's from running wild.) 

His tongue darts out from the corner of his mouth to lick a stray drop of water from his lips, and Derek nearly whimpers. 

And then he's arching his back into the heated leather seats, moaning his appreciation in a way that sends a jolt like a shot of whiskey through Derek's chest, and Derek grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white and he thinks, this is it, this is how I die. 

Somehow, miraculously, Derek doesn't crash the car, keeping his eyes averted as he drives Stiles home, berating and lecturing him the entire time about how stupid he is, and how he'll probably catch a fever, and when he does, he can drag his own sorry ass out of bed to get himself hot tea and a bowl of soup, because Derek sure as hell isn't going to be the one to do it. Stiles bites back a laugh, taking it for the bullshit lie it so clearly is. 

Finally, they pull up in front of his house, and while Stiles's eyes are averted, Derek allows himself a moment to really take him in…rain-soaked clothes clinging to his lightly toned muscles, trickles of water streaming down the surface of his skin, lips stained red, blushing from the tangled mix of hot and cold air, steam clouding up the windshield as Stiles breathes out spirals of heat against it. It's intensely beautiful. Stiles is intensely beautiful, and it makes Derek want to lean in and smother him in kisses until the day he dies, to cover every inch of his pale, gorgeous skin with his tongue and his teeth. 

Stiles turns back around, fixing Derek with a curious expression as his fingertips toy with the handle of the door.

"Derek, I—" he begins, sounding just as breathless as Derek feels.

"Don't—" Derek interrupts him, clearing his throat and cursing his voice for having gone so weak. "Don't ever let me catch you doing that again, got it?"

"Oh my god," Stiles says slowly, a brilliant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You actually do care about me, don't you?"

Derek freezes, breaking his transfixion and rapidly readjusting the hinges of his mask…he can't lose control…can't let it show…not after he'd worked so hard to keep his feelings hidden. He's got to stay calm. Nonchalant. Casual.

"Of course I do," he says, with as much composure as he can manage. "You're pack."

Stiles bites his lower lip to keep his smug little smile in check, and it's so fucking adorable that Derek just can't help himself. Before Stiles can open the door, Derek fists one of his hands into the front of Stiles's shirt and pulls him close.

"If you die from pneumonia, or whatever the fuck you might've caught out there walking around in the freezing rain like a dumbass, I will kill you, and that's a promise," Derek growls, the ghost of a smile skating across his lips.

Stiles merely rolls his eyes, fighting back the urge to laugh, and climbs out of the car, stumbling onto the pavement like his limbs are at war with gravity. He reaches the front door and turns his key in the lock, looking back with a hopeful grin, and gives Derek a little wave before he steps into his house. Derek drives off in a make-believe huff, while Stiles sinks down the length of the door once he gets inside, slumping to the floor with a ridiculous smile on his face, hardly caring that he's freezing and soaked to the bone. Nope, none of that matters, because Derek had just admitted out loud that he cares about Stiles. And that's definitely something.

• • •

One thing that Derek absolutely hates about Stiles is his taste in music. Stiles blasts the shit out of his Jeep's speakers, singing along with a truly horrible excuse for music at the top of his lungs. After one too many dubstep remixes, Derek has no choice but to insist that they take the Camaro out on their pack training sessions instead. The alternative is smashing Stiles's iPod to bits, which Derek would normally have no qualms about doing, it's just…well…Stiles had worked really hard to be able to afford that iPod, and Derek would feel terrible if he broke it. He did try hiding it once, but Stiles found it almost immediately, nearly tearing off the pockets of Derek's leather jacket in the process.

The summer before senior year, Derek decides he wants to take the pack on a road trip up to the mountains for a couple of weeks of private, intensive training sessions. The entire trip had been planned several months in advance, a collaborative effort developed by Stiles and Derek to make the pack stronger, more alert, and more tightly-knit via training exercises that Stiles had charmingly christened packtivities (Derek has developed a bad habit of smacking Stiles across the back of the head every time he uses that word. And he's definitely going to detach a retina if Stiles makes the Camping! It's gonna be in-tents! joke one more fucking time.)

Unfortunately for Derek, since Stiles's Jeep is far roomier than Derek's Camaro, Derek, Stiles, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd all pile into the powder blue death-mobile for one agonizingly long drive up the mountainside, with far too much exposure to Stiles's terrible taste in music. (Erica is an evil little instigator; she sings just as loudly and off-key as Stiles does.)

Meanwhile, in the disgustingly adorable couples' carpool, sits Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson. When all of them finally arrive, they set up camp at the edge of the mountain, in a secluded little clearing surrounded by pine trees and berry bushes. The tent-sharing set up goes as follows: Scott and Allison to the first tent, Lydia and Jackson to the second, Erica and Boyd to the third…leaving Derek, Stiles, and Isaac to share the last tent (at least they'd all thought to bring their own sleeping bags.)

Once everyone has unpacked and settled in, Lydia and Allison light up a campfire, while Stiles and Derek drive five blindfolded betas to the very top of the mountain for their first trial in tracking scent. Stiles gives Scott, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson two items of clothing: one with Stiles's scent, and one with Derek's. Their instructions are to wait at the top of the mountain for a full hour, taking time to get acclimated to their surroundings, and giving Stiles and Derek plenty of time to trek their way back to the campsite. Then, after their sixty-minute period is up, they can take off their blindfolds, and find their way back to the campsite, using only their sense of smell to track Stiles and Derek down.

As they turn to leave, Stiles puts on his best Capitol accent, and says, "May the odds be ever in your favor," earning a sarcastic eye roll from Derek.

"This isn't the Hunger Games, Stiles. It's not like they're fighting to the death."

"Dude," Stiles says, shamelessly gaping at Derek. "You actually got that reference? I don't even remember watching that with you."

Derek responds with a simple shrug, sliding into the passenger's seat of the Jeep.

"So," Stiles muses as he climbs into the driver's side. "How come you didn't tell me you were a closet fanboy? I'd always thought you were just humoring me, you know? Watching all that sci-fi and action hero stuff with me. But it would appear that I have converted you."

