#maybe another snippet but

[kpforpresident]

Do plant shop clexa own any pets? What if Clarke brings home a kitten one day without telling Lexa because it was a stray? At first Lexa loves the kitten but quickly gets upset when she starts scratching, biting, and uprooting her plants

"Clarke, no." Lexa cannot help the halfhearted, exasperated smile that pulls at the side of her mouth as her wide-eyed girlfriend inches forward tentatively with what looks like a very fuzzy lump of coal in her hands.

Clarke gestures wildly in protest at what she knows will be a defensive argument by her botanically inclined girlfriend, clearly going on the attack to prove her case as the teeny black kitten sails within an inch of Lexa's nose. Lexa goes cross eyed trying to examine the animal as she refocuses, Clarke now cradling the baby protectively into her chest as the kitten meows in protest at the roller-coaster treatment.

"Someone left her all alone in a box outside the studio, Lex. A box-! She has no siblings, nothing, just a tattered little towel-"

Lexa raises a hand halfheartedly to cut off Clarke's indignant rant that she senses gathering like thunderclouds behind stormy blue eyes. She pinches the bridge of her nose halfheartedly to ward off the stress headache that she could feel brewing behind her temple.

She had known it would be something like this when instead of the series of excited voice memos and anecdotes that usually blew up her phone after Clarke had excited her studio for the day, a solitary text with a You home, Lex? lighting up her phone as the sun started its graceful meander below the horizon. Lexa, having loved Clarke almost as long as she'd known her, had signed and poured herself a glass of whisky and settled in to wait for her impulsive girlfriend to arrive home, knowing that she had some unknown in store for her.

Which, as fate would have it, would turn out to be an art studio parking lot kitten.

A neon green gaze peers out from between Clarke's parted fingers, the little ball of soot that Clarke has now named Hiro drinking Lexa in with a keen gaze.

Clarke, sensing that the kitten was having its non-verbal say, wisely held her tongue as Lexa and Hiro stared at each other for a long moment.

Prrt?

Hiro inquires softy at Lexa, the soft chirp punctuated by an inky paw waving halfheartedly through the gap in Clarke's fingers in Lexa's general direction as the small creature becomes slightly more inquisitive.

A long, graceful finger bridges the gap to stroke the fluffy black fur. Clarke fidgets slightly but stays silent as bright blue eyes flick excitedly between Lexa's thoughtful hand and Hiro's tiny frame.

Silence stretches on for a long moment as Lexa softly dances her fingers across the rim of the whisky glass, thinking.

A rusty, quiet purring breaks the moment as Hiro arches into Clarke's hands, rubbing her slender face against Clarke's palm.

Lexa follows the interaction quietly with narrowed eyes, sighing as she drains the last of her whisky.

"Fine, bring her in. But she gets a bath first thing, do you hear me, Clarke? And she's going to have to learn not to chomp any of my plants- do you hear that, Hiro? You have to be good, do you hear-"

Clarke, grinning from ear to ear, sails past Lexa with her miniature void in hand, Hiro rumbling contentedly as Clarke smacks a grateful kiss onto Lexa's cheek before running inside.

Clarke pretends not to notice when Lexa starts snuggling Hiro after long days at the shop, Hiro tucking up into Lexa's lap contentedly while she reads, small paws moving neatly as she kneads Lexa's thigh.

[aroaceleovaldez]

i have suddenly become obsessed with a theme that HoO established but never proceeded to extrapolate on, which is:

You are Percy Jackson, and you have been swapped with a boy who was allegedly everyone's favorite person, but they have decided to replace him with you. They just met you. You stand next to his best friend and the people he's known his entire life. In his home. In his cloak. In his place. They stopped looking for him.

You are Jason Grace, and you have just found out you have a long lost sister who completely replaced you in her life with this girl you just met. Your lives and personalities are mirrors. She is you, living the life you were robbed of.

You are Annabeth Chase, and you have just become starkly aware that you have been inhabiting the void left behind by your best friend's long lost brother. You and Luke were just replacements for him. Now you have to look him in the eyes when he has nothing and know you took that life from him.

