#posting this before i forgett

[gradelstuff]

Villain character artwork from My Hero Ultra Rumble

[silkjade]

i haven’t been here much recently, and i’m sorry i’ve only been negative on the off chance i’ve been online, but let me just say one last piece before the end of this month, so that maybe the next might be better….

[ayara-resara]

If I had to make a kgpr&creators quiz, the most tricky question would probably be "what was the first ever collaboration between Jin and Sidu?" (spoiler: it's not Mekakushi Chord)

[mbat]

yknow what though im still surprised about world of warcraft making one of their most well known and reocurring characters transfem (even if she wasnt made with that intention)

thats the whole statement im just still surprised about that

[avakitsune]

.

[trillgutterbug]

are yall pulling the weirdest longcon in history about fast car actually being a good song or

[thirsty-4-ghouls]

I have three thoughts that pop up every time I see a dusthide. Not all of them each time, but at least one

Most common thought: he have no ears 😭

Second most common: armadillo (armadillos have ears though, so I guess more pangolin? But the way they are segmented… the pangolin thing reminds me of their claws more though. Hmm, overthinks what species of real animals one can compare them to)

And the final one: so, remember those toys from the 2000s that you put on a magnet and they went from a ball to a little guy?

Update, I have gotten sleep and am now confused about why I was so sad every time I saw that they had no ears

[crttvset]

rock creature named bidi bidi bom bom

[yikes-ajax-thats-sad]

Yeah so um. I will be holding that against you because I'm gonna be keeping it as a reminder I'm doomed to always be left and will never find happiness and will never be loved and will always be lied to and will always be used and as proof you will one day abandon me so when it happens it will hurt less.

[elprupneerg]

hate when i'm having a bad day but also having trouble keeping from expressing it much. cuz my gf wants to help make it better but there's not exactly a concrete thing to do to make "i have no control over my upper lip cuz the dentist numbed my mouth and i'm thirsty but drinking means making gross slurping noises while i try not to spill on myself and i still end up spilling a lot anyway which is embarassing" better. like the only solution is to wait until i regain feeling/control in my lip and cheek.

but she wants to help! and i'm walking around a bit upset cuz its warm and i'm thirsty and less caffeinated than i'd like to be and there's nothing to be done for it for at least a few hours. so she starts getting scared and sad. so then i'm feeling worse cuz now i'm making her day bad. and she notices that i'm feeling worse, blames herself, and gets even more scared. so then i apologize for scaring her, and then she feels worse cuz now she's Behaving Incorrectly(TM) which makes her close in on herself even more. and then i feel worse cuz i'm Behaving Incorrectly(TM) and scaring her more when i'm trying to do the opposite. et cetera et cetera forever and ever until we both go to sleep.

i can't wait until today is over.

[penisbutterjellytime]

Can't wait till next week is over so I can show the progress I've made for my senior thesis

[forgettable-au]

I'm happy to announce that the forgettable-au comic will start soon‼️

This month I'm gonna post the whole prologue! It's gonna have 20 pages in total ^^

After that I'll hopefully start to update the comic weekly from chapter 1 !

I can't say exactly wich day I'm gonna post the prologue, but definitely this month! I'll let you guys know a few days before :D That day I will also open the discord server again

-

[sunny-knight]

What Kind Of Monster Was He?

A @forgettable-au fan (colored) animatic

MINOR BLOOD WARNING!

*Was he the kind to do too much, or not enough?

…OK, SO WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS-

I had planned to finish this into a full fledged animation, but a lot of the parts I did end up finishing just didnt live up to what I imagined…I waited for more motivation to happen, but it just didnt so HERES THE COLORED ANIMATIC CAUSE IM REALLLY HAPPY WITH WHAT I HAVE and ive sat on posting this for like a 2 weeks 😭 which is an eternity in my time

Im gonna post the unfinished “finished” part on my side account @o-sunny-day though! and probably have people yell at me cause it actually isnt that bad AND IT TOTALLY ISNT I just… art. You get it. ENOUGH YAPPING! ITS TIME TO YAP!

except not yet, MORE BACKGROUND INFO HUCDHUC- but its background info on explaining the lore…

The explaining is much less expansive than in Dear My Dear just because I didnt work on it long enough to think every bit of it through. This is just a clean, nicer looking, and colored version of the very first storyboard.

I usually think about and put more effort into the little stuff while making the FINISHED bits since ive had so much more time to think about that in all the preppin n sketching.

BUT I liked the explaining format I did for Dear My Dear so im sticking with it!

The main idea for this was to do a study of Wingdings’ character from what we’ve been given, mainly focusing in on the expectations he puts on himself because holy shit the lyrics for this works so stupidly well it makes me mad LOOK AT THIS???

its ridiculous. i love it. I didnt know Jack Stauber helped write Forgettable AU???? woww!!! ANYWHO thats the gist of it, not much context is needed past that. Onto the sillies!!!! (per usual excuse the shitty quality of the pngs idk why Tumblr does that-)

Did you know love? Will you rest in peace?

Wingdings and Sans holding hands as kids, before turning to a casket like appearance for adult WD. The flowers hes holding are pretty important too, Marigolds to represent grief, Lilys, new life, and Forget Me Nots for this lovely little line I found when looking up good flowers to use-

“a promise to always remember” ….stop that.

That actually also has a double meaning in this case too. 1, ofc the forgetting of Wingdings. But ALSO Wingdings forgetting something himself. Forgetting who he is. Almost like a Zuko ATLA situation.

Did you have a family?

Who knows where theyre parents are, but this is HAPPY TIME and we’re gonna assume they were so awesome and very kind but had to leave or went to a farm in the sky for whatever reason.

The colors here I had a lot of fun with. Their parents had warm colors but the boys have cold, still with warm accents. Its said they more or less raised each other being very independent as shown in the second part with them running out the door by themselves.

How was the view from the shelf? Did you ever believe in yourself?

Before, we started with the beginnings. The good things, the only thing Wingdings cares to even recall. Now we’re seeing his life really start to turn upside down- making first contact with The Player :D

He’s hesitant to reach out, but is intrigued, before getting a rushing revelation of his reality and how it isnt “real”

Rather than feeling crushing existential dread, he more feels pressured to be BETTER, to figure a solution, to do something. Thats what white represents here

WHAT KIND OF MILK WERE YOU?

We then switch to more examples of how Wingdings is taking this pressure (not well) The soft tones of yellow that were shown before, turn to way brighter, intensifying that feeling that he should be fine, he should be happy, drowning in success of being the Royal Scientist.