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek sighs, a small smile creeping its way across his lips.

"You know, I've got the trilogy in hardcover, if you ever want to borrow—"

"Shut up and drive, Stiles."

Stiles does as he's told, but his smile is as smug as ever.

As they drive back down the mountains through verdant woods, golden rays of the sun bleeding into the citrine skyline as the rolling hills of the mountainside swallow it whole, the two of them sink into a comfortable silence, neither of them feeling the need to fill the void with idle chatter. Stiles has, thankfully, turned the volume of his iPod down to a soft lull, and is no longer trying to balance driving with conducting the score to The Avengers. 

Stiles stares straight ahead, his fingertips drumming along the edge of the steering wheel in a steady rhythm, a small, contented smile on his lips. Derek focuses his attention on the patches of dirt embedded in the carpet of the passenger's seat, most likely his own doing over the past two years, and absentmindedly scrapes his black leather boots over the tears in the fabric, somehow managing to make them even worse. He keeps his head down, resting his chin against his palm, and slowly, ever so slightly, lifts his eyes to peer over at Stiles from underneath his lashes. If Stiles takes notice, he never lets on.

When they park the Jeep in the clearing at the edge of the mountain, they notice that the campfire has recently been put out, its remaining embers a dull orange, melting into the charcoaled ash of the burning tree bark. Lydia and Allison have, by the looks of it, retreated to one of their tents for the night, waiting for their boys to come back to the campsite. 

Stiles gets an inkling that Derek has no desire to go anywhere near the campfire until it's died out completely, so he perches atop the hood of his Jeep, lies back against the windshield, and pats the spot right next to him, arching his eyebrows suggestively. Derek gives him an exasperated glare, rolling his eyes and shuffling over to the car, before vaulting onto the hood in one smooth, graceful motion, and easing into the space beside Stiles.

Neither of them say a word as they lay there, staring up at the star-strewn sky through a tangled web of tree branches, shoulders and thighs pressed against one another's. By the time the betas return to the campsite, Derek and Stiles have already fallen asleep, and the image of Stiles's head draped over Derek's chest, Derek's arm wrapped tight around Stiles's waist, both of them softly snoring on the hood of Stiles's Jeep, is enough to send the five of them into hysterics, Erica hissing loudly at them all to shut up so she can get to her phone and snap a photo before they wake up.

Even Derek's signature death glares aren't enough to quell all the giggling he has to endure for the entirety of their two-week trip.

• • •

One morning in mid-summer, a few days after they'd returned from their camping trip, Stiles arrives at Derek's house with a determined look in his eyes, arms overflowing with home makeover catalogues, DIY brochures, and stacks of paint samples. As expected, Derek slams the door in Stiles's face. 

It takes all of two days and an endless barrage of okay but what ifs for Stiles to convince Derek to reconsider, pointing out that renovating the Hale house will serve as a fantastic pack bonding activity, that fixing the broken remnants of his home won't chase away the memories that Derek has of his family and of his old life…instead, it'll make way for new memories, for Derek's second family, his new pack, to weave their way into his life. It would become a place for all of them to assemble, to come and go as they please, and maybe then, Derek wouldn't feel so lonely. (The detailed visual of Jackson scowling and covered in paint might have been the determining factor that tipped Derek over the edge.)

The moment Derek finally agrees, Stiles sets the plan into motion, and the pack spends the rest of the summer tirelessly working together to rebuild the Hale house, sanding hardwood flooring and plastering scuffs and scrapes and holes, reinstalling plumbing and electric, choosing furniture and carpeting and repainting the walls. Each week, they devote their mornings and afternoons to working on a different section of the house, celebrating their hard day's work with pizza and takeaway, and piling onto Derek's recently purchased leather couches for movie marathons and Mario Kart tournaments in the evenings.

When it's all finally finished, Derek and the rest of the pack decide to throw a surprise party to celebrate Stiles's 18th birthday, complete with flameless candles stacked onto a massive three-tiered chocolate hazelnut cake. As a sort of thank you, Derek decides to bake Stiles's birthday cake entirely from scratch, whipping up the ingredients from muscle memory. 

It's a recipe they'd found together on Pinterest ages ago, always joking that if they ever ended up on a tag-team baking competition together, that would be their finale-winning show-stopper. It takes him hours, and he's fairly certain that if he didn't have werewolf healing, he'd have developed carpal tunnel just from the piping alone, but the look on Stiles's face when Derek carries it out, the way his eyes flutter closed when he takes his first bite, the way Stiles leans against him and whispers, dude, this is amazing, thank you so much, is totally worth it.

• • •

It's the last day of summer, the last day of freedom before classes kick back up and the majority of the pack is pulled back into the dismal routine of high school, homework, and after-school activities, and of course, Stiles can't sleep. Sure, the dangerous mix of Adderall and Red Bull he'd had the night before were probably the culprits, but mostly, Stiles reasons, it's nerves. Because, here's the thing: once classes resume and everyone's lives go back to being ridiculously busy, now with the added worry of college applications to potentially stir up pack drama, the lot of them won't be able to spend nearly as much time together as they had been all summer. Worst of all, Derek will be left all alone again, and Stiles can't help but worry what that's going to do to him.

Dragging his fingers through his ruffled mess of hair and deciding that there's far too much daylight pouring through his bedroom window for him to even consider trying to go back to sleep, Stiles springs up from his mattress and makes his way downstairs, hoping for something, anything to distract him from stressing out about Derek Hale's hypothetical emotional state. What Stiles gets instead is an eyeful of his father kissing Scott's mom. From the looks of it, she'd stayed the night…and from the casual comfortability of their embrace, it would appear that this has been going on for quite some time.

Stiles should be shocked, really, but given the Sheriff's odd behavior as of late, the way he drifts off mid-conversation with a goofy smile on his face, the hint of really familiar perfume clinging to his clothes, and the occasional smudge of a lipstick stain on his cheek, Stiles is honestly just relieved to have finally figured out his dad's secret.

