#teen wolf click and drag

[fandomnsfw]

Changes pt 5 - Scott McCall x Reader

Pairing: Scott x Reader

Prompt: None!~ Just came to me brahh pt 5

Warning: NONE!

ALSO! Thank you to my brand new Liam~ @lets-imagine-fanfics​

ENJOY!!

******

The smell of arousal is something you’re used to by now. Being in a pack full of couples, it tends to be a scent you catch quite often. Like right now you can smell arousal but you’re sat in the cafeteria with the pack, so it’s not like you can pinpoint who it’s coming from unless you go around asking or getting in people faces. Not to mention you’re in a room full of constantly horny teens so by this point you’d learnt to just ignore it.

You were currently perched on the end of Scott’s knee, eating your fries. However unbeknown to you, the arousal was coming from somewhere a lot closer to you.  

Scott stared at your back as you leant over to grab some more fries. From the position you were in he could see the outline of your body, but what actually had him almost shifting in the middle of the cafeteria, was the fact that your ass was staring him in the face. Today you’d chose a simple comfortable outfit that consisted of high waist boyfriend jeans with high waist white Calvin Klein undies that were peeking out the top of your jeans, with a matching Calvin Klein sports bra and a cropped light pink Nike hoodie.  

Every time you leant over he’d have a very vivid vision of you in your Calvin Klein set, bent over for him. It was a form of torture Scott was very clearly struggling with. He could feel his wolf clawing from the inside, begging to be let out to claim his mate. The more time you left the bond incomplete the worse it seemed to get for him.

So when he thought the torture couldn’t get any worse he was proven very wrong.

You stood up to take your tray away but heard a little clicking sound near your feet. Quickly realising your shoelaces had come out your shoe. You bent down, shoving the laces back in with a grunt. You had no idea but this literally had Scott’s eyes glowing red as he tried to hold down his wolf.  

To a wolf, this very much looked like an invitation, however, to a human it looked very innocent. Jackson looked over to Lydia but quickly caught sight of Scott’s red eyes. His eyes widened before he looked at you to see what was wrong and when he looked it clicked he quickly nudged Ethan and nodded to Scott with wide eyes.  

Ethan shot out his chair startling you into standing up straight. Ethan ran over to Scott and grabbed him, quickly and efficiently dragging him outside the school entrance. Jackson followed quickly leaving you stood there puzzled. Stiles frowned at Lydia and you who shrugged, before following the other boys.

Outside Scott was growling and trying to get back into the cafeteria. Jackson and Ethan held him back as Stiles ran out the school. He glanced at Ethan and Jackson with a confused frown.  

“He looked like he was about five seconds away from bending Y/N over and fucking her in the middle of the cafeteria!” Jackson exclaimed as he struggled to hold his Alpha back. Stiles gave Jackson a nod before turning to Scott and looking him in the eyes.

“Hey, Scott! Buddy look at me!” Stiles instructed, his finger snapping in front of Scott.  

“Listen to me. Do you love Y/N?” Stiles asked calmly trying to keep Scott calm as he spoke. Scott gave Stiles a grunt and a nod meaning ‘yes’ in wolf talk.

“Do you want her to cry?” Stiles asked softly this time. Scott let out a whine and shook his head.

“You need to calm down because if you mate her like this, you’re going to hurt her and she’s going to cry.” Scott whines got louder but he nodded quickly and took a few deep breaths. After a minute of breathing Scott had managed to calm down and look up at the others.  

“Sorry…Being near her recently is getting harder. I can barely contain my wolf when I’m near her. It’s like it's instinct to complete the bond.” Scott sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“How come she’s not feeling the same?” Ethan asked, his tone unsure. Scott didn’t reply just gave him a shrug.

Most of the boys were playing in the garden, while the some of the girls and Stiles made dinner for the pack. You were stirring the pasta when Scott walked in with no shirt on, causing you to almost squeak. You felt arousal stir in your stomach but the worst part was your wolf who you’d yet to fully get acquainted with, it was trying to force its way out.  

You gripped onto the kitchen counter, praying for it to stop but you were new to this so it was more difficult than you’d expected. You walked calmly to the downstairs bathroom, hoping the others wouldn’t ask. You stared into the mirror your eyes were glowing and your claws were out but for some unknown reason, you couldn’t put them away.