But he just desperately wants to just go back to a time of nice coldness.

The warm vs cold tones in this I had so much fun with, coldness is supposed to represent hostility usually, while warm is nice and happy. (same with Black and white. Scary, relieving,) But these points often contradict each other, its hard to tell what you’re feeling vs what you’re supposed to be feeling. Just like Wingdings!

WHAT KIND OF LIFE DID YOU LIVE THROUGH?

The white lab coats, the expectations, theyre on all of them. But Wingdings has essentially become his expectations.

He questions what life he wants to live, one being himself and alone (speaking in wingdings) or not himself and with company (speaking in a “normal” font) Still, he frames it in past tense as he believes theres no going back now, based on what he knows.

“One of the last happy moments they had together” stop that. (i cant find a link to when that was said but I know it was once, about them taking a photo together….)

DID YOUR LIFE RUN RICH WITH CALCIUM?

Calcium….bonesss :3 Hehehehdhehfhehehheheheh still dont know why he has holes in his hands so we’re movin on

DID THEY LAUGH AT YOU OR DID YOU LAUGH AT THEM?

Compared to the childhood Wingdings remembered, heres the sadder, bleaker, more realistic version. He always thought they were laughing at him but… maybe they werent.

DAIRY BELOVED. YOUR DAYS ARE GONE,

It doesnt matter now though. Because in the NOW, Wingdings has become consumed by his expectations of himself, seeing this has the “only option” to do the only thing that he feels will give his life meaning and purpose, establishing connection with THE PLAYER

But the grocery list goes on…

And yet life continues on without him, and his room is transformed into a more livable space now that someone is…living in it. Always hurts so much making the differences between Wingdings and Papyrus’ room. It feels like making something out of the man Wingdings COULD HAVE been. Because honestly thats just what Papyrus is,

Thank you to my bestie @fruitytrip for helping me with all of my art in general but especially the storyboarding on this :3 <3

[ninii-winchester]

But daddy, I love him

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Demon!Reader

Word count : 3.6k

Warnings : angst (if you squint), foul language.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Dean was bored. No, he was beyond bored. There were no cases and Sam was, well, being Sam. He had his nose buried in some book and he refused to acknowledge Dean's situation. He kept throwing paper balls at Sam just to annoy him and he finally succeeded when Sam slammed his book shut and glared at his brother.

"What the hell is your problem.?" He snapped.

"Ah so nice of you to notice." Dean started sarcastically, "in case it wasn't obvious. I'm bored."

"If you're bored read some lore books." Sam suggested with a shrug.

"I want to kill my boredom not die myself." Dean rolled his eyes. Sam made a bitch face before answering,

"Go out to a bar or something." He got up from his chair and left the library. Dean perked up,

"Good idea Sammy. I'm heading out." He announced leaving the bunker.

He arrived at the nearest bar, settling on one of the barstools he ordered himself a drink. His eyes search the space, trying to find something or someone interesting, his eyes dropped a figure a few seats to his left. She looked familiar. He looked at her for a few seconds before it clicked, he'd hooked up with her years back.

Now normally he wouldn't be able to recognise anyone he hooked up with several years back, but he remembered her because she looked exactly the same. It had been years and she didn't change even a bit. And the fact that he thought about her quite often. More than he'd like to admit.

He couldn't help but think if she remembered him. He wouldn't know if he didn't ask. Besides he didn't have anything better to do so he approached her.

"Hey." Dean said sitting down beside her.

"Hi." She smiled looking at him. It was hard to decipher if she remembered him or was just being friendly. "I know you." She added making his release a breath.

"So you do remember." He smirked at her.

"Do you really think you're forgettable, Dean?" She questioned with a sly smile on her face. He laughed at her comment, shaking his head.

"I must say, you haven't aged a day since I've last seen you." Dean spoke gulping down his drink. "And it's been like what? Nine years?"

The two had met when Sam had left for Stanford and John had gone God knows where, and Dean was free to do whatever. He was hunting a werewolf. After he killed the creature, he found a bar and ended up her in bed. They spent three weeks together before John called Dean back.

"Nine years." She nodded. "But you haven't aged yourself." She replied glacing at him.

"No really, you're just exactly how I remember you." He said looking at her in amazement.

"Yeah? Above you or beneath you?" She whispered leaning closer to him. He wasn't expecting her to be this straight with him so it caught him a bit off guard.

Dean quickly collected himself and answered with a smirk. "Both."

"Good to know I'm not the only one who still thinks about it." She added and he nodded.

The two had spent weeks together but it wasn't just hooking up. Dean took her out on dates and she cooked for him sometimes. They cuddled, played games, talked about anything and everything, music, movies, dreams. Everything except their personal lives. And they had sex. It was as if they were together but without any labels, and when Dean left there were no hard feelings.

"So what brings you to Kansas?" Dean questioned, looking at her with curiosity.

"Ah you know me, i go where the wind takes me." She replied with a shrug.

"So you mean you're still wandering around?"

She nodded her head before speaking.

"And you're not?" She laughed.

"Nah I've got a place now. With my brother." Dean replied vaguely, not wanting to drag her into the mess called 'hunting life'.

"Cool." She bit her lip, she completely turned her body towards him. "Do you wanna get out of here? My motel is right infront of this place." She added seductively, her hand placed on his chest.

"With pleasure, sweetheart." Dean said helping her stand, he threw a few bills on the counter which were more than enough to cover both their drinks, he pulled her out of the bar.

The moment she entered the room her back was slammed against the door and his lips were attacking hers. She moaned in his mouth, his hands touching everywhere he could. He picked her up and dropped her on the bed. Clothes were ripped and thrown haphazardly. Their kiss was hungry and needy. For the next few hours the only sound that could be heard was of the slapping of his skin against hers, her moans and his groans and the filthy words he spoke that she loved so much.

"Fuck, I thought you were good back then but now you're just..." she trailed off panting, laying on top of him.

"You're one to say." Dean replied, his own breathing ragged. He dragged his fingers on her bare bare soothingly. "Missed this." He spoke after a minutes of silence. "Missed you."

"I did too." She said leaning up to peck his lips. "This is cozy." She added snuggling up to him. He wrapped his arms around her firmly. She laid her head on his chest when she noticed his tattoo. "Hey. I like your tattoo, what does it mean?" She said tracing it with her finger. He froze for a second.

"I don't know actually, I uh.. I saw it at the tattoo shop, and I just liked it." He lied through his teeth. She nodded laying her head back down.

The next morning, Dean woke up by the sound of his phone ringing. He groaned before answering his phone. It was Sam, asking where he was and that he needs to be back. Y/n felt Dean move beneath her and woke up.