After a few seconds, Stiles composes himself and quietly clears his throat, and the two of them immediately break apart, Melissa wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, the Sheriff attacking a phantom itch on the back of his head. Stiles presses his lips together, biting back a nervous laugh.

"So…this is new," he says, shoving his fists into the pockets of his pajama pants and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"I'll just…get your coat, then," the Sheriff mumbles, averting his eyes from Stiles's expectant gaze.

"It's summer. I didn't bring a coat," Melissa reminds him, lips curving into a small smile. "Morning, Stiles."

She waves an awkward goodbye in Stiles's general direction and quickly slips out the door, Sheriff Stilinski close on her heels.

"We're gonna have a nice, long chat about all of this after I've dropped Melissa off at work, alright? Promise," he says, closing the door behind him with an audible click.

Stiles sighs and retreats to the couch with a big bowl of fruit loops balanced in his lap, lounging around the living room while he waits, lazily flipping through the channels until he lands on BBC America, which only serves to remind him of his all-nighter sci-fi movie marathons with Derek. 

Since the beginning of summer, they'd been spending all of their free time with the rest of the pack, which had left little time nor reason for Derek to come by Stiles's house…a fact that shouldn't bother Stiles as much as it does. Sure, Derek still came over from time to time to get Stiles's pre-approval of certain video games and movies for pack bonding nights, still crashed on his bed whenever he'd stayed too late and didn't feel like venturing back home…but not nearly as much as he used to.

Fifteen minutes later, Sheriff Stilinski strolls through the door, setting down his keys and flopping down onto the opposite end of the couch, sighing and rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"So, when's the wedding?" Stiles asks, smirking.

"Stiles, that's not—" he starts, but Stiles cuts him off.

"I mean, it's not like it would make much of a difference, really. Scott and I are basically already brothers, anyway. You marrying Melissa would just make it, you know…official."

"Stiles," he sighs, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Look, I'm sorry you had to find out about it like this. It's not like we were trying to keep it a secret from you and Scott, it's just…we didn't know if we could actually make this work, you know? We've been friends for so long, we've both got our baggage. We wanted to test the waters a little bit, keep it under wraps until we knew for sure that what we have is a good thing, for the both of us, and, most especially, for the both of you. And I didn't want to upset you, Stiles, because ever since your moth—"

"Dad, it's fine, really," Stiles sighs, cutting him off before he can make any more absurd apologies simply for having found love with someone other than Stiles's mom.

"Look, I know what you're going to say, and yeah, it's still a little weird because of…because of mom, okay, but no matter how long you wait and no matter who you end up with, it's always going to be weird, because I know that you'll never love anyone else the same way you love mom…but if I had to choose someone for you, not that I ever would because that would just be, like, super awkward and weird, but if I had to…I'd choose Melissa, because honestly, it kind of makes sense, you know? And, what it comes down to is…well…I haven't seen you this happy in years, and…and you deserve to be happy, dad."

Sheriff Stilinski stares at his son in astonishment, studying his expression intently, searching for the fault line…but in all honesty, there isn't one. Because there is nothing that Stiles wants more than to see his father happy.

"Thanks, kid," he says, pulling Stiles into a bone-crushing bear hug.

"Suffocating me, dad," Stiles laughs, squeezing his dad back even harder. When they finally pull away, Stiles mock-punches his dad in the arm and says, "Hey, you didn't have to keep it a secret from me and Scott, you know. We would've been fine with it."

Sheriff Stilinski rolls his eyes and shoves Stiles right back.

"Right," he says. "Like you've never kept any secrets from me."

"I know, I know," Stiles sighs dramatically. "I shouldn't have kept the whole werewolves are real and my best friend is one of them thing a secret from you for as long as I did, but hey, it's all out in the open now, right? You know about werewolves, I know about you and Melissa. So, we're good now. No more secrets."

"Huh," Sheriff Stilinski huffs thoughtfully. And then—

"You left out the part where your boyfriend's a werewolf, too."

Stiles gags on his cereal.

"Ew, Scott's not my boyfriend."

"Not Scott," his dad dismisses with a grimace. "I'm talking about Derek Hale."

Wait.

What.

"Look, son, I'm not mad," he says, pretending not to notice the fact that Stiles is literally sinking into the couch cushions in a vain attempt to disappear. "Granted, I'm not too thrilled about the age difference, but he seems like a nice enough guy, and you're an adult now. You're perfectly capable of making your own decisions. I'd just like to know that you're happy with him, that he treats you right, that you're using protect—"

This isn't happening. Thisisnthappening. This conversation is so not happening.

Stiles's entire body is on fire.

"Oh my fucking god," he splutters before he can stop himself. "Derek is not my boyfriend. Why does everyone keep saying that about us?"

"Probably because that's exactly what it looks like," the Sheriff says, barking out a laugh.

"Okay, fine, whatever. If me helping Derek plan pack training exercises is the equivalent of me dating Derek, then, yeah, I guess we're dating. But don't tell him that, unless you want your only son to die a very painful, embarrassing, werewolf-related death."

"Uh-huh. Yeah, I'll believe that when the werewolf in question stops climbing through your bedroom window at all hours of the night, or staring at you like a lovesick puppy-dog when he thinks I'm not watching. And don't give me that look, Stiles. I know perfectly well what goes on when you boys think I'm not home. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've caught you two asleep on this couch together…god only knows what you've been up to."

At that last line, Sheriff Stilinski crinkles his nose, shifting uncomfortably on the couch cushions like he's worried he'll find something unseemly hiding underneath them. Stiles, now properly shocked and more than a little paranoid, mouths wordlessly at his father, arms at the ready for another bout of flailing. 

Sheriff Stilinski shakes his head, sighing heavily as he hoists himself up off the couch and reaches for his keys. He's nearly out the door and on his way to work when he doubles back suddenly, fixing Stiles with an affectionate smile, and says, "You know, Stiles…you deserve to be happy, too."