All you could hear was you wolf chanting the same two things over and over again. ‘Alpha’ and ‘Mate’ if you had to guess. You’d say it was related to the completion of the bond. You’d yet to complete it and now it was taking its toll.  

You leant against the sink as you took deep breaths. It didn’t help that the person that was your anchor was now the cause. You looked up after a few minutes and saw your eyes had stopped glowing and your claws and gone back to your nude matte stiletto acrylics.  

You came out the bathroom to see Lydia standing by the door. You assumed she was waiting for you because there are a thousand other bathrooms in the Hale house.

“You’re not in control?” She questioned, her eyes never leaving the wall opposite the bathroom.

“I am…Just when I’m near Scott I’m not.” You muttered hoping no one was listening in.  

"You should tell him." Lydia states calmly, turning to you as she spoke.

“Oh yeah that conversations gonna go down well…’Hey Scott, I can’t be near you right now, because my wolf is causing me to act and think like a bitch in heat.’” You whisper yelled, sarcasm dripping from your words.  

“Better than you sitting on his dick while he’s sleeping.” Lydia snorted, a smirk working its way onto her face.  

You rolled your eyes before making your way back to the kitchen, thankfully Scott had gone back outside meaning the likely hood of him having heard you were slim. You checked the food that thankfully Stiles had handled while you were in the bathroom.

Once dinner was finished the pack sat down at the dining table. The boys had taken showers since the reeked of sweat sue to playing around in the garden. You only guessed they’d either been play fighting or practising lacrosse because the pack usually trained together.

Conversations were flowing until Scott slammed his fork down onto the table, causing every member of the pack to freeze. You looked at him in shock. You had never seen Scott so violent, let alone that angry looking. You shot Derek a glance from over the table who shook his head letting you know he had no idea.  

“Y/N can you please go and put some more clothes on.” It wasn’t a question. It was an order. His voice radiating authority that made my wolf whimper. You stuttered out a nod before moving from the table to go change into something else.  

You went to your room, taking off your cropped hoodie before scanning around the room. You spotted a big hoodie of Scott’s and deemed that safe. However, as you got downstairs you realised how wrong you were.

Scott’s head turned to you before you even reached the bottom of the stairs. His eyes flashed red for a second then he got out his seat rather angrily, almost knocking the chair over. He stormed over to the door.

“I’m going for a walk.” He muttered before leaving out the front door. You glanced at the rest of the pack confused, with tears in your eyes.  

“What the hell did I do?” You whimpered as a tear slid down your cheek. Stiles got out his seat and took you into his arms.  

“You didn’t anything puddin’…He’s just stressed and taking out on you. Which isn’t right I know but you know Scott would never act like this unless he had a reason.” Stiles stroked your hair as you cried into his plaid shirt.  

“I think you both need to have a talk.” Lydia stated softly from behind Stiles.  

Everyone finished their food before going home leaving the pack house empty save for a few members who lived permanently at the pack house.

You sat in Scott’s bedroom waiting for him to return. After 30 minutes Scott walked through the door looking even more stressed than when he left.

He looked up, obviously noticing someone was in his room. He gazed at you with an unreadable expression before letting out a sigh. You shifted your eyes to the floor, unsure of what to say. Every sentence and word you had thought of whilst waiting for him had vanished. What replaced it was fear.

Fear that the man you so deeply loved would laugh at you. Fear that the man you loved would reject you. Fear that he might decide this is more trouble than it’s worth. Mates be damned.

The bed shifted as Scott dropped down next to you, his scent almost causing you to lean into him but you resisted, staring at the door he had come through moments ago. Before you had the chance to talk Scott spoke first.

“I think we should distance our self a little.” Scott mumbled quietly. But as quiet as his words were they still felt like a knife slicing through you.  

“W-Why?” You cursed yourself for tearing up and letting him know your pain.

“Because I can’t control my wolf around you.” Scott sighed, his words causing you to look up in shock.  

“ME TOO!” You screamed startling him so much, he fell off the bed.

“Y-You too!?” He yelled back as his head popped up from around the side of the bed.  

“Yeah like every time you’re near me, I wolf out! It’s like I’m a…” You thought about the words you’d said to Lydia earlier and blushed.

“Like a what?” Scott questioned as he got back onto the bed this time facing you.

“Like a b-bitch in heat?” You face felt hot as you said it but it was the only way you knew how to explain it.  

“O-Oh yeah…My wolf has been clawing at me every time you’re near like he wants to mate.” Scott blushed and looked away at the same time you did.  