You are Piper McLean, and you have just found out your relationship is fake and built entirely on the memories of Annabeth Chase. You have been given a boyfriend when hers has been taken away. You have no idea how much of it is real or not but regardless you feel like if your relationship isn't exactly in their image that you have failed.

You are Leo Valdez, and you have just learned that you are the echo of your great-grandfather. You are not your own person. You just exist to be a mirror of him. A doppelganger. An actor and stunt double facing all the danger he never had to but wearing his face. To be there for his best friend decades later simply because he couldn't. You are playing a role. A seventh wheel and a pawn for a goddess who carefully sculpted your entire life for her own purposes.

You are Hazel Levesque, and the only reason you are alive is because your brother couldn't save your his sister. You are a consolation prize. An apology. Your existence here is misplaced in every way but you inhabit it anyways.

You are Frank Zhang, and you are a shapeshifter. Inhabiting your own body feels strange and clumsy when you could be literally anything at any time. You are anything and everything and live your life with the simple certainty of knowing exactly how you will die.

[royalarchivist]

Tubbo: Yeah no– yesterday I met Roier and Missa for the first time, which was really really freaking cool. Me and Badboyhalo were walking 'round the floor, and Bad got a notification of like– [Briefly interrupted by his father] –with like, Roier taking a photo with like a viewer, and Badboyhalo was like "He is here!" 'Cuz on Insta– [An off-screen "hello" distracts him from the rest of the story] Yes?

[xxplastic-cubexx]

hi i don't have the specific comic issue, but i do have this panel (in response to charles being a screamer). enjoy.

First person who finds this issue name gets a crisp and uncomfortably-cold handshake from me

[quadrantadvisor]

Multiverse, Reverse Robins au, 2,514 words

-

Jason (Red Hood)

The imposters are good, Jason will give them that.

They need to work on their looks, unfortunately, because each one of them is a little off. Their Nightwing is too bulky, and his costume isn't made with Dick's flexibility in mind. Besides that, he's got an undercut that doesn't match the shaggy way Dick has his hair now, and his blue is too dark. And the swords. Those are different.

Their little Robin looks more like Dick, actually, Dick as he was before Jason's time, with his happy grin and his bright yellow cape. He doesn't match Damian's style at all, and Jason wonders if their intel was out of date. He tucks away his anger (the way he's used to doing, now) at these bastards roping some little kid into whatever con they're trying to pull. They can help the kid after they subdue him, and he stops trying to flip-kick people in the face.

The Red Robin outfit isn't bad, but the guy playing him is way too tall to be Tim. He doesn't use a bo staff, either, clearly preferring the armory of sharp little implements he keeps tucked away in his utility belt, including a wicked looking combat knife.

Which brings Jason to the current pain in his ass, the idiot trying to pass himself off as the Red Hood.

Yeah, they'd split off into pairs to fight. First off, for practicality's sake. Less risk of friendly fire if the only guy you're trying to punch is the one who isn't you. And secondly, it's just what you do, isn't it? Somebody gives you a set up like this, you go along with the poetic justice. No bat is immune to drama.

Jason is regretting that a bit, now. Fake Hood had taken him for a ride, leading him, he now realizes, far away from the warehouse where Nightwing and Robin had initially called in the disturbance. This other guy isn't the powerhouse that Jason is, but that doesn’t matter if Jason can't ever get in a hit. His movements are precise, deadly, and familiar in a way that makes Jason suspect League training. Jason is keeping up, but barely, and that's with the advantage of his guns. The other guy hasn't touched his, still gleaming red in his holsters, and Jason has a sneaking suspicion that they aren't filled with rubber bullets.

They're at a bit of a stalemate, standing on opposite sides of a dark rooftop, and Jason's trying to catch his breath but he can't relax, not when his gaze is locked onto his opponent, waiting for the minute twitch of muscle that will indicate his next move. He's wondering if he could get a shot off, wondering where to aim, when his comm crackles to life.

“Stand down!” Tim snaps in his ear. “Hood, Wing, the alternates aren't currently a threat. Deescalate however you can, and get back to the warehouse. We can explain this whole mess there.”