• • •

Later that evening, after Stiles has calmed down from his incredibly awkward (and emotionally scarring) conversation with his father, the pack meets over at Derek's house to celebrate their last night of freedom with a cheesy, romantic comedy movie marathon. 

Scott takes the news of their parents dating just as Stiles had thought he would, with a surprised, "Really? That's awesome!" and gives Stiles a high-five, musing over their potential speeches as groomsmen (the more embarrassing, the better, obviously) and getting far too worked up over a wedding that hasn't even been announced, let alone discussed between the couple in question.

At around 11PM, everyone starts to clear out and head home, complaining in low, grumbling voices about their inevitable workload for the upcoming semester, comparing each other's schedules with excited squees and exhaustive groans. Stiles stays behind to help clean up, just like he always does, collecting plates covered in pizza sauce and glasses half-filled with soda and bringing them into the kitchen, where he does the washing up and leaves the clean dishes in the rack beside the sink to dry, while Derek lurks in the living room, pretending that he doesn't know how to work the dishwasher. 

As Stiles makes his way to the front door, he finds that his path has been blocked by the alpha. He tries to skate around him, but Derek just darts in front of him like the weirdest game of keep-away Stiles has ever had to play.

"Dude, come on, I don't have time for this right now. I have to get home," Stiles says, arching his eyebrows for emphasis, but Derek just continues to stand there, blocking Stiles's only exit like a giant, stupidly handsome wall of muscle. 

Several seconds pass before either of them say anything, and then finally, Derek speaks, shuffling his feet and wringing his hands like he's…like he's nervous. How is that even possible?

"I just," Derek starts, clearing his throat with a brusque sigh. "I never got the chance to thank you for convincing me to fix up the house," he says, his eyes darting around the finished walkway, from the polished, cherry oak hardwood floors to the scarlet runner carpet dancing up the stairwell, to the freshly-plastered walls concealing old scuffs, scrapes, and holes, covered in coats of warm, comforting, sunset hues. 

In reality, it isn't the finished house itself that Derek appreciates, or even the effort that Stiles had put into making the house a more livable place. It was because Stiles had helped give Derek a family again, a home.

"So…thank you," he says softly, locking his eyes onto Stiles's and fixing him with an intense stare, hoping that it's enough to convey everything he hadn't said aloud. They're only a few inches apart now, and Stiles can almost taste the warm, inviting scent of Derek's breath against his lips, urging him closer. 

Stiles worries his lower lip, drags a hand to the back of his head to attack a phantom itch, and says, "Yeah, of course, man…I mean, it's no big deal, really…I just…I care about you, too, you know? You deserve to be happy."

It happens in a matter of seconds, in a whirlwind of nerves and tension that had been plaguing the two of them for the better part of the last year, in a rush of adrenaline grounded in misguided confidence and the optimistic possibility that maybe, just this once, something could actually work in his favor. 

The sight of Derek's lips curving into a hopeful, heart-clenching smile is what draws Stiles in, pushing him over the breaking point until he's lost all semblance of common sense, giving in to his villainous hormones and clandestine desires as he presses his lips against Derek's, fisting his hands into the neckline of Derek's shirt and pulling him closer, pouring every last drop of affection, passion, and frustration into that kiss, delighting in the delicate moan that he conjures out of Derek's mouth as his teeth graze the alpha's lower lip. 

In an instant, the mood shifts from euphoric to tempestuous, and Stiles can feel the muscles of Derek's body tense against his own, the realization of how vulnerable and submissive Derek had just made himself sound rapidly sinking in. Derek pulls back abruptly and pushes at Stiles's shoulders, nearly knocking him to the ground as he fights his way to the bottom of the stairwell.

"We can't do this," he says, almost too quiet for Stiles to catch. "I'm sorry, but I think you should go."

Without so much as a backward glance, Derek races up the stairs and rounds the corner, disappearing down a distant corridor. There's the telltale slam of his bedroom door, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. 

Stiles shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at the empty stairwell, lost for words. A small, disbelieving sob rips its way through his chest and crawls up the length of his throat, and Stiles scrunches up his face as the searing pain of having to hold it all back winds its way through the bridge of his nose. The muscles of his legs start to tremble, giving out as he stumbles to the hardwood floor. 

With a grimace, he grasps the brass doorknob and indelicately wrenches it open, practically throwing himself out onto the front porch and into his Jeep. He turns the radio dial to full blast, drowning out the rest of the world in mottled beats and bass lines, and runs three red lights on his way home, traffic laws be damned. The moment he's safely concealed inside his room, Stiles collapses face-first onto his bed, which, seriously, fuck his life, because his sheets and pillows and blankets all smell exactly like Derek, and right now, that scent is pure torture.

In a fit of frustration, Stiles grabs Sourwolf and throws him across the room, where he collides into the wall with a pathetic little thump. And, of course, because Stiles is a fucking bleeding heart, he actually feels bad about having hurt the little plush toy, and quickly rushes over pick it back up and gently place it on his bedside table. Because really, it's not the inanimate bag of fluff's fault that Derek is a gorgeous, convoluted, life-ruining asshole.

Stiles glances at his phone, his brain churning out a thousand different clever one-liners that he could send to Derek, but instead, he simply lets it fall to the floor, into a rumpled pile of clothing that he's pretty damn sure contains one or more of Derek's shirts. There's nothing he could say that could possibly fix this. Because Stiles has fucked up. He's fucked up big time. And there's no coming back from this.

Stiles doesn't sleep well that night. He gets maybe a good twenty minutes in before his alarm clock starts screaming at him to wake up. He's about as surly and sour as Derek himself that first day back at school, biting back bitter comments when people tell him how exhausted he looks (which, quite frankly, is just rude, because telling someone they look tired is just a polite way of saying they look like shit.)

So instead, he plasters on a fake smile, trudges through the hallways, comes home, and collapses onto his bed, falling into an uneasy sleep and trying his damnedest to ignore the way his phone distinctly doesn't light up with one of Derek's texts, or the way Derek's scent still clings to his bedsheets. The rest of his week follows in a similar pattern, and dust collects on the ledge of Stiles's bedroom window.