"I have to go." He said sitting up, she pouted clutching the sheets to her chest as she watched him put his clothes back on.

"So soon?" Dean chuckled lightly before kissing her.

"We could do this again, for as long as you're here in Kansas." Dean said tying his shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed. She moved closer so she could hug him from behind.

"De." She said resting her head on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her. She was quiet for a moment, she seemed lost in thought.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I meant it when I said I missed you." She mumbled against his shoulder. He tilted his head to look at her better. He gave her a confused look not getting where she was going with this. She unwrapped her arms from his torso and shifted to his side, and straddled his waist. He leaned back a bit so she could sit comfortably. He gripped her hips, holding her gaze. "Dean, those three weeks were the best days of my life. I never thought I'd ever meet you again. In my entire life no one has ever made me feel the way you do, can we.. could we try-" Her heart dropped the moment his grip loosened and he avoided eye contact. She whispered a quiet "oh" and quickly got off his lap.

"Y/n-"

"I get it, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." She was embarrassed, she really thought he felt the same.

"You didn't. It's just... it's complicated." Dean said standing up from where he sat on the bed.

"Yeah, no.. I get it." She nodded not meeting his gaze. Before either of them could say anything else, Dean's phone rang again. He sighed before answering.

"Yes Sam, I'm on my way. Yeah." He spoke into the phone before hanging up. He gave her one last glance before walking out of the door.

It had been three days since Dean walked out of her motel room and she felt pretty shitty. She basically asked him out and he outright rejected her. She sat at the small table, nursing a glass of scotch when she heard a knock on the door. She opened the door expecting anyone but Dean, yet here he was.

"Not gonna invite me in, sweetheart?" He asked leaning against the doorframe.

"Find someone else to wet your dick." She rolled her eyes, closing the door but stopped it with his foot.

"C'mon don't be like that. I just want to talk." He said softly, prompting her to open the door wider. She walked back and he entered inside. "Look, I know I was a dick last time you saw me, but like I said it's complicated." She didn't speak or even acknowledge his words. "I would love nothing more than to be with you but it'd be hard." She raised her brow at him and he rubbed his face. "I'm gone, alot. I wouldn't be here everytime you need me. And you, you never stay at one place for a long time. I'm willingly to do this if you're okay with it."

"You really think I wouldn't stay, if you'd ask?" She said walking towards him. "Dean, the last time I felt something, felt alive was nine years ago. I was callous before and after you." She said honestly and her words couldn't have been anymore true. She was a demon. She hadn't felt, feelings for as long as she can remember. But with Dean, she felt everything there is.

"Let's do this." Dean leaned down kissing her softly. For the past three days all he did was think. He still wasn't sure what prompted him to give in to her, but it's time he started living for himself a bit.

Months passed, Y/n had gotten herself an apartment in Kansas, her and Dean had been going strong. They went out for drives, Dean stayed over sometimes, and had phenomenal sex whenver they could. Y/n had yet to visit his "place" since his brother doesn't know about them and she was fine with it. Part of her was relieved Dean couldn't stay longer. She didn't have to keep her "human charade" up.

Unbeknownst to them, both of them were hiding a significant secret from each other. But that was until,

"Princess, you can't go in there, his majesty is in an important meeting-" A measely demon tried to stop her from entering the chamber Crowley has his 'throne' in.

"Shut up before I disintegrate you into nothing." She sneered, her eyes turned completely black. She knew she wouldn't do but that demon didn't know that nor did he need to know. She pushed open the door, her father sitting on his so called throne while two men stood in front of him, their backs to her. She was too angry to recognise the silhouette of the body in front of her. "How many times do I have to tell you not-"

"Darlin' I'm a bit occupied at the moment." The man with the Scottish accent interrupted her. The two men turned around and her eyes widened.

"Dean, What're you doing here?" She questioned. His face seemed like he'd seen a ghost. He was shocked and confused. The other man, she assumed his brother, Sam raised his brows in confusion as well.

"Squirrel, you know my daughter?" Crowley questioned standing up.

"Your daughter?" Dean's jaw clenched as he looked back and forth between the shorter man and his daughter. She was flabbergasted and didn't know if she could get out of this situation. When she saw some demons following her, she confronted them, they revealed her father had sent them to keep an eye on her. The only reason she was here was to tell him to back off.

"You're on nickname basis with the King of Hell?" She joked looking at Dean. He glared at her and her grin dropped.

"What exactly is happening here?" Sam questioned feeling completely out of loop.

"That is exactly what I would like to know!" Crowley demanded looking at Dean and Y/n.

"What is happening is here, I just found out I've been sleeping with the Princess of Hell." Dean gritted his teeth. "You put her up to this, didn't you?" He glared at Crowley.

"She's my daughter, not some hooker. And why would I even do that? We're besties, aren't we?" He said as if they had been childhod buddies. "Wait a minute, you're sleeping with Dean Winchester?" Crowley looked at his daughter, disappointed. "He's a goddamn hunter."

"You say as if it's a bad thing." She mumbled "I didn't know he's a hunter." She shrugged. "I didn't even know his last name until now."

"You've seen him naked, you didn't see his anti possession tattoo?" Sam asked, clearing getting a kick out this situation. Dean glared at his brother.

"Well I asked him about it he said he didn't know what it was, the last time I choked a guy half to death because of that tattoo and turned out it was some nerd book thing, Supernatural or whatever." She countered throwing her hands in the air. Sam shook his head at the mention of the Supernatural books.

"How could you hide this from me?" Dean questioned the look of betrayal all over his face.

"Yeah sure, I could've just walked up to you and said, hey Dean I'm a demon." She rolled her eyes. "You didn't tell me you were a hunter either. Had I told you the truth you would've killed me."

"This is different." Dean replied.

"Alright Romeo Juliet. Whatever it is, this is done here. Y/n, I forbid you to see him." Crowley intervened.

"But Daddy I love him." She replied and the three men present in the room froze.

"I need a drink." Crowley said.

Dean looked at her wide eyed, still processing her words. A demon is in love with him, before knowing her real identity, Dean himself felt something for her but right now he wasn't so sure. Y/n bit her lip, looking at the green eyed hunter.

"We should talk." She said walking over to him. "Privately." She added loudly looking at her father. Crowley rolled his eyes before snapping his fingers, him and Sam disappearing from the room. Dean looked surprised Crowley didn't throw a fit when told to do something. "He loves me." She said as if she had read his mind.