“Really?” Nightwing asks. He goes on to say something else, something about his doppleganger being incredibly threatening, thank you very much, but Jason stops listening, because there's something going on across the roof.

A mechanically distorted voice says, “What? No, I'd be able to tell. This guy isn't-” The imposter(?) cuts off suddenly, presumably listening to a response.

And then he… giggles.

“That isn't funny, Red,” he says, in contrast to the little peals of laughter making him subtly shake. “You- you get how fucked up that would be, don't you?”

Jason can't figure out what to do. Tim's intel is almost always good, but he can't get himself to stand down, not when, for some reason, that laughter is setting his teeth on fucking edge.

(He knows the reason. He'd know that cadence anywhere, he hears it in his fucking nightmares, but it isnt possible. He's in Arkham, right now, because Batman won't kill him and Jason isn't allowed to kill him and that uncomfortable truce is what got him his family back. Jason would know if he'd broken out, they wouldn't have kept that from him. They wouldn't.)

“Oh shit,” Tim says, and it makes Jason wonder how he knows, “Hood, is your alternate having some kind of fit right now?”

The sound escalates, from breathy little giggles to screeching laughter, and even with the hood's distortion, it's unmistakable.

It's the Joker's laugh.

It's the Joker.

And isn't this exactly some shit that Joker would pull, making a mockery of Jason's family, a twisted parody that fucks with his head? Tim's lying, he's trying to get Jason out of this situation, and Jason gets why, he does, but obviously the rest of them can't (won't) protect him from this, so if he has to take fate into his own hands, he will.

The green is creeping up, but Jason doesn't let it haze over his vision because he has to be in his right mind while he does this, not for them, for himself. As he stalks across the roof, he empties the clip from one of his guns and pulls out the live rounds, loads them into place.

He thinks Tim is calling for him, maybe the others, too, but the chatter over the comm is getting further away the closer he gets to his target. He should be smart, should take the shot, but maybe he's got more pit in his head than he wants to admit, because Joker, still laughing, pulls a knife, and Jason steps into his range to disarm him.

The strike is fast, but compared to the careful movements of before, he's practically telegraphing his actions. Jason sidesteps, and if the blade knicks him when he twists Joker's arm, he doesn't feel it. He's got the clown in a hold, now, and forces him to his knees with the gun against his temple.

If the hood is anything like his own, the bullet won't do it, not even at point blank range. Jason would like to get it off him, would like to see the life leave his eyes, but he doesn't have to. Jason moves the barrel beneath his chin, right where the armor ends. The pit rages inside of him, says this is too easy, says to make him suffer. Jason pushes it down. This is the compromise he'll make, this is what he'll do to try to maintain both his humanity and his peace of mind. The bullet will ricochet off the hood from the inside, will tear through Joker's brain at least twice, and he'll never come back from that, and Jason will finally be free.

It'll be easy.

This is too easy.

“Nothing to fucking say?” Jason growls, jostling the clown in his grip, because there's always some joke, some shitty twist.

The Joker just laughs.

“Unhand him this instant!” someone snaps, and Jason's finger twitches but somehow the trigger stays still. And now what's he supposed to do, because of course fucking Nightwing- but wait, that isn't- but it is, he's right there- it's both of them, two Nightwings. Fucking fantastic. Twice the guilt trip.

“Come on, Jay,” the Nightwing who's actually Dick pleads, and hey, what the fuck, codenames? In front of the fucking Joker, Dick? “Let him go, we can explain everything.”

“I'm not doing this again!” rips itself from Jason's throat, and he'll think later about just how wrecked he sounds. “I'm not just standing here and letting him go, Wing, not when one bullet can put a stop to all this, not when I can end him.”

“Jason,” Dick says, slow with forced calm, “that's not the Joker.”

“Don't you fucking lie to me!” Jason seethes.

His hand is wrenched to the side, the barrel facing open air, and before he can make a move the unfortunately familiar feeling of a high voltage shock courses through him.

By the time he's stopped seizing, Dick is at his back, supporting him with his own body and with arms under his pits and around his chest in a weird reverse hug. Technically, Jason's hands are free, but they're empty, the gun skidded to somewhere else across the roof.