• • •

It's Friday, less than a week after Stiles's humiliating encounter with Derek, which, miraculously, no one else in the pack seems to have found out about. He's parked his tray at a table in the corner of the school cafeteria, waiting for the rest of the group to show up. 

At the moment, his only company is Danny Mahealani, which is a little awkward, because Stiles has never actually had a proper conversation with the guy before. But Stiles suspects that that's all going to change soon…after all, Danny is well-versed in werewolf lore by now, due to the fact that Jackson had clued him in the night he'd turned…which makes it so much easier, honestly, not having to hide a secret that isn't even his from yet another person. 

But at the moment, Stiles is too damned exhausted and irritable to scrounge up good conversation material, so he just sits there in uncharacteristic silence…which apparently bothers the shit out of Danny, enough that he's actually willing to talk to Stiles for once.

"So, about the alpha," Danny prompts, because of fucking course Danny would want to talk to Stiles about werewolves right now. After all, being the only two humans in a human-werewolf hybrid clique that aren't romantically linked with any of said werewolves finally gives them something to talk about, something that they have in common.

"It's um…it's Miguel, right?" Danny asks, but his cheeky smile would suggest that he already knows otherwise.

"Oh, right. Um…yeah, sorry about that," Stiles says, sighing heavily. "I lied. He's not my cousin…and, um…his name is Derek."

"Derek Hale? Lone survivor of the Hale house fire? Tall, brooding…gorgeous. Yeah, I kind of figured the alpha wasn't actually your cousin…but then…he did spend an awful lot of time in your bedroom…" Danny trails off, and oh my god, is he really going to go there after what had happened between him and Derek last week? Does Stiles really have to deal with this shit right now?

Yes, as it happens, he does.

"So, humor me, Stilinski. Are you and him…you know…" Danny asks, arching his eyebrows suggestively. Stiles groans, burying his face in his hands.

"No, Danny. Derek and I are not dating," he sighs in a dejected deadpan voice.

"So, he's available, then?"

Stiles full on spasms, his head snapping back up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, and fixes Danny with a wide-eyed glare.

"Oh my god, Danny, no, you can't have him," Stiles blurts without even thinking. Because, unfortunately, Scott is absolutely right. Derek does make him stupid.

"That's what I thought," Danny says, a smug little smile edging its way onto his lips, like he's the fucking all-knowing love guru of Beacon Hills…which, admittedly, he might as well be. 

Luckily, to save Stiles from further embarrassment, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson finally show up, followed closely by Boyd, Isaac, and Erica. The eight of them immediately launch into a discussion about their classes and the mountain of homework they all have to do, which serves as a nice distraction…for a little while, at least, until they all start raving about some house party that's apparently going on this weekend. 

Scott, all smiles and sunshine and fucking rainbows, throws an arm around Stiles's shoulders and says, "You're coming, too, right?"

Stiles scrunches up his nose in disinterest, earning a disapproving look from the rest of the group.

"Aww, come on, dude," Scott whines. "You've been acting miserable all week. Might be good for you to get out for a little bit."

"Yeah, come out with us tonight, Batman," Erica jests, flashing him her best smile. "Maybe a drink or two will wipe that sad little frown off your face."

"We've all been pretty worried about you," Allison chimes in, and Stiles nearly dies at the look of absolute pity she gives him, well-intentioned though it may be.

"Everything okay, man? You smell like…I don't even know. It's kind of hard to make out," Isaac says.

"A little bit like hopelessness. Yeah, I've been getting that, too," Boyd agrees.

"Me? No, I'm fine. I am completely one hundred and three percent fine…it's not like anything happened to make me, you know, not fine. So…yeah. Everything's…great," Stiles says, placing special emphasis on the t, like he's mocking it just for existing. The pack falls silent, glancing around at each other awkwardly.

"O…kay. Well, good. So…everything's fine, and you're definitely coming with us tonight, right?" Scott asks. 

Stiles groans and buries his face in his palms, scrubbing his fingers through his hair and reluctantly nodding his assent. Scott whoops and punches the air in triumph. Oh joy, Scott managed to talk Stiles into being dragged to yet another horrible social event. Another affair of couple-focused bullshit, serving as a cruel reminder of the fact that Stiles is still painfully single, and that less than a week ago, all because of his stupid, rash decision-making, he'd been rejected and had lost a really great sort-of friend all in one go. 

But Scott thinks he's done right by Stiles, thinks that, somehow, a lame high school party will solve all of his problems, and he absolutely hates making Scott sad, so Stiles will just have to suck it up and pretend like he's having a good time, no matter how much he knows he'll end up despising this evening.

• • •

Derek Hale is freaking the fuck out. 

Okay, so maybe storming off in a terrified huff wasn't exactly the best way he could've handled that situation…but then again, he hadn't ever expected Stiles to kiss him like that, much less…well, ever. No matter how many times he'd imagined that exact scene playing out in his head, over and over in a multitude of different ways until he'd all but perfected the fantasy, he had never expected that Stiles would be the one to make the first move. 

He'd been so caught off guard by Stiles's bold, forward, fervent willingness, that for a moment, he actually thought he'd been dreaming. Stiles had taken complete control of the situation, of Derek himself, to the point where, if he truly wanted to, Stiles could irrevocably destroy him, could tear down the walls he'd worked so hard to build, brick by brick, before Derek could so much as blink. And he couldn't…no, he wouldn't…let that happen. Not again.

Because Derek had spent the past year convincing himself that he could never have this, that nothing could ever happen between the two of them. Because Derek knows that he would never be good enough for a guy like Stiles. Because Derek is reckless and stupid, especially when it comes to his emotions, and he's bound to fuck this up, and he can't risk wrecking the first real, deep connection he's had with someone aside from his own family since the fire.