Dean was silent for a moment and the everything came crashing into him at full speed, his supposed girlfriend is a demon, not just some demon but she's the daughter of the King of Hell. He's been sleeping with the Princess of Hell and apparently she's in love with him.

"What the fuck!" Dean exclaimed, extremely pissed.

"Dean, let me explain. I promise I won't lie about anything."

"You're a demon, demons lie all the time, you've been lying to me this whole time." He snapped at her.

"I didn't lie about anything, I just hid one fact. Besides you're the one who approached me at the bar, both times." She felt herself getting defensive. "I'm not like other demons you've met. I'm not evil. Hell I didn't even ask for this." She felt herself tear up.

"I don't even know who you are!" Dean exclaimed. "Who's body are you even wearing."

"It's mine." She replied.

"That's not possible, if you're Crowley's daughter you're atleast over two hundred years old how'd your body even..." he trailed off. "What do you mean you didn't even ask for this?"

"I'm the reason he's what he is." She started. "If you know him closely you'd know his relationship with his mother." Dean nodded urging her to continue, "so when I was born he swore he'd be the parent he never got. He gave me everything he could, loved me too much." Her voice cracked, "When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with a terminal disease, and we're talking centuries back, I was gonna die. So my father, Fergus made a deal. My life for his soul. Ten year later they took him. He became a demon, kept an eye one me. He was happy that I was alive, When I was twenty seven I got into a fatal accident, I died. And he couldn't bear that so he transformed me with magic or shit I don’t know. He made me a demon. That way I would be with him forever."

Dean hadn't taken Crowley to be a man capable of love, he always thought of him as an evil son of a bitch who was the King of Hell and was there to cause trouble for him and his brother.

"He became the King of Hell because of me, just to give me everything I could ever need, he didn't realise by doing he kept me alive, but over the it made unhappy and lonely. I could never find love, I could never feel a thing. But nine years ago I met you, and I felt something, I don't how or why but I did, then you left." She whispered staring at him. "And then we met again, I thought I could finally get what I wanted, but I was naive to think it would work. I'm sorry Dean I never meant to hurt you, I just thought you're just a guy that I'll outlive and you'd never find the truth."

"This is a lot to take in." Dean said shaking his head. "I'm sorry about what happened to you." She nodded her head not knowing what else to say. "Is it true? What you said?" He asked cautiously.

"About loving you? Yes. I mean I don't know what love feels like, it's been a long time, but you do make me feel like I did when I was human. So yeah I do love you Dean. And I know you might not want anything to do with me after all this. But I'd do anything for you." She replied honestly. She'd been lonely for the past centuries, she's willing to do anything to feel something again.

"I did...uh" he cleared his throat before speaking, "I did feel something for you before this whole ficasso and I'd be lying if I said you being a demon changed it." Dean took a step towards her, "you said you're willing to do anything for this to work?" She nodded her head in affirmation, her eyes filled with hope. "We know how to cure a demon, make them human again."

"You do?" She asked looking surprised.

"Yeah, your father didn't tell you? We almost turned him human!" He chuckled.

"I told you I don't keep up with his evil shenanigans. If I did I'd have known all about you." Dean nodded in understanding.

"So do you-"

"Yes." She didn't even let him finish. "I'd do it."

"It might hurt." Dean warned "and what about your father?"

"Dean, I'm tired of being lonely for centuries. Yes I love my father but he has to let go someday. I can't live like this anymore."

To say Crowley threw a fit when he heard Y/n's decison was an understatement. He was beyond pissed. He went off on Dean, cursing at him, telling him he's always causing problems for him. It took Y/n a while to convince him but he came around when he realised this is where her true happines laid. Even if he was the King of Hell and Dean was his frenemy, he was still Y/n’s father and did gave Dean the 'you hurt her I'll kill you' talk.

The Winchester brothers took her to the Bunker and Sam prepared to cure her. They cuffed her to the chair in the dungeon inside the devil's trap. Sam had gone to bring the human blood, Dean kneeled infront of her. He cupped her face in his hands.

"It's gonna be okay. I'm right here."

"I trust you, Dean." She smiled at him. He placed kissed on her forehead when Sam came back.

Hours later, Y/n was screaming and groaning as they continued to inject her with human blood. Dean felt bad, wanting it to be over soon. When Sam was done, Y/n was sweaty and her head lolled to the side as she threaded on the edge of consciousness.

"Hey, sweetheart." Dean patted her cheek lightly. She slowly opened her eyes, her black eyes now y/e/c, full of life. She gave him a tired smile.

"Hiya, Dean."

Dean moved aside allowing Sam to pour holy water on her and she flinched at the sudden splash.

"Sorry, Y/n. It's Procedure." Sam apologised. She nodded lightly, she would've waved him off but her hands were tied. Her flesh didn't sizzle and the two brothers nodded at each other. She blinked a couple of time to adjust her eyes. Dean uncuffed her hands and helped her stand.

"Hi baby." Dean said holding her waist. She didn't waste anytime, pulling him for a kiss which he gladly returned.

"I didn't need to see that." Sam said loudly making them pull apart. "Congratulations Y/n, you're human now."

"Thank you for helping me, Sam." She told the taller man and he smiled at her.

"Thanking just him?" Dean complained.

"Well I thought I'd thank you some other way but if you just need the words...." Dean didn't let her finish before picking her up and making his way towards his bedroom.

Tags:

@deans-baby-momma @bansheesandbutterflies

[that-salty-ghost]

As Above, So Below | Chapter 29: Exceptions| Viktor [Arcane] // Male Reader | Rating: M Throughout

Word Count: ~4.9k Summary: Viktor pushes your buttons until he's busy with other activities Tags: swearing, sexual tension, flirting, kissing, mage-y stuff Last Chpt: First Aid

Check my pinned post for more details/previous chapters/etc.

Some silent moments pass as you finish patching Viktor up—thankfully without further mention of the kind of effect he has on your nervous system.

The wind still howls, the snowstorm still rages on, but the two of you couldn’t be bothered inside these walls.

The air settles easily between you as you trail off into lighter conversations—Viktor’s voice dropping low and gentle as he tells you more about the little things that shape his life.

Like how he loves crossword puzzles, the sound of birds singing in the morning, and skipping stones on the water at dusk. That he likes to have something to sip on when he finds time to cook. That he hates public speaking. That he’s trying to stop picking at the callouses on his palms when he fidgets.

You share your own quirks and stories too—telling him about your ever-growing record collection, how Jeff followed you home from the Freljord, how you can’t dance for shit but know your way around the pole at the brothel.