Dick is murmuring into his ear, “Sorry, Little Wing, I'm so sorry,” and, “You're okay, you're okay, you're okay,” mantras meant to soothe his brother as much as himself. Jason wants to be angry, wants to snap at him to let go and fucking cut it out, but he's feeling strangely disoriented. He only has enough brainspace to pay attention to one thing, and that's the scene playing out in front of him.

Dick had clearly hauled them back a few steps, but Jason is still uncomfortably close to the bastard version of Nightwing (who, Jason realizes in hindsight, had tazed him while he'd been distracted by his brother, not cool) and the laughing maniac he should've killed. Nightwing is holding onto Joker's shoulders, his hands bouncing as the gasping, shrieking laughter continues.

“I'm going to remove your helmet now,” Nightwing says. He has a slight accent that Jason knows he's heard before, and his tone is professional, almost clipped. And yet, somehow, Jason can tell that this is a gentled version of the man's voice, the sharpest edges sanded away. His hands move from Joker's shoulders to the back of his head, carefully inputting whatever sequence allows for safe removal of the hood. Jason hears a hydraulic hiss when some sort of catch releases, and as Nightwing starts pulling the red metal up and away Jason can't help holding his breath.

At first, he sees what he expected to see. It's the Joker's expression, after all, his laughing face pulled into a rictus grin.

But the grin isn't right, somehow. The man is pale, but his face is unpainted, and the smile stretches wide, too wide, wider than even the Joker ever managed, and after a moment Jason recognizes the red, raised scar tissue on either side of his mouth for what it is.

Then, Jason takes in the actual features of the person in front of him. Dark hair, pale blue eyes, the cheeks, the jaw, the nose.

It doesn't make any fucking sense.

The Red Hood, collapsed on his knees in front of him, scarred face bare with no hood or domino to protect him as he struggles under the weight of his own laughter, is Tim Drake.

He's crying.

Jason is suddenly glad that Dick's holding him, because he's certain that he'd be on the ground, otherwise. Then, he realizes that he can't breathe.

Jason knows, logically, that his hood has sensors and filters that keep him safer than he could ever be without it. It is only every once in a while, when something stupid happens, that he regrets that he, a man with claustrophobia, decided to stick his head into a metal bucket.

Dick can probably tell that he's hyperventilating, and doesn't fight him as Jason gets his hands on the back of his neck and pulls off his hood.

Jason gasps in polluted Gotham air, and Tim's eyes snap onto him. Nightwing says, “I'm administering the emergency dose of your medication,” and then stalls, like he's waiting for a response, but all Tim does is laugh and stare. Jason stares back. He can't look away.

Nightwing retrieves a small tubular device, almost like an epipen, and presses it against Tim's leg. That shouldn't work. Tim's wearing body armor, same as the rest of them, and there's no way a needle could pierce it, but Jason looks as Nightwing draws the device away and there's a small raised circle of hard plastic on Tim's thigh that the head of the device fits into perfectly, like it was designed for that purpose. An injection spot, built into Tim's clothing, specifically for whatever drugs fake Nightwing just pumped into him.

Immediately, there's a difference. He doesn't stop laughing, or smiling that horrible fucking smile, but the manic tension is gone. He doesn't look like he'll shatter at a touch anymore, too brittle to be handled. The curve of his spine gentles, muscles no longer pulling it to the point of snapping. Jason watches as slowly, oh so slowly, Tim gets quieter, leans more into Nightwing's hold on him, starts gasping more than laughing.

Dick is talking behind him, into his comm, it sounds like. If it's important, someone will get his attention.

Finally, Tim breaks eye contact. “T- tell him,” he says to Nightwing, struggling between gasps and giggles, “tell him what you, gave me. Jay doesn't, he doesn't like, needles.”

The strange Nightwing turns his head, and Jason gets the impression of a sharp, searching gaze behind his domino. He's nothing like Dick, not at all, but something niggles the back of Jason's mind, some sense of familiarity regardless. He tosses something, and Jason automatically reaches up to catch it.