And the worst part of all of this is that that exact commentary had been running through his head as he'd kissed Stiles back that night, seeking solace in the comfort of Stiles's embrace, weaving his fingers up the length of Stiles's neck, lightly tugging on the strands of his tousled dark brown hair, longer now than the buzzcut he'd worn when they'd first met, swallowing back Stiles's groans of pleasure like he was starved for them. And like the selfish, needy bastard that he is, he hadn't even tried to stop it. 

And then Stiles had done something amazing with his tongue and his teeth that had fractured all logic and reason, unraveling Derek in a way he'd never experienced simply from kissing someone. In that moment, Derek had felt himself surrendering everything to Stiles, reveling in the stomach-flipping euphoria of feeling wanted by someone he loves, and the very notion of sinking to that level of vulnerability all over again had scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

Over the course of the week that follows, Derek vows to stay away from Stiles, to give him the space he tells himself they both need, allowing himself plenty of time to recover, to think everything through. After five days of critical self-analysis, involving heavy bouts of conscience-bashing and repeatedly slamming his fists into his suspended punching bag, Derek arrives at the first sensible realization he's had about himself in nearly seven years: he's being fucking stupid. 

Because Stiles isn't some ticking time-bomb with a secret ruse rooted in vengeance and bloodlust. Stiles isn't going to use him and his vulnerability to destroy him and everything he holds dear. By now, Stiles has more than proven his worth, more than earned Derek's trust and respect and affection, and Derek is a fucking idiot for turning him down, for denying both of them the one thing he's spent years desperately craving. 

Confirming that Stiles's slightly dented, powder blue Jeep is still parked in the driveway, Derek scales the side of the Stilinski house in one swift, fluid movement, just as he'd done hundreds of times before, and perches atop the little ledge outside of Stiles's bedroom window. He holds back laughter at the thought of what Stiles would say about his super sleuth secret agent sneak attack skills, at the image of Stiles's startled expression when he opens the window and casually climbs into his bedroom, just like old times. 

But, much to Derek's disappointment, Stiles's room is empty, door closed, all lights extinguished, crescent moon casting eerie shadows on the walls as it slips in and out of the view of the curtains, bathing the room in darker shades of its usual grays and blues. The only light in the room is the soft glow of the little white apple adorning Stiles's laptop, the only sound the gentle whirring of the motor as it sleeps, waiting for its owner to return from…well, wherever he is. Derek quietly slips into the room and paces the hardwood floor, searching for signs that might clue him in as to where Stiles has gone tonight.

He runs his fingertips along the battle scarred edges of the wooden desk and dressers, across the soft fabric of Stiles's blankets and sheets that have long since lost Derek's scent. He frowns, realizing just how long it's been since he'd last stopped by, and makes a mental note to scent-mark the hell out of Stiles's bed, reclaiming it, and consequently, Stiles, as his. Derek strolls to the edge of the bed and takes up his usual spot, sinking into the mattress like his shape belongs there. He collapses backward onto the soft, plush pillows, inhaling the lingering remnants of Stiles's scent. 

He catches hints of worry, restlessness, and anxiety, and he can't help but grimace, hoping he'll soon be able to fix that. To fix Stiles. Derek had been purposely avoiding him all this past week, and it's going to take a hell of a lot to convince Stiles to forgive him, but he's willing to wait. After all, in a way, he'd been waiting for Stiles all this past year, waiting for something that he thought would likely never happen. He would wait all night if he had to.

• • •

At around three o'clock in the morning, Stiles bursts through his bedroom door, staggers toward the nearest piece of furniture, and clings to it for dear life. Derek startles awake, watching as Stiles kicks off one shoe, and then the other, laughing like an idiot as they collide with his bedside table. He stumbles in the semi-darkness, collapsing onto his bed and snuggling into the comforter, accidentally smacking Derek across the face in the process. Derek swears loudly, rousing a muffled scream from Stiles as he leaps off of the bed and crashes to the floor.

"Holy fucking shitballs," Stiles shouts, scrambling backward on his hands and knees. Derek rushes to his side, grips him by the collar of his shirt, and snakes an arm around his waist, hoisting him upright so his head doesn't hit the floor. Stiles's eyes grow wide as he takes in the sight of Derek's scowl, a mixture of frustration and concern contorting his features in the muted moonlight. 

Derek can hear the erratic thrum of Stiles's heart pounding in his chest, can practically feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Having lost all control of his limbs, Stiles just lies there on his bedroom floor, staring up at Derek with an odd combination of adoration, embarrassment, and shock. He clears his throat once, twice, three times, shifting his weight so that the back of his head is pressed right up against Derek's chest.

"Heeeey, Derek," Stiles says in what he probably imagines is a casual tone, raising his hands in a vain attempt to tame his tousled mess of hair. In his current state, however, his hands miss his head by several inches, and he ends up flailing and high-fiving the air instead. Derek rolls his eyes and tries not to smirk. Then he catches another scent, a sharp, sickly sweet scent that's so strong it makes him wince, rolling off of Stiles's breath in waves.

"You smell like a fucking brewery," Derek growls. "How much have you had to drink?"

Stiles starts counting on his fingers, holds seven of them up to Derek's face, and says, "Couple of shots of vodka, I think…I lost count after the fourth. Oh, and then I had sex…on the beach…which was awesome…oh, wait, no, not like that, I didn't mean…the drink, obviously…I meant the drink," he slurs, hiccoughing and giggling to himself.

"Where were you?" Derek asks, eyebrows knit in confusion, trying to ignore the prickle of a blush that had burst across his face at the sound of Stiles's voice wrapped around the word sex, or the swell of relief that Stiles hadn't spent the night with someone else.

"Party. Biiiiig party. Laaaaaame party. Everyone was paired off by the end of the night, making out in various corners of the room…everyone but me," Stiles sighs dramatically.

"Right.Okay. You need sleep, like, right now," Derek decides, dragging Stiles up by his underarms and carrying him back toward the bed. He lays Stiles down gently, cradling the back of his head in the palms of his hands.

"Wait, what are you even doing here?" Stiles asks around a stifled yawn. "I thought you hated me."

Derek winces, a suffocating ball of guilt manifesting in the back of his throat.