You both sat in an awkward silence, trying to think of the best way to deal with this. The simple way would be to seal the bond and move on but for some reason, neither of you dared offer up that solution.

After about 10 minutes of silence, Scott’s knee started bouncing vigorously. You chewed on your bottom lip as you gathered the courage to say something. However, every time you got the courage you talked yourself out of it. Every single sound was amplified with no words to drown it out. You listened to the sound of Scott’s knee bouncing when you finally exploded.

“WE SHOULD HAVE SEX!” You screamed, standing up as you did. Scott flinched when you shouted but managed not to fall on the floor.

“I-Is that what you want?” Scott muttered shyly as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

“Scott, I love you and you’re my mate, of course, I wanna have sex with you.” You snorted, your blush creeping into your neck.

You stared at the floor, once again awkward silence falling over the both of you. Thought this time you wouldn’t let it last long. You walked up to him and climbed on top of him. He gasped in surprise, his hands clenching the bed sheets as you straddled his lap.  

“Is that a no?” You whispered against his ear, earning a shiver from the man.

“No…I mean yes but not right now…I think we should have a date tomorrow and maybe come here to my room and make it r-romantic and stuff…” Scott stuttered out nervously as he tried to hold back his wolf.

“A date?” You deadpanned, trying to hold in your happiness at how adorably endearing he was being.  

“Y-Yes I mean it’s your first time and I mean most first times are awkward and uncoordinated, but since it’s not my first time I at least have some experience so I want to try and make it as good for you as I can…” He grumbled, the blush on his face darkening slightly.  

“Suddenly I don’t want to be sat in your lap.” You growled childishly, scowling at the thought of him being with another woman.

“Sorry…I didn’t mean to bring up ex’s I just wanted you to know you mean a lot to me and I want to make this special.” He sighed softly, his blush slowly dissipated quickly replaced by a serious expression.

“Fine, we’ll go on a date tomorrow after school. We can meet by the front door at 7 pm.” You chuckled softly letting him know you weren’t seriously mad. He gave you a nod, a huge grin making its way to his face.  

You stood up with a smile and made your way to his bedroom door. You turned around, blowing him a kiss before making your way out of his room. On the way to your room, you bumped into Stiles who was dressed in a large Henley, presumably Derek’s, and a pair of boxers. However, where you caught him was the interesting part. He was sneaking out of Ethan and Jackson’s bedroom with something in his hands.  

When you looked down at the object wrapped tightly in his hand you burst out laughing. There clutched in Stiles Stilinski’s was a bottle of pink lube. He shushed you with a blush on his face as he fidgeted uncomfortably.  

“Were you stealing Jethan’s lube?” You gasped as you tried to calm your laughter.

“Shut up Derek’s a fucking sex fie-”

Suddenly Stiles was picked up and thrown over a large shoulder which you quickly figured was Derek. You covered your mouth with your hand as your laughter started up again. It died down a little just in time to hear Derek say something.

“You were taking too long.” He grumbled, you laughed at the thought of his usual scowl on his face as he said it and the laughter started up once again. Derek and Stiles as a couple were predictable sometimes but unpredictable at most, somehow though, they made the perfect couple.  

You walked to your room, collapsing on your bed with a tired sigh. Before you could motivate yourself to get under the covers you were out like a light.  

“Yes! Mmm Alpha~” You moaned loudly, your hands clutching the sheets in an attempt to ground yourself. The tightness in your stomach, causing you to arch off the bed. Everything felt sensitive you could feel the glisten of sweat forming on your body as you begged for your release.

“Does my little wolf want to cum? Want to cum on Alp-”

You shot up with a gasp, sweat causing your clothes to switch to you. You glanced around the room before throwing yourself back again.

“Well…Tomorrow should be interesting…” You panted, as you tried to calm your breathing.  

Part 4 <- -> Part 6

[maria021015]

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 27 AHEAD!

“Took you long enough,” He poked fun at her with a half-smirk and she stuck her favourite finger up at him with a tight smile of her own, being the first to bound down the stairs and wind through into the kitchen, where Sheriff Stilinski was just putting his finished breakfast bowl into the sink.

“Good morning,” The man raised a brow at them both and the knowing glint in his blue eyes made Zaida pause, her arm frozen in mid-air on her way to reaching to the fruit bowl for a banana. “Now, I’m going to choose to believe that you two falling asleep upstairs with the door shut last night was an accident and not a purposeful breach of the rules.”