You tell him that you don’t particularly miss your father, but you do miss his war horse. That you also prefer cooking with a drink in hand, and that you’ve been meaning to finish a puzzle that Viktor said he spotted at R&R’s.

When he politely asks if he can help you with it, you’re not sure how anyone could ever tell this man no when his eyes are beaming with that much excitement.

Which is also why you don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not finished because deep down, you hated that puzzle down to its microscopic, way-too-identical, 3,000-piece guts.

It hurt your back to bend over it for so long, it was likely missing a minimum of a dozen pieces at this point, hell—even the image of some obscure landscape didn’t even pique your interest.

But Viktor does.

And who were you to rob him of the little things that he found joy in. To rob yourself of more time that you could spend with him.

Of course you agree.

You’re about to cap the salve and pack it up when Viktor’s question shifts the conversation back to everything that’s just transpired.

“Does ehh…anyone else know about you? About what you can do?” His question comes quietly and you’re not sure you’ll ever get use to how tender his voice sounds when he’s curious about something sensitive.

“Remy. And my fence…friend?...” You tinker with that title mentally before shrugging the semantics away. “…but I uh…I don’t think he remembers.” You scoff under your breath at that probability.

“What?” His brow quirks and you realize Viktor doesn’t know anything about Kass. “I’m failing to see how this is a forgettable experience.”

You’re amused that he’s more curious about the man’s memory rather than his questionable occupation, but try to answer all the same. “Kass uh…frequently dips into the pool of mind-altering substances.”

“Ah,” The machinist offers a small smile and a “Yes, I suppose that would do it.” to let that fact lie for now.

You offer a weak grin in return and try to give him a little more context. “He’s the one that said to ditch my backpack for the shoulder suspenders.”

“The one who said you would look like a workaholic?”

“That’s him.”

“Hm.”

He pauses with that information and you try to decipher where his mind went. Rather than pry, you just give him a little more. “He can be a lot. Definitely has some demons hot on his heels, but I think you would like him.”

“If he suggested that you wear those suspenders, I already do.”

Before you light up the room for the third godsdamned time you pull your hand from Viktor’s and let the glow slowly subside from your fingertips. You quickly eye the leather accessory in the corner of the room, still drying out near the fire when Viktor’s voice pulls your attention back to him.

“So, I’m only the third person who knows…that you’re a mage, I mean.”

His reversion back to the original topic at hand is not unwelcome. You nod, the realization finally hitting you that you’ve allowed this crush of three days in on one of the most vulnerable parts about you. A choice your father would’ve punished you for. Something he would’ve said would be the death of you if you didn’t put Viktor down first.

But you sit calmly, confident in your decision being the right one.

“I just…for both of our safety, have to ask you not to tell anyone else…I know that’s not fair—”

“Of course that’s fair.” He interrupts your incoming trail of apologies and you feel that his fingers shifted from his leg to the side of your knee. “And you have my word.” His swift understanding only furthers your conviction and your father’s voice immediately fades from your mind. “Though, I’m curious—with so few people that know—what made you trust me?”

“It was…kind of a gut feeling…?”

“Sharing something that personal is driven by your microbiome?”

“It’s hard to describe.”

“Try me?”

He clearly wants more, still not sure if you’re being completely honest. You try to explain it better.

“I used to think it was my mother looking out for me. I’m not so sure about that. Maybe it's just intuition, but…sometimes I get this…pull. I don’t have a better word but it’s strong. And I know I can trust it…so I know I can trust you too…”

Viktor’s expression softens and he seems to understand despite your poorly worded explanation. You reach for a washrag to dab up any excess salve and it hits why you showed the other man what you could do in the first place.

“This happened when you tripped up that pickpocket didn’t it?” You reach for his arm to assess his wrist one more time, feeling good about your work after checking for any residual inflammation.

Feeling good about having an almost-normal excuse to hold his hand again as well.

Viktor inhales through his mouth which quickly turns into a lopsided grin. He pauses, pressing his lips back together again without saying a word and flicks his gaze from your hands back up.

Feeling his eyes on yours, you stop what you’re doing to glance up at him. In an instant you realize his boyish ‘I’ve been caught’ expression has probably kept him out of trouble in many instances. Endearing was an understatement you think to yourself as your voice wavers.

“You’ve been sore all night?” The space in between your brows pinch together as that thought sinks in.

“That wrist is usually sore by the end of every night.” Viktor shrugs offhandedly like it was nothing for him until you catch him peering at his cane in the corner of your eye. You wondered quietly if that was the cause of said everyday soreness.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t want to ruin the night.”

“Ruin the night? You didn’t capsize a boat.”

“That didn’t ruin the night.”

“This certainly wouldn’t have either.”

A quiet “Hm.” is all he mumbles as he notices you’ve finished up. There’s a small selfish part of you that wants to pretend like you’re still working so you can keep his hand in yours awhile longer, but you loosen your grip as a signal that it was fine to move.

“How’s that feel? Any better?”

Viktor lifts his hand to stretch out his fingers, eyes widening after he experimentally rolls out his wrist. The disbelief that surfaces in his expression evident as he turns his hand with ease. “It—yes much more than usual…” He eyes the salve then your hand before his gaze finds yours again. “How…is that possi—?” The wily expression that plagues you gives Viktor pause, apprehensively tilting his head, jaw still slack with a brow arched. “…What…?”

“Just thinking about what it would’ve been like if you would’ve told me sooner.” It’s the first time you’ve thrown a little shade at Viktor. You know the man is quick, but you weren’t fully prepared for how he fully throws it right back.

With a toothy grin, he scoffs. Pressing his tongue to cheek and begrudgingly nodding at your comment with an “Ah…” Viktor’s demeanor shifts into something more playful, catching you completely off guard when he abruptly stands without warning. You reflexively scoot back, nearly falling off of the footrest as you do. He only gives you a teasing shrug—you can practically hear the sarcastic “whoops” he wants to say before he makes his way towards the door.

Your brows furrow as you get up to shadow him, a puzzled grin forming more fully with each step. “What are…” A chuckle escapes you as you try to figure out what he’s up to. “Where are you going now?”

“Oh.” He turns his head like he isn’t aware that he has you perfectly confused, motioning to the door with brows raised in feigned innocence. “Just thinking about taking mistress Linda up on that sleepover she so graciously offered.”

“Mistress Lin—is that actually her name?” Amusement seeps into your tone at his empty threat of joining the woman who recently propositioned him.

“Sure.”

“Suuure?” You watch Viktor bite back a laugh as you call him out. “You don’t know her name, but you’re ready to jump into bed with her?” You muse as you take a step closer to him. “You don’t seem the type.”