It's the empty tube of medication, which does seem a lot like an epipen, up close. “It's a combination,” the man says. “The antidote for Joker venom, an antipsychotic, and a mild sedative.”

“What the fuck?” Jason hears from his own mouth as he looks down at the innocuous little tube.

“It's only used in emergencies,” Nightwing adds, and does not clarify any further.

Jason doesn't know what to say to that. He shakes himself out of Dick's hold and grabs an evidence bag out of his jacket. He watches Nightwing, to see if he'll object, but he doesn't. Jason slips the medicine tube inside the bag and tucks it away.

“There you are!” Dick says in a bright tone, one meant to cover his anxiety and relief.

Jason turns, and finds that their roof has gotten a little crowded. All four Robins have arrived, his brothers mingled in with their copies, copies who don't quite match in ways that are now sticking in his brain. Tim, Jason's Tim, is standing right there, pressing his mask against his face like he'd broken the seal on the adhesive, and it isn't sticking quite right. Other than that, he's normal. He's fine.

The Robin, the one in the classic colors who Jason had thought looked a bit like Dick (oh God, could that be-?) gives a little whistle. “Trust Red Hood to cause drama!” he says in a bright tone that is too too familiar (fuck, fuck he is). “Must be a universal constant.” He grins, cheeky, looking past Jason.

Jason isn't processing fast enough to be offended for his own sake, but he turns and checks on Tim, other Tim, the Tim who apparently also has a claim to the Red Hood name. Tim is propped up on Nightwing's shoulder, looking drowsy and relaxed. He's looking back at Robin, and his lips are pressed tightly closed, but he's smiling, and it reaches his eyes.

Alright, then. This is probably fine.

Jason snorts, to get the kid's attention, and rolls his eyes. “Comes with the job description,” he snarks.

The kid lights up. Jason feels distinctly weird, having that smile directed at him, but it's not… bad.

Yeah. This is fine.

-

I'm planning to add a reblog with more information on this au/fic idea, so if you're interested, watch this space.

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Fuck it! Funky Sun design dunno what i will do with him but the tape recorder is important!

This Sun is a little fucked up actually

[awyeahitssam]

I can ask Dumbledore if you like, he penned, the smirk tilting his lips at odds with the seemingly innocent words. He knows loads of magic.

Riddle’s response appeared quickly, slightly crooked in its haste.

No, he wrote. There’s no need to disturb a professor with this. I’m certain your assistance will be more than enough.

Harry chuckled lightly, pushing a hand to his lips in surprise at the sound. He knew he shouldn’t be playing with Riddle like this, but the opportunity was simply too good to resist. Besides, winding him up when he was in such a helpless state appealed to something in Harry, something made helpless and powerless by the man this boy would one day become.

The diary couldn't possess him, he reasoned. What was the worst that could happen?

The worst that could happen, Harry discovered, was becoming attached. Tom was clever and rude and charming all at once. And while his snide remarks were hardly noticable if you weren’t paying very close attention, Harry had practice telling when he was being mocked. He had grown up with the Dursley’s, after all.

[mllekurtz]

i'm just. taking a break from work and thinking about the fact that it's been almost two years since the c2 finale and that campaign still has me in a chokehold. i still think about the wizards all the time, which shouldn't surprise anyone but it's still remarkable. just taking a little moment to be in my feelings about them on main, nothing to see here

[lodessa]

“I’m serious,” he insists.

“I know,” she nods, snuggling closer into his side. “Although, I’ll admit it’s a little hard to take anything you say terribly seriously with that ridiculous thing on your face.

She reaches out and traces the absurd mirror fashion goatee he’s still sporting, having been in more of a hurry to be alone here with Kathryn than to banish it and return to the smooth shaven version of himself that belongs here with her.

“You know, everything I have ever read about the mirrorverse says that love can’t exist there, that even the more passionate of lovers are ready to turn on each other at the drop of a hat. But that’s not what I saw in their eyes,” he pauses, “That version of us, they were still an unbreakable unit. I was able to convince them because they had faith in each other.”

“And just what do you think that means?” Kathryn asks.