“Oh,” Stiles scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing slightly as he chuckled lightly. “Yeah, we were talking last night and…I don’t even remember crashing, I was that tired.” He lied through his teeth. Sure, he had been tired, but it hadn’t exactly been an accident. He’d known they were both about to drift off, and he had watched Zaida fall asleep, but he hadn’t done anything about it. He hadn’t really wanted to. Something about the girl was calming to him, and it was the first night he’d felt sleep approaching without dread or panic disturbing it for a very long time. Granted, that was probably due to it being the first night of peace in the supernatural world since the start of the school year.

“Sorry Sheriff,” Zaida cringed in apology for their mistake. “It won’t happen again.”

“Now, why are you kids up this early on a Sunday?” Noah dropped the matter as soon as he said his piece.

“We thought we’d go for a walk in the Preserve while the air is still fresh.” Zaida smiled, plucking a banana from the bowl and peeling the top open before taking a bite.

“Stiles woke up early to go for a walk?” The sheriff looked at her sceptically.

“No, Stiles got up early because I promised I’d take him to Waffle House for breakfast if he came with me.” She snorted, keeping up the facade.

“Oh my God, we’re going to Waffle House?” Stiles’ eye slit up with excitement and Zaida shot him a pointed look. He quickly backtracked with a goofy expression. “I mean, yeah, I can’t wait! For waffles…at Waffle House…which is where we’re going.”

“After our walk.” Zaida nodded in confirmation, hoping the Sheriff would buy into their plot.

“Yup,” Stiles’ popped his ‘p’ articulately. “After the walk, which we are going to be doing…in the Preserve.”

“Okay, now where are you actually going?” Sheriff arched a brow at them, his son tipping him off to something else going on.

“We’re going to cover Scott’s face with whipped cream and wake him up with an air horn.” Zaida walked over to the fridge and pulled out a half-empty can of whipped cream, holding it up in what she hoped appeared to be sheepish admittance.

“Yeah, that makes more sense.” Noah nodded with a chuckle. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Sheriff!” Zaida called out and gripped Stiles’ wrist, dragging him out of the house.

“Wait, can we like actually go to Waffle House, though? Because I’m hungry.” Stiles whined hopefully as he unlocked the Jeep.

“Here,” Zaida shoved the can of whipped cream into his chest jokingly, and crossed over to the other side of the car, hopping in. She clicked her seatbelt into place and looked at Stiles expectantly as he lifted himself into his seat and giddily pulled the cap off the whipped cream can, doing a little happy dance. Tipping his head back and opening his mouth wide, he sprayed a mountain of fluffy white cream into his mouth as Zaida watched on in surprise. When he closed his mouth it oozed out of his lips and dripped down his face, overflowing. The boy managed to guzzle what was left in his blown-out cheeks quite quickly.

“Are you serious?” She stared at him, completely flabbergasted that he had downed half a can in one go.

“Sorry, did you want some?” He offered, holding the can out to her as he wiped his face with his sleeve. She wrinkled her nose at him in response and he frowned as he replaced the cap and dropped the empty can into the cupholder. “What? Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“Just drive, Stilinski.” She shook her head and sighed dramatically. He pulled out of the driveway with a newfound sense of urgency, his speed picking up quite fast to the point where she knew he was going over the limit. “Do you ever follow the road rules?”

“What good is having the Sheriff as your dad if you can’t bend a few rules?” He grinned and pushed his foot down on the pedal harder, the engine growling as it was spurred on.

“Thanks for calling, Doc.” Stiles nodded in greeting to Deaton as he opened the door for them to pass through the gate to the back of the animal clinic.

“Stiles said you found something?” Zaida asked expectantly, her pulse jumping in her apprehension.

“I did. At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of your telempathic abilities, but when Stiles mentioned water manipulation…it opened a whole new world of possibilities. I’ve accumulated my research of different water spirits from mythology over cultures throughout history.” The man explained in his usual calm and even tone, gesturing to the papers of scrawled cursive on the metal bench beside him. Zaida leaned in to take a better look. “In doing so, I have realised the similarities across multiple cultures’ mythology suggest that the origin of such stories could have been the very same, simply evolving differently within the context of society at the time.”

Zaida scanned the multiple familiar and unfamiliar names alike across the veteranarian's research, following Deaton’s theory. “So all of these creatures are just variations of one, just changed slightly by different interpretations influenced by cultures across time?”