“I’ve been known to make exceptions.” He reaches for the doorknob, giving you a lighthearted challenge before shrugging nonchalantly. “And I’ve done worse.” The way he delivers the line, you have to believe him. And the pause it gives you is palpable.

You stand speechless for a moment while he cocks a brow at you to test his honesty. But you do no such thing. You’re not sure how far he’s gone with anyone, but you begin to realize that he may have more experience than you might’ve initially anticipated.

And based on the sly smile beginning to weave into lips that you imagine would look much better in between your teeth…you figure your theory is likely correct.

As he slowly starts to tease apart your self-control, you had to admit, Viktor has you wrapped around his little finger when he’s like this.

Crafty and collected and completely merciless with keeping you on your toes.

Toying with you and testing the waters to see if you were willing to go toe-to-toe with him.

And while your elusive confidence usually made it difficult to find the right words when he was around, wit was a game that brought it back to the forefront.

So, you bite.

“You could also do better.”

Secretly, you’re just as taken aback as Viktor looks as soon as the words leave your mouth. But still, you double-down and take a step towards the man whose hand is now slowly slipping off of the door’s handle. He collects himself with a small nod—a touché before starting to level with you.

“So, your intentions were to bed me in a cheap room after all?”

“Bed you?” You repeat back, his choice of words throwing you for a loop before you pick at the details of his accusation. “Viktor, this is far from cheap.”

“You’re not denying it?”

“Denying what?”

His small turn on his heels draws you a little closer, clearly not backing down from this subtle dance as he quips back.

“If you want to play coy you should’ve stayed in the river.”

“Coy…was that a fish pun?”

“You do seem to love those.”

His crooked grin adequately accents his unfortunately true accusation…you do appreciate the occasional tasteful pun.

“Clearly not as much as you seem to love Linda.”

It wasn’t your best counterpoint. You were struggling with your rebuttal after taking another step and catching the familiar scent of smoke from the stove and cardamom from Viktor. The smallest hint of herbal soap from his damp hair and the crisp outside air from the cracked window. Each aroma clashing beautifully against the other—stunning your senses into understanding the proximity closing in.

“We’re just going to talk, her and I.”

Ohhhh, you could kick yourself for that stupid fucking slip up right about now.

You understand exactly what he’s doing with his reclamation of your words. He wants to hear you say it. Wants to hear what you want. Wants to watch you grapple for control of this back-and-forth, of your flawed logic.

Wants to see you squirm when he fully turns to face you, his chest almost bumping against yours as he straightens his back.

You give in, allowing him to entertain the meaning as much as he’d like.

“I think your mouth might be too busy for that.”

Your new favorite color returns in earnest, staining his cheeks more quickly than he can hide it.

Look at that, you’re back in control.

His smug grin quickly dissolves into hushed breaths, lips parted when you subtly steal a glance at them only to find that he’s trying to steal a glance at yours as well.

Your heart betrays its sure rhythm…until the other man decides to join you in playing coy, instantly dragging you back into another rapid-fire exchange.

“Whatever do you mean, [Y/n]?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Quite the smart ass.”

“Quite the smart tongue.”

“In more ways than you know.”

“Lucky Linda.”

“Unlucky you.”

“Unlucky…me?”

Your voice breaks quietly before you drop your gaze—taking in the meaning behind bold words and wondering how much weight was behind them until he solidifies it.

“Mmhm.”

Slowly succumbing to the familiar feeling of defeat as Viktor gets the upper hand of your repartee. Your eyes dart aimlessly over him as you try to pull your thoughts together in a desperate attempt to gain it back.

He catches your pause and quirks a brow, looking quite pleased to have you reeling under his words. With a sigh of exaggerated disappointment complete with a quick click of his tongue, he adds fuel to your fire just as easily as the hearth he’s fed.

“And here I thought you had a knack for getting what you wanted.”

Gods you wanted that. Wanted to push him right up against that fucking door. Wanted to close the gap between you, wipe that sly smirk off his face, and make better use of his quick tongue. Wanted to prove that his assumption about you was correct—that you were a person capable of going for what you wanted…or even that you could be for that matter.

For him at least…you wanted to be.

But there you stood. Wrestling with doubt and nerves and ego as you showed the icicles forming on the windowsill what it really means to be frozen in place.

Then it hits you. That small, hushed piece of information that slipped from the other man’s lips not so long ago.

You decide to take one more stab, relying on Viktor’s integrity when he dismissed mistress whoever-the-fuck within your earshot.

“And here I thought you were exactly where you wanted to be tonight.”

Loosening fingers fall the rest of the way from the handle only to be pressed flat against the door behind him. His knuckles carve white into the back of the hand that grips his cane a little bit tighter now. It’s small, subtle—but proof that you’ve rattled his relatively unflappable demeanor.

Something in him changes and at first you struggle to decipher it. His muscles look tense, particularly the ones in his shoulders as he makes an effort to hold his head high even with his back literally and metaphorically against the wall. You can’t tell if he’s surprised that you heard that part of their conversation, or if the meaning behind that sentence actually scared him.

When he pushes his weight off the door it takes every ounce of your being to stay collected. To maintain eye contact with a gaze that was becoming all too easy to drown in. To shake the shiver rolling down your spine when he answers you.

“I am…”

He speaks with confidence but the way honeyed eyes are frantically searching yours says otherwise. Uncertainty becomes apparent as he watches you watching him, his head dipping slowly downward with growing apprehension as he finishes his sentence softer than before.

“…well…almost.”

His breathing gets shaky, stuttering in his chest as it rises and falls. Uncertainty is one thing, but you’re realizing it’s more than that.

“Almost?”

He’s nervous.

“Almost.”

Just like you.

…

But unlike you,

“Where…would you rather be…?”

Nerves don’t get in the way of what he wants.

…

…

…

“…here.”

Viktor’s voice softens and before you can speculate—before he has a chance to change his mind—he leans forward to close the gap separating you.

His lips press against yours with a tenderness that stuns you into place. He’s unhurried. Resolute. Like kissing you was the most natural thing in the world for him.

Like he was in fact, exactly where he wanted to be for the night.

Regardless of his finesse, your body goes rigid as you reflexively grab ahold of his forearm for support.

…Which he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

He returns your stiff grip with a tentative touch—his fingers extending lightly along the underside of your arm—soothing you despite the tight hold you have on him.

It’s such a small, soft motion…but it settles you. Immediately for that matter. That’s when it hits you that Viktor was actually right about what he said earlier.

Time really had no place when he was with you.