"Don't be stupid, Stiles. Of course I don't hate you," he says, fixing Stiles with a wounded glare.

"Oh," Stiles says softly, like he doesn't quite believe it. "Well, how come you're here, then? Pack meeting's not 'til tomorrow."

"I'm not here because of pack stuff. I'm here to talk about us, Stiles. But that doesn't matter right now. We can talk about it when you're sober," Derek says, pulling back several layers of blankets and sheets and coaxing them around Stiles's stubborn legs.

"Hah…nope, I don't buy it…because I'm here to talk about us is totally not something the real Derek would ever say to me. See, Derek doesn't do feelings…he's about as emotionally constipated as Dean Winchester…which I guess makes me Cas…but anyway, yeah, I'm just going to assume that none of this is actually happening and that my brain is just playing another cruel trick on me…okay, Dream Derek?"

Derek sighs audibly, rolling his eyes and shrugging off the blatant insult.

"Whatever gets you into bed," he says, and then instantly regrets it.

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, Dream Derek?" Stiles growls, shrugging out of his t-shirt and throwing it across the room, where it lands in a heap with the rest of his laundry. Stiles is now drunk and shirtless, and he's being incredibly cheeky and flirty, and Derek is hovering just mere inches above him…this can't end well. Stiles's fingertips move to unbutton his jeans, but Derek stops him before he manages to slide them all the way down, hands ghosting over his hips. Stiles closes his eyes and groans miserably, quickly covering his mouth with the palm of his hand as another wave of nausea hits him full-force.

"Yeah, that's so not going to happen right now. Even if you weren't seconds away from throwing up, you're still drunk. Come on, Stiles, get up. You need to put pajamas on. I know you how much you hate sleeping in jeans," he urges, but Stiles doesn't budge, lying flat on his back with his hands fisted into the sheets, his eyes squeezed shut. 

"Fuck no," Stiles groans. "Seriously, dude, I'm so goddamn dizzy right now, if I open my eyes for even a second, I'm gonna hurl. Feels like I'm on a ship, and not in the fun way."

"Alright, fine," Derek grumbles. "Just lay still and let me tuck you in before you flail out of control and give yourself a concussion."

"That's mean," Stiles whines, rubbing his fingertips against his aching temples.

"Where's the lie though?" Derek quips back, pulling the comforter up to Stiles's neck and tucking in the sides.

"Touché," Stiles mumbles. "But still…rude."  

Stiles rolls over, an appreciative groan escaping his lips as he snuggles in and curls an arm around a little black and gray stuffed wolf that Derek hadn't ever noticed before. With a heavy sigh, Derek lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, appointing himself as Stiles's official nighttime guardian, and studies the steady rise and fall of his chest as he drifts off to sleep, arms wrapped tightly around the little wolf as he nuzzles into its fur.

"Stiles, you ridiculous, adorable little moron…what am I going to do with you?" Derek says, a bit louder than he'd meant to, causing Stiles to startle awake, snorting and mumbling something unintelligible.

"Didn't catch that, sorry," Derek says, at which point Stiles huffs and sighs theatrically.

"I said, you sound just like Derek…all rugged, and sexy, and Alpha Sourwolf," Stiles mumbles, baring his teeth and biting at the corner of his pillow for dramatic effect.

"What did you just say?" Derek barks out a laugh, a furious blush creeping across his cheekbones.

Stiles wrinkles his nose and shakes his head back and forth against the pillow.

"Nothing. I said nothing. I am definitely not talking about Derek Hale anymore. Oh, and, before you ask, for the last time, no, we are definitely not dating."

His eyes are closed, so Derek can only assume that he's still half drunk and half asleep, completely unaware of where he is and who he's speaking to.

"Who thinks we're dating?" Derek asks, making sure to speak a little quieter this time, lest he wake the entire household.

"Well…everyone, really," Stiles replies. "Even my dad."

Derek blinks a couple of times, struck speechless.

"And your dad, he's…okay with that?" Derek asks, hopeful. He takes it as a good sign that the Sheriff hasn't rolled up to his house and cuffed him yet, anyway.

"Yeah, I mean, I guess. He said he just wants me to be happy, and if that's with Derek, then, you know…cool."

"Huh," is all Derek can manage, until another nagging question pops into his head. "So, why does everyone think we're dating, exactly?"

"Ha…well…if you mean why as in why would Derek ever be interested in an awkward, gangly, ridiculously-unattractive-in-every-definition-of-the-word guy like me, then the answer is pretty obvious, my friend…he wouldn't."

Derek simply stares at Stiles, flummoxed and a little bit crestfallen. His words come out strangled, a muddled mess of hope and doubt.

"That's ridiculous, Stiles. Why do you think Derek wouldn't be interested in you?" he asks, swallowing thickly. "Seems like you're placing this guy on a pedestal, and…well, he doesn't sound all that appealing."

Stiles barks out a laugh and slowly shakes his head.

"No, dude, seriously, you don't understand. Derek is…" Stiles sighs, licking his lips and letting out a positively sinful moan in lieu of a response. Derek's heart beats wildly beneath his chest, clinging to Stiles's every word.

"Wait, what? What's Derek? What were you going to say?" Derek demands, shifting closer to Stiles.

"Nope, nonononono, I can't. Real Derek might find out, and there's no way in hell that he can ever know that I'm…nope. Not gonna say it."

Stiles covers his face with his hands.

"Stiles…Stiles, you can tell me, it's fine," Derek urges. "What about Derek?"

"Okaaaaaay, fine, but you have to promise me you won't tell Derek. Cause he'll totally freak out if he ever finds out that I'm kind of sort of completely in love with him."

Derek's eyes grow wide as he falls into a contemplative silence, biting back a ridiculous smile that threatens to fracture his evenly tempered veneer.

"Okay? Promise?" Stiles asks, snapping Derek out of his reverie.

"I…" he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "I promise, Stiles."

"Good," he says, playfully poking Derek through the blanket with his toes.

"Now cuddle me."

"I…what?" Derek laughs.