“Exactly.” Dr Deaton dipped his chin into a nod in confirmation.

“I don’t even know half of these…” Stiles trailed off, sifting through the papers. Zaida took them from his hands, laying them out over the table. “Okay, so what are we talking about then? Like Nymphs?” Stiles wondered, picking up one of the only names he recognised.

“Nymphs like Naiads and Nereids in Greek mythology would be the most obvious. Camenae were the Roman version. Undies are humanoid water elementals from European folklore and alchemical theories. Rusalka are female water-dwelling spirits in Slavic mythology - often malicious. Selkies are Scottish and Irish shapeshifters associated with bodies of water.” Zaida pointed to each with a painted nail as she spoke, recalling the stories her grandparents and Xander would whisper to her in the dark of night. “Other Celtic cultures had other water-based spirits. Like the Welsh had Gwragedd Annwn who were water fairies and Morgens or Mari-Morgens who were like sirens. A Jengu - or Miengu in plural form - was a female mermaid-like spirit in Cameroon. The Nixie are German shape-shifting water spirits. Phi Thale were Thai sea spirits.”

“That’s right,” Deaton smiled slightly in approval. “And those are just the female-presenting spirits. There are more that are male versions, like Vodyanoy in Slavic mythology, the Nix in Scandinavian culture, and Adaro in the Solomon Islands. Not to mention specific water-based gods and goddesses throughout multiple cultures like Japanese, Chinese, Norse, Hindu and Aztec mythologies.”

“If all of these are talking about the same supernatural being…then how do they have different abilities?” Stiles wondered. “Some shapeshift into different animals and others are humanoid, some are dead whereas others are alive or immortal, some are helpful and others benevolent…”

“All beings can be good or bad in nature, as I’m sure you’ve already experienced. In terms of the other differences, I have two theories. One is that certain details were added for story-telling purposes. The other is that there are variations within the species, like sub-abilities.” The doctor explained. “Unfortunately, when it comes to water spirits, we only have mythology to go off, so that means a lot of our source material isn’t reliable. However, those consistencies across cultures are marginally more likely to be true than the rest.”

“And those similarities are…?” Stiles prompted, his eyes scanning the pages for anything that might stand out to him.

“A connection to water is primary, of course. That includes hydrokinesis - as we know Zaida possess. It is believed that exposure to the element can increase the being’s strength and other powers. The nature of those other powers likely depends on the specific spirit. Think of it like how shapeshifters can sometimes take the form of their internal selves.” Deaton compared it to Jackson’s case as a loose example. “Perhaps Zaida’s personality or experiences influence her development of abilities. The more common of which seem to be healing and prophetic qualities like foresight. I’m assuming that Zaida’s telempathy is one of these gifts. It wasn’t widely documented as such, but it can be interpreted that creatures who would charm and lure men to their water graves were using advanced telempathy to manipulate or project emotions.”

“So other less recorded abilities, like shapeshifting, musical gifts, and controlling storms could all be other rarer powers?” Zaida asked to check her level of understanding.

“For all we know - which admittedly is not much…yes.” The man confirmed.

“So you’ve never even heard of there being a water spirit before?” Stiles clarified, going off Deaton’s lack of his usual extensive knowledge. “How is that possible?”

“Whilst I am aware of many things in the supernatural realm, my knowledge is limited by my experiences - or lack thereof. I’m afraid rarer supernatural beings are outside of my scope of practice.” Deaton tilted his head as he answered placidly. “You might have more luck with families like the Argents or Hales, who have been documenting their supernatural findings for hundreds of years.”

���Right.” Zaida went quiet, pondering the doctor’s words. “Well, thank you for looking.”

“I wish I could help you more.” Deaton nodded by way of parting, his words sincere, yet his tone still even in his usual fashion.

“Hey! Where are you in a hurry to get off to?” Stiles rushed after her as she walked with long strides out of the clinic and towards the Jeep.

“The Bestiary,” Zaida said in explanation and turned to face Stiles, her ponytail whipping into his face and getting caught in his mouth with how swiftly she moved. He coughed and pulled her dark hair away from him with a wrinkled nose.

“Nope. No way. Not happening.” The boy shook his head adamantly. “Have you forgotten what the Argents do for a living? They are historic supernatural hunters - killing people like you is their legacy. And Allison is the ultimate nepotism baby success story right now.”