In the span of a sharp breath, you don’t know at which point your eyes fluttered shut. Or when you stopped thinking. Let alone when you stopped breathing. When your grip loosened, when your jaw unclenched. When your worries lifted into nothingness.

When the noise settled and everything finally felt…still.

Something you haven’t felt in years…

And just in time for Viktor to pull away.

As you feel him shift his weight back you all but catch yourself from greedily leaning forward. Leaving you looking practically starved, and clearly craving more than a mere sample…as delicious as it was.

Not yet ready to relinquish the small peck, your eyes hold onto what your lips couldn’t.

Doused with the same state, Viktor’s own lips remain parted, likely still lingering with the sensation of having yours pressed against them. A sensation it seemed he also wasn’t quite ready to surrender by the looks of it.

When your eyes meet, heavy and cautious and equally full of need for the other, Viktor tilts his head just slightly. His dark brows furrow, knitted with contemplation or curiosity—maybe both. But you recognize the purpose behind that look.

He’s trying to read you.

And rivaling the very book you pulled from the shelf, you let him.

He easily pages through your wanting expression, mulls over your body language until you catch him glance back at your mouth with a gaze that transitions from reserved to ravenous in a blink before meeting your eyes again.

Neither of you say a word. Neither of you have to.

He just quirks a brow at you.

Quicker than usual.

More intentional.

Not at all the expression you’ve seen when something has piqued his curiosity. Or when he’s wanting more insight that was initially provided.

No, this was something else.

This was a wordless way to say, ‘your move’. An affirmation that there could be more if you wanted it. Wanted him.

This wasn’t a request for more information.

It was a request for more…of you.

…

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but in the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn you saw one of the icicles break away from the sill.

…

Turns out you’re tired of being frozen too.

Finally, you move—leaning forward and tipping your head to catch Viktor’s lips more fully than before. You can hear him inhale sharply at the sudden contact, can picture his brows pinching together in concentration…

…can feel his back hit the wall with a resounding ‘thud' as your actions come a bit more rushed than you intended. A soft “mmph” escapes from his lips to yours at the impact, his hand jerking from your forearm to your delt for balance, but he doesn’t break the kiss.

Still, you consider pulling back to make sure he’s alright. To apologize for quite literally throwing yourself at the other man. You place your hands against the surface on either side of his hips, bracing to push yourself away.

But his arm wraps around your shoulders instead—pulling you closer and reassuring you that he’s okay. That this is okay.

…more than okay.

It doesn’t seem like his first kiss, and it definitely isn’t yours, but judging by how much you both have clearly been wanting this, it might as well be.

Your hands are clumsy when you blindly reach for his waist—scraping your knuckles on the wooden door as you add to the symphony of thuds pounding against it.

And Viktor’s moments are no smoother.

Abandoning his support, his palm warms your cheek as slender fingers splay wildly against your ear and neck. You can feel him straining, his digits curling slightly before releasing—like he was holding onto his self-control by a thread. Fighting with himself from being too rough with you.

Too hungry for you.

Too consumed by you to care that his actions are quickly followed by a boisterous clank as his cane hits the floor.

…Which only seems to spur you both on.

Viktor’s lips crash against yours again and again. Each kiss becoming more desperate than the last with each breath sounding harsher in between. Your need for each other easily outweighing the desire to come up for air as the sound of huffs fill the room.

A small experimental press into your shoulder has you shift your stance, staggering your legs in between Viktor’s to accommodate the slight imbalance. You can feel his weight begin to fully settle onto you and you happily hold him against the door while his other hand drifts from your cheek.

Inch by agonizing inch his hand trails downwards—reading the lines that have shaped your history and sculpted your features like brail under his fingertips. His touch is cautious…curious—moving carefully over your chest, following each curve that dips around tense muscles and scars that never healed quite right.

You sigh into him while he explores you, pausing his pursuit on the raised line left from a bullet grazing you the day your parents died. He tables the questions churning in his mind to tilt his head and kiss you deeper.

Soothe your old wounds with magic of his own.

He presses his lips to yours more gently than the last time, slowing the adrenaline-fueled pace before you feel the featherlight touch of his tongue brushing along your lower lip. Your breath hitches as you savor how soft he is with you. How his movements are so delicate despite the tangible desire brimming just beneath their surface.

It’s quite the dichotomy. Strong enough to knock the air out of you.

In the form of a moan, sure. Which Viktor gladly muffles when he feels you part your lips for him. His tongue eagerly begins to dance with yours, moving slowly at first while he gets use to you before easily falling into a back and forth of give and take.

The thin fabric of his shirt leaves little to the imagination as your own hands begin to wander, running up his back before languidly trailing down again. He arches into your touch—pulls you closer while you start to memorize the curvature of his spine, the edges of his shoulder blades, the indents of his hips.

It’s effortless—getting lost in Viktor. His skin radiates a warmth that draws you in like a moth to a flame. You can’t help but consider the likelihood of his rising temperature being a byproduct of the arcane that recently resonated inside of him.

And that gives you an unexpected rush that you can’t explain.

Something along the lines of he can understand you on a base level that no one else has been able to even come close to reaching. Knows what it’s like to have something entirely unruly course through his veins without a compass or care. Knows the static and heat and tension and release of it all.

A micro-dosed version of it, sure.

A micro dose is more than enough in a world sober of magic. And more than enough to fully lose your inhibitions with him.

Deft fingers drag slow as molasses along your stomach, rippling over the contours that are already wound tightly in knots. You can feel him hum approvingly, clearly enjoying how your muscles tense under his teasing.

But not as much as you enjoy the sound he makes when you catch his lip between your teeth.

It’s a hushed groan caught in the crosshairs of surprise and pleasure. Barely above a murmur, but audible evidence that he’s come a little more undone. You give a light tug and match the subdued sigh that you pull from his lips, warmth blooming in your chest while his fingers dig into your shoulder and abdomen.

When you let go you can feel his smile while he chases evasive breaths, lips catching on yours lightly with each word that passes from them.

“And you…” He chuckles softly before finishing. “…said you don’t bite.” He follows his statement by taking the lead—pushing himself off the door, snaking an arm around your waist, and taking shallow steps to walk you backwards.

“I made…” You grin at his callback, trying to find your breath as well in between kisses and footsteps. “…an exception.”

“Do you make those often?” His voice sounds shot, graveled with passion that grows with each step. “Exceptions…”

“From time to time.” Your ears are burning and you’ve been so caught up in his aftershocks that you barely notice the pressure that’s caused your skimpy ass shorts to get tighter. You reinforce your own voice, playing into his question that you know is alluding to the common rules of a first date. “We’ve already made quite a few…”

“What like…assault?”