"Pleaaaaaase? I'm coooooold," Stiles whines.

"O…okay," Derek concedes, quickly kicking off his boots and crawling up the length of the bed. He slides under the covers right behind Stiles, curving an arm around his waist and pulling him flush against his torso, that same old feeling of euphoria blossoming across his chest.

"So, I'm going to tell you another secret," Stiles says after a few minutes of comfortable silence, his voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah?" Derek prompts.

"Last week, I sort of totally kissed Derek," Stiles confesses with a self-satisfied little smile.

"Oh really? How was it?" Derek asks, playing along, his smile so wide he thinks it might actually split his face in two.

"It was amazing. Seriously. I even got him to moan a little bit, which, oh my god, was so fucking hot, but…um…it didn't exactly end very well. Guess he finally realized what he was doing and who he was kissing and decided to book it the hell out of there. Can't blame him, really," Stiles says sadly.

"Stiles," Derek whispers, nuzzling into the back of Stiles's neck and pressing his lips to the soft little patch of skin behind his ear. "I'm so sorry."

"S'okay, dude. Totally my fault," Stiles yawns.

"No it wasn't," Derek mumbles, barely audible. 

The two of them lay like that for a few more minutes, Derek's guilt consuming him whole, until Stiles breaks the silence.

"Hey, so, I know this is going to sound weird and all, but…mind if I pretend you're Derek? Like, actual, in-real-life Derek? I know you're just a terrifyingly real-feeling hallucinatory figment of my imagination, but I thought, hey, might as well be polite and ask. I mean, I don't know if you've got some other place to be, or…" Stiles trails off, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Not at all," Derek chuckles, curling his arms tighter around Stiles's waist.

"Mmmm….you smell really nice…and you're really warm…fuck, you're so comfortable. How are you even doing that? You know what, don't answer that. I'm just gonna chalk it up to the fact that my mind is awesome. Totally loving this lucid dream sequence upgrade."

"Shut up and go to sleep, Stiles," Derek whispers affectionately, rolling his eyes and pressing soft little kisses against the back of Stiles's neck as the two of them drift off to sleep, perfectly content for the first time in years.

• • •

Derek wakes in a tangled mess of bedsheets, torso curled into the arch of Stiles's back. He's careful not to stir, lest he wake Stiles up, arms wrapped around the slumbering man's lanky figure, fingertips absentmindedly tracing a constellation of freckles and moles from the curvature of his collarbones to the dip of his hipbones. He buries his nose into the nape of Stiles's neck and places a soft, sweet kiss along the edge of his hairline. Startled by the sudden sensation of rough stubble brushing against his bare skin, Stiles opens his eyes, blinking rapidly and wincing like the sun has lit his retinas on fire, before rolling over and turning to face Derek.

"Fuck, oh my god," Stiles nearly shouts, flailing uncontrollably as Derek struggles to keep a hold of him. Eventually, Stiles's breathing stills, eyes tracing Derek's shadowed features, lingering for just a moment longer than is truly necessary on the curve of Derek's pouted, pink lips. He swallows thickly, vaguely aware of the relentless drumming inside his head.

"So, um…care to explain why we're half-naked and cuddling in my bed?"

Derek actually has the audacity to look down, lower lip jutted out and eyebrows arching up in confusion, like he's genuinely surprised to find himself shirtless.

"You were really drunk last night," Derek sighs sleepily, nuzzling into the crook of Stiles's shoulder.

"Um…did we…we didn't, did we? I mean, for your sake, because dude, that's some bad judgment right there," Stiles blurts out, his brain having apparently severed its ties to his mouth.

"Of course not," Derek snaps, wounded. "Do you really think I'd take advantage of you like that?"

"No! No, of course I don't. I didn't mean it like that," Stiles amends, rubbing at his temples with his fingertips. "So if we didn't…you know…what did happen last night?"

"Oh, the usual…you got wasted at some party and I ended up having to take care of you. I didn't think it was possible for you to be any more mouthy and annoying than you normally are, but apparently, drunk Stiles is quite the talker. I've got to say, though, I learned some pretty interesting things last night," Derek laughs, a smug little smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Stiles's eyes grow wide in horror.

"Oh dear god. Please tell me I didn't—"

"Yup," Derek quips, popping the p.

"How much of—"

"Everything, I'm afraid."

Stiles shoves his face into his pillow and groans, loudly and miserably. Up until now, he genuinely thought (or perhaps, hoped) that he'd dreamt most of their conversation from the night before.

"So all of that…really happened," Stiles swallows thickly. "Including the part where I confessed that I'm kind of sort of completely in love with you?"

"Yup."

"Any chance you'd be willing to forget everything I said last night?"

"None at all."

"Fuck."

There's a small little pocket of silence, during which Stiles prepares for the onslaught of rejection. Again.

"Stiles."

"Yeah, Derek?" Stiles asks, wincing.

"You do realize that you're an idiot, don't you?"

Well, that's nothing new, but still…ouch.

"Excuse me?" Stiles scoffs indignantly.

"What part of me constantly coming over just to spend time with you, and me spending the night cuddling you and taking care of your stupid drunken ass, and telling you how sorry I am for stopping one of the best goddamn kisses of my life because I was too afraid to admit my own stupid feelings, do you not understand?"

"Well, that's not…oh. Oh. Oh my god."

"Yeah."

"You…do you?"

"I think you already know the answer to that."

"Yeah, but I still want to hear you say it."

Derek sighs, rolling his eyes and nudging Stiles's cheek with the tip of his nose.

"Stiles, you annoying little shit, I love you. Against my will and better judgment, I do. And I was stupid and wrong and all sorts of fucked up for having pushed you away like that, and I hope you can forgive me, because I'm really, really sorry. Okay?"

"Okay," Stiles says softly, a brilliant smile spreading across his lips. Derek kisses the corner of Stiles's mouth, drawing him closer as Stiles snuggles into his chest. The two of them slowly drift back to sleep, content to spend the rest of their Saturday morning wrapped in each other's arms.