“They’re my best shot at getting the information I need right now.” She reasoned. She knew it was awful, but if it was between that and never finding out…what option did she really have? “Would you rather I go to Derek?”

“Honestly, yes.” Stiles nodded exaggeratively, his eyebrows shooting towards his hairline in his current hyper-expressive state. “At least we know because of Isaac he won’t shoot you with a crossbow.”

“What do you mean?” Zaida’s brows scrunched together. “What does Isaac have to do with anything?”

“The guy’s like in love with you.” Stiles scoffed with a newfound sharpness to his voice. “He wouldn’t let Derek lay a paw on you, and Derek is kinda short on pack members since Erica and Boyd ditched him. He can’t afford to let Isaac go - not with Peter back.”

“Isaac is not in love with me.” Zaida rolled her eyes and continued walking to the car.

“Uh, yes, he is.” Stiles insisted upon it. “Why else do you think he helped us?

“Because it was the right thing to do.” Zaida defended confidently. If Isaac had only been in it for her, he would have quit as soon as she’d ended things with him.

“Yeah, right.” Stiles chuckled humourlessly, and she split off from him to cross around to the other side of the Jeep, opening the door and pulling herself into her seat.

“Why are we even fighting about this? Does it really matter? I’m not going to Derek. The guy is notorious for hiding information, and if he catches wind of what I am, who knows what he’ll do. He already tried to recruit me into his pack before and that was when he didn’t even know what I could do.” Zaida shook her head as Stiles got into the driver’s seat beside her.

“Okay, well who’s to say the Argents won’t just kill you?” Stiles stated the occurrence as if it were obvious.

“We know now that Chris follows the code. He can’t do anything to me unless I’ve hurt an innocent, and I’m pretty sure punching Jackson in the face doesn’t count.” She played it off with a joke, unable to stop her sarcasm from peeking through.

“I don’t know, I’d say that would have hurt.” Stiles arched a brow, remembering the force with which the girl had delivered that blow. “A lot.”

“Yeah, but he’s not innocent, is he?” She pointed out and Stiles snorted.

“Fair.” He allowed it but re-routed them back to the argument at hand. “Look, just give me some time to try and figure it out first. Let me see what I can find, and if it’s not good enough, then we can talk about possibly going to the Argents. Okay? Possibly. And when I say ‘possibly’ I mean it is our very last option.”

“Fine.” She yielded. The boy was right. The risks were too high to be complacent. Plus, if she could avoid interacting with Allison, that would be a win in her book.

[waterloou]

Ao3 first line tag game

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Tagged by @scienceoftheidiot 💕

Gaze Up to The Heavens, Drag Me Underground (Tara Raeken centric, Teen Wolf)

Laughter filled the air as Tara Raeken ran from her little brother across the ice crusted trail; slipping and sliding her way through the trees on the preserve.

Unintentional (Theo Raeken & Alec centric, Thiam)

Theo sat on the floor next to Gabe’s body, his eyes never leaving the corpse.

Band-Aids and Clementines (Liam Dunbar and Mason Hewitt centric)

Laughter filled the air as the small boy ran off to a shady corner of the play area, and collapsed; curling into himself and pressing his small palms against his teary, red-rimmed eyes.

The Telltale Heart (Theo Raeken centric)

Tiny hands pressed against slowly fading raised cuts, fingers attempting to slot themselves in the creases.

I’ve Got You (Thiam)

Theo woke up warm, wrapped up in an embrace, limbs so tangled with someone’s he couldn’t even begin to figure how to get out.

Broken Parts (Thiam, Morey, Liam & Mason, Theo & Corey)

ZAP!

Liam screamed around the mouth guard as his back arched off the table, arms and legs bound by fraying leather; its ragged edges digging uncomfortably into his skin.

And Neither the Angels in Heaven Above, Nor the Demons down under the Sea, Can Ever Dissever my Soul from the Soul (of my beautiful Li) (Thiam)

A hand shot through the puddle of blood, muscle slowly knitting itself back together over the bone, grasping and pulling itself up, a body following it, red drenched and clicking together.

The Ring (Thiam)

A shiver went down his back as the cool metal of the silencer pressed against his temple.

Porcupine (Thiam)

Liam sat back against Theo’s chest, resting his head back on his shoulder as he strummed his guitar, smiling when the Chimera pressed his nose to his hair.