“You and me, we’re the real deal. Everyone thinks their love is the one that spans across timelines, but we do. It means that when I thought I’d never see you again and I tried to take comfort in the idea that countless other Kathryns and Chakotays had found a way to stay together I was not wrong.”

It hadn’t worked, but that’s not the point. The point is his faith in her, in them.

“Be that as it may, I’m glad to have you back in this reality.”

“So am I,” he has to agree heartily, “So am I.”

(the rest here)

[plusultraetc]

Fourteen Days of MHA | 7/14: First Impressions, Just One Bad Day

Shouta’s first impression of Yamada is that he’s loud.

He’d thought Shirakumo, who deposits their classmate in the seat across from him in the cafeteria and scurries away with a cry of Shouta, this is Hizashi, be friends! was bad, but Yamada’s YO! is loud enough that several people at nearby tables turn their heads to look.

“It’s Aizawa, right?” he says, still too loud, leaning across the table. At least he doesn’t assume familiarity just because Shirakumo introduced him by his given name. “I’m Yamada Hizashi. I’m in your class, but I sit waaay in the back, so you might not remember—”

Shouta does remember. Yamada has very distinctive hair, and Shouta had thought he was loud in the classroom, too. He might sit near the back, but their homeroom is definitely not big enough that he has to yell during attendance to be heard.

Yamada is undeterred by Shouta’s continuing silence as he launches into what, for all intents and purposes, is an opening monologue of relevant information. Every so often, he pauses like he’s waiting for Shouta to cut in, which of course he doesn’t, so Yamada forges ahead, gesturing with his chopsticks in hand but never quite managing to pause long enough to actually eat anything.

Shouta has to appreciate the logic of having an introductory speech prepared. Maybe he should do the same, so he doesn’t have to sit in awkward silence at times like this. At least times like this are few and far between.

You can only have so many first days of school in your life. One day he’ll graduate and never have to introduce himself to a new class again.

[yasmeensh]

Paleolithic Media Catalogue

Hello everyone :) Short story first: When I began brainstorming for my prehistoric story, I started wondering what other prehistoric fiction there is out there. I was not familiar with it and have not seen much. That's when I started my grand literature review and began a search for what fiction exist out there. I wanted to know what kinds of stories are being made with this time period. What are the common themes or recurring ideas (I found lots of humans and dinosaurs works. And time travel). Since I've had a growing collection on my computer, I decided I should keep on enlarging it and put it online. It's nowhere near complete. I'll slowly keep accumulating the collection as I find more. I only have fiction books and comics right now. I still need to work on the film section.

You can access the blog here!

***

As for where I am in my reading, the one's I've finished reading are Earth's Children series (book 1-4. Dropped it afterwards lol. I made a post on with fanart) Dance of the Tiger and it's sequel Singletusk (They were good! I'll upload my review on the blog), and Sisters of the Wolf (It was ok!). I got my hands on The Inheritors and excited to start reading it. I REALLY want to read the Shiva trilogy, but I found no PDF online... and it's out of print :( There is certainly old copies on ebay. And I want to read Chronicles of Ancient Darkness. There seem to be lots of good books out there.

[tev-the-random]

Rooting for Jimmy is like watching someone trying to shoot a target, missing all of his shots, coming back with another gun, missing again, then coming back with a new gun and hitting every inch of wall around the target, three birds and his own foot, but not the target itself.

[avirael]

Sparing you the direct side by side comparison here but I really think Nhagi’ra has a bit of Flynn Rider energy, as in he’s a charming but kind idiot. Maybe a little more silly/clumsy than Flynn 🤭

Imagine him just walking by and seeing a woman attacked by some monster. Of course he heroically rushes to her help just that he slips/trips, falls down down a ravine or something and breaks his leg.

Meanwhile said woman (who can absolutely save herself) chases away the monster on her own and finds him stuck and whining.

Still he immediately puts on his most self-assured, charming face to impress her, which pathetically fails of course.

I Imagine it goes like this:

“Can you walk?”

“Of course I ca- Aaaah! - No! No, I can’t…”

“Alright, let me help you…”

[redo-rewind-if]

Breaking news: Is MC the reason V has chronic migraines? It's more likely than you think!