His clever response causes you to grin into a small kiss, your tongue teasing his before you correct him. “Well, battery. Technically.”

“That’s…not better.”

After another kiss, another step you manage to answer back with a crime of his own from the evening. “And how about theft?”

A playful nibble on your lip hitches your breath before he hums another rule broken from the list. “Mm. Vandalism.”

Gradually you get use to letting him steer you blind, your movements shifting from an uneven shuffle to steady-ish steps. You figure he trusted you mending him with raw magic—you can trust him not to let you fall on these expensive floors.

Not that you would care at this point anyway.

“Can’t forget about gambling.”

“Of course not.”

The backs of your knees hit the bedframe and you both stop in your tracks.

His focus travels.

Yours follows.

A glance behind you puts the luxe mattress layered with more blankets and pillows than you have in your entire loft into plain view. The implications of what comes after sitting heavy in the air as Viktor’s hands fall to your hips.

Your half-lidded vision is blurred but mesmerized by the way his whiskey eyes drink you in. His gaze moves down your chest and over your stomach until it drops low enough to make your cheeks flush.

“We could…just retire for the night, [Y/n].” His tone gives you all of the comfort in the world that it was okay to do so as he lifts a hand to cradle your cheek. “Falling asleep beside you—” He pauses, a sincere smile pulling at his lips while he imagines what that looks like. “That would be enough for me.”

Kind, warm eyes reflect the honesty behind sweet words. You match his smile and get lost in his touch, leaning into his palm before placing your hand on his. Thin fabric still leaving little to the imagination, you only have to glimpse down for a second to steel your thoughts into a word.

“Unless…?”

“Unless…” Warm ignites into to a smolder, sweet swiftly becomes sultry, and his touch fades from your cheek to fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“You’d like to make one more exception with me…”

----------

A/N: Oh it's HEATIN' UP--thanks to everyone for being patient with this chapter, it took a minute to fully form and write up and I hope it gives some warm fuzzies during these TRYING times :) Also wanted to say hi hello and welcome to any new folks! I am loving every comment, they seriously make my day. I'm so glad y'all are here and hope you enjoy the read! This is definitely a longer fic that started as a comfort read/be a place to visit if you've had a hard day and has turned into an entire story that I'm really excited to continue. I'm not sure how far into season 2 we'll go yet since we still have a few episodes left, but I'll be sure to include some tidbits and little easter eggs regardless of where to story finishes.  Thank you also for the follows, feedback, likes, shares and everything in between. It means the world to me and I'm beyond humbled this lil thing has brought some folks even a little bit of joy.  If you're feeling wild, my ko-fi is linked to my pinned post and in my lil sidebar (no pressure ever, I do this for free and because I love it)...But if there's a dollar in there I will be telling my homophobic dad his son made a buck writing gay smut at the family dinner next week. 

And if that isn't success I don't know what is. Anyway, thank you again for reading and I hope everyone is doing well out there! Cheers, Ghost

[kitchenisking]

August Fic Rec

My loves, just a quick reminder that all the rec are tagged at the bottom for easy access to the rest of my recs. and lets not forget to send love to our writers with comments and kudos❤️

to be with those I like by sheafrotherdon - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 9,323, sterek)

It's Deaton who tells Derek that Stiles is back in town, a broken marriage behind him, his daughter in tow.

Fixer Upper by Arsenic - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 39,169, sterek)

After the events of 5a, Stiles is estranged from Scott--and by association, the pack. Derek is off finding himself, or, at least, Germany and some other places. There's a lot of texting and post cards and then Derek comes back to find Stiles missing. Worse, nobody seems to remember Stiles existing.

"Here's to the best and most unconventional decision ever made in Vegas." byEvanesDust - (Rating: T, Words: 917, sterek)

The last thing Stiles expected when he woke up was to be in bed with Derek. Actually, scratch that. The last thing Stiles expected when he woke up was to be married.

Howl Ya' Doin' ? by wanderingeyre - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 14,196, sterek)

The first few posts of “Howl Ya Doin’?” were just Stiles talking about being a human in a werewolf pack. Then Derek accidentally walked in on Stiles live streaming and Stiles pulled him into an impromptu Q&A about being a born wolf. That video went viral, much to Derek’s horror and Stiles’s barely concealed glee.

Heart's on Fire by julietangel - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6,696, sterek)

Stiles should have known it was him, but he blames the games for distracting him from his soulmate.

Torn Apart and Set Anew by Hedwig221b - (Rating: Mature, Words: 18,681, sterek)

“Someone’s here,” Stiles whispered, feeling weirdly numb.

The metal latch clicked. With ice filling his lungs and his fingers shaking terribly, Stiles swiveled his head in the direction of a window and froze for a beat of a second.

There was a face behind the glass.

Forgettable and plain, but at the same time familiar face.

Hello by nightlight9 - (Rating: T, Words: 9,725, sterek)

Stiles calls Derek's cellphone years after having no contact, leaving voicemails for the werewolf though there is never a reply. Then when the number becomes disconnected, Stiles has to venture back to the home that they had build together before he left in order to find out what has happened to the man he loved. The answer is not what he expects, and it makes him evaluate what he left behind.

Deputized by WhoNatural - (Rating: T, Words: 2,423, sterek)

dep·u·tize verb temporarily act or speak as a deputy. synonyms: stand in for, sit in for, fill in for, cover for, substitute for, replace

”"He’s too old for you," Derek grunts, and, shit - Stiles looks indignant.

I Trust You by buckysharons - (Rating: Mature, Words: 1,052, sterek)

stiles let’s derek feed off of him for the first time

Neon Flashing Signs by Karla_Kattz - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 13,799, sterek)

“I don’t know, it’s just…” Derek trails off. “Me being in a room full of alphas?” Stiles tries to help out with words. “Yeah, but… but not only?” Derek sighs. Stiles waits patiently for his boyfriend to gather his thoughts. “You know, I’m always protective of you, but my wolf, it’s never been that anxious. I can’t describe it better.” “We aren’t in a life or death situation. It’s just a Convention. I’ve met other alphas before, plenty of them and sure, I haven’t met them all at once, but still. Plus there are other omegas too,” he tries to resonate. “And I can look after myself. I’m not a damsel in distress.” Seriously, Stiles is a smart omega, raised by a Sheriff. He’s a master of small talk. What can possibly happen, right?

——— Where the pack attends a Werewolf Convention and nothing of what happens was on Stiles‘ bingo card.