Darling You Soothe Me (Berica)

Soft snores filtered in the hall as Erica peeked in the room, smile spreading from ear to ear as she watched Boyd sleep.

Tagging @ksbbb @bisexualterror @s-s-southsideserpentine @darth-caillic @marrowbite @theoceanismyinkwell @chasing-chimeras @humangrumpycat @veetlegeuse @songbvrd

[sharpen-your-hatchet]

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 15

Description: Now aged 22, Wednesday Addams is an up-and-coming author. Her time at Nevermore is well behind her, and she is alone, and that suits her just fine...But when a 'new' neighbour shows up in her apartment building, she'll truly be tested on whether her "bad habit" of caring truly has been broken. (Hint: It hasn't.)  

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Teens & Up (subject to change in future)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

As expected, the night of werewolf-sitting Enid’s apartment is long and tedious. The night drags on, time ticking slowly, every hour passing slower than the last… and Wednesday is having an absolutely wonderful time with it. To her, there are frankly few more enjoyable pastimes than a brain numbing and sluggish all-nighter, and the later it gets, the more Wednesday can feel her body struggling to stay awake. It is sadistically delightful. Like teasing death without the commitment…Combined with the fact this particular sleepless night is a favour to Enid, and you’ve got one satisfied Wednesday Addams.

Her only companions are her books, and the droning noise of the New York streets outside. Occasionally she hears scuttling from the alleyways and she stops to listen, hoping to hear a howl or two from the werewolves enjoying their moon fuelled festivities. This concrete jungle will never compare to Wednesday's family home -  but it’s certainly reminiscent enough on nights like these: nights where there’s wicked mayhem afoot; it is a devilish pleasure to think upon what chaos may be happening. Knowing Enid is out there makes it even better. 

In-between reading, and drinking enough coffee to hospitalise the average person, Wednesday has been picturing the way Enid’s evening has progressed. It’ll be interesting to find out how territorial these other New York werewolves are… and how accepting they are of lone wolves like Enid. Wednesday knows either way she’ll be fine: Enid will charm them endlessly, or kick the absolute shit out of them. 

Though, undoubtedly Enid will be coy about it, should the latter happen. A shame, really. 

It’ll be entertaining to hear about, regardless. The often black and white socialising of werewolves seems a lot simpler compared to people. Wednesday almost envies them for it. 

She checks the time on her phone - it has crawled forwards to 5:50am. It’s about now that the beginning of daylight starts to peek into the horizon. Wednesday yawns, shaking her head a little to stir herself awake. It seems her tolerance for sleepless nights is not as it used to be. Disappointing frankly, but it’s something she will fix. She will have to fix it, if she is to continue this task in future. 

Staring at the window Enid left from, Wednesday watches the sky paint itself the colours of dawn. From the alley below comes the sound of heavy steps against the concrete. Then silence. 

Wednesday approaches the window. She pulls it open and peers out into the fire escape, frowning.

“Enid…?” She asks. There is no response. 

It seems about the right time for Enid to return, but without knowing for sure, Wednesday is left questioning the noise. She tries to look out further from the window, but cannot discern any particular detail. She continues to glare downwards. 

But then- 

With a rattling crash, Enid - still in her wolf form -  suddenly springs onto the metal structure, and leaps into the building, taking Wednesday along with her. 

“Enid!” Wednesday yelps, her body stiffening at the impact… but no harm comes to her, as Enid cradles herself around Wednesday and brings them both safely to a stop in the cleared space of Enid’s living room. It is a sudden whirlwind of movement, violent and unexpected. 

Wednesday wriggles out of Enid’s grasp, staring at her, wide eyed and a little bit shell shocked. The room is spinning.  

“Don’t ever do that again”. Wednesday chides. 

Enid barks at her playfully, tail wagging like an excited puppy. She pads around in a circle before sitting down as if to say ‘Well…nothing is broken!’. She finds herself hilarious, clearly. 

Wednesday rolls her eyes, but cannot bring herself to stay mad. She will concede it was a good jump-scare. 

“You seem pleased with yourself.” Wednesday notes. She assesses Enid as she speaks, noting a lack of scratches, bruises, and cuts. Good. There is blood in her hair, but as werewolves go, that’s nothing of note. If anything, it’s probably from some poor terrorised duck that lives in a nearby park. No doubt some traumatised pedestrians will find it come morning - Which is highly amusing to consider. 