[dreamyelectronicmusic]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Young Royals (TV 2021) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Simon Eriksson/Wilhelm Characters: Simon Eriksson, Wilhelm (Young Royals) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Boys In Love, Simon Eriksson Loves Wilhelm, Suits, suit porn but only in simon's head unfortunately Summary:

Even though Wille is no longer the crown prince, he still has to attend his mother’s silver jubilee. On the plus side, he looks really good in a suit.

[endwersed]

WIP Wednesday

Cashing in on the open tag from the amazing @renmackree 💖

Here's a bit more from my current Sterek FWB AU - you don't see me. Derek continues to be straight (ha, sure) and Stiles continues to enable him. A li'l nsfw.

-

“I feel like I should argue, on account of your heterosexuality, and all,” Stiles says, tongue darting out to wet his lips for a second, “but I’m definitely way too horny to be a gentleman right now, so… get your pants off and get over here, Hale.”

Derek doesn’t quite trip and fall into a heap on the floor in his haste to step out of his shorts and briefs – but it’s a pretty near thing.

The clothes leave a dark cotton puddle behind his hurried footsteps, and it’s barely any time at all before he finds himself kneeing his way onto the bed, the soft mattress dipping beneath him as he chases Stiles towards the centre of it. Stiles has this huge, borderline ridiculous grin on his face as he watches Derek catch up to him, his eyes lidded, the brown almost entirely eaten up by the black of his pupils as he looks his fill.

In the mussed-up sheets, his fingers flex and unflex, pulling the fabric between his knuckles as he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. The inviting smile remains around it.

Without a word needing to pass between them, Stiles leans himself up and rolls himself over, flopping down onto his belly, the round of his perky ass now on full display for Derek’s laser focus. He pulls his legs underneath himself and shoves his shoulders against the bed, presenting himself face down and ass up, his knees shifting apart as he twists his head on the pillow to peer at Derek over his shoulder.

Derek knows he looks more than a little moronic right now; blinking down at Stiles with a gaping mouth, his hand curled tightly around his dick to stroke himself to full hardness – not that it takes much at all. But there’s very little he can do about it when it feels like his brain is threatening to leak out of his ears pretty much any second now.

“Condom?” he just about finds the cells to ask.

Immediately, he kind of really hates himself for even offering in the first place. Truly, he cannot think of something on this godforsaken earth that he wants more than to feel Stiles' tight, hot asshole clinging around his raw cock.

But it's what he should do; it's the right thing to do. So, even as he burns to bite them back, he lets the words spill from his lips just like acid, all the same.

Derek's skin grows hot with a renewed hunger when Stiles gives a quick shake of his head.

“I’m not seeing anyone. Still clean.” He shoves his forearms beneath the pillow he rests his head against, hips hitching just that little bit backwards, still not quite close enough for any skin-to-skin contact. “You?”

Derek feels something settle in the deep recesses of his bones, hearing that from Stiles. A question, unasked but introspectively obsessed upon, all the same, has been nudging at his bristling consciousness ever since Scott and Allison’s engagement party. A question of whether anything had blossomed from Scott practically forcing Stiles to meet that loser Brad.

He knows that they swapped numbers, couldn’t get away from the conversation fast enough to avoid hearing Stiles telling Scott all a-fucking-bout it. But he could never find the right way to ask Stiles whether anything came of that exchange; whether this… thing between them, between Derek and Stiles, had a quickly approaching expiry date, because somebody finally clued up and realised that Stiles is quite possibly the ultimate gay catch.

With a deep-seated sense of tranquility, he knows, now. Stiles isn’t seeing anyone. Stiles is still in this, with him. Stiles is still… his.

Whatever the fuck that means.

“Yeah,” Derek finally answers Stiles’ returned question. “Still clean, too.”

Stiles flashes him a grin, all teeth and promise.

“Then what are you waiting for, big guy?” he goads. “I was ready before you even joined the party.”

-

Low low low pressure tags 🥰 @dear-massacre @eevylynn @hedwig221b @lucky-bishop @violetfairydust