Enid grunts out a reply and nods. The responses feel strangely human, though it’s not too unexpected. If Wednesday’s prior knowledge is anything to go off, there’s a strange phenomenon just before a werewolf turns back where their human personality has a chance to peek through. Being that Enid’s personality is a particularly strong one, it’s unsurprising to see her chipper and excitable self… The novelty is still intriguing, all the same. 

Wednesday then asks, “So, need for the tranquiliser?” 

Enid growls.

That’s a ‘No’, if Wednesday’s ever heard one.

Wednesday nods slowly, satisfied with that assessment. She returns to the couch. Admittedly, Wednesday is a little shaken from being somersaulted across the room, but (being her stubborn self) refuses to show it - so she sits for a minute and simply watches as Enid sniffs around the room, bumping into everything as she goes. This small apartment was certainly not designed to accommodate such a large creature. 

After a moment of satisfying her curiosity, Enid turns back to Wednesday, tilting her head inquisitively. 

“What is it?” Wednesday enquiries. 

Enid grumbles at her. 

“I can’t understand you, Enid.” 

End grumbles again, indignantly. Glancing back to the rising sun, there’s a growing panic in her eyes. Wednesday parses that she must be a lot closer to turning back than initially thought. Which, by all accounts, is certainly an issue. 

Enid pads closer to the couch. Leering over Wednesday for a second, Enid then dips her head to Wednesday’s side and nudges her nose at the blanket laying underneath her.  It is a strange feeling, Wednesday thinks, to have Enid’s werewolf form so close. It is mildly terrifying in the way that any large monstrous creature is…but also enthralling, to the point that Wednesday is unsure whether the goosebumps pricking at her neck are from fear or excitement. Perhaps a little bit of both. 

But there is little time to dwell on it. The sun is rising fast. 

“Take it.” Wednesday says. 

Enid grabs the blanket with her teeth and yanks it from under Wednesday, throwing it over her shoulders and quickly turning away.

Enid’s transformation starts only moments later. It’s a similarly dramatic show, with Enid’s body contorting and twisting as it reverts back to what it once was. It looks painful, the way that her lycan features fold in on themselves to become dainty and gentle, but it is incredible all the same… However, there is an issue. As Enid shrinks, her form becoming slender and narrow, the very blanket she grabbed to cover herself begins to slip. It cannot stay upright with how her shoulders are suddenly half the size. 

The covering droops down; Wednesday catches an accidental glimpse of Enid’s bare back. Breath catching in her throat, she rushes from the couch to hold it before it falls any further. A blush creeps up Wednesday’s face and she finds herself desperately glancing in any direction that isn’t directly at Enid. 

It is somewhat mortifying. 

Enid however, is none the wiser. As she comes to - now human again - she reaches behind herself and takes the blanket from Wednesday’s hands, securing it around her body. Wednesday is silently thankful for Enid to not be facing her, as she goes through multiple stages of grief trying to discern why she feels so lightheaded. 

“Shit, thanks for catching that.” Enid mumbles groggily, taking a few wobbly steps as she finds her footing, “Almost got caught out there.” 

Wednesday blinks a few times, staring blankly.

“Yes. Almost.” She replies stiffly.

Wednesday wordlessly returns to the couch. She glares intensely at the coffee table.

Enid trudges over and slumps beside Wednesday. She seems much too tired to notice anything much, if her persistent yawning is anything to go off. Wednesday decides this is a good thing. A very good thing, in fact. 

“Hey Wends,” Enid says, her voice groggy.

“Hello Enid.” Wednesday responds, “I assume your full moon was successful.” 

“Ohhh yeah,” Enid hums, “It was dope as fuck.” 

Enid smiles, eliciting a dopey tired laugh as she does. 

“I made lotsa new friends,” she adds.  

Wednesday offers a stilted nod. 

“Good. I’m sure you are hoping you never have to kill them for territorial purposes. A pity, really.” 

Enid giggles into another yawn. She shuffles a little, sinking further into the couch.

“I’m so sleepy.” She whines. 

Enid begins to tiredly droop against Wednesday, and though Wednesday would normally protest - she just doesn’t… and she isn’t even sure why. Perhaps it is her own exhaustion, or the fact she’s still mentally chewing on the blanket slip: Wednesday cannot say for sure. It is strange to say but amid the sudden buzz of her brain, Enid’s weight against her is almost comforting. Grounding, in a sense. 

Enid nuzzles against Wednesday’s shoulder.

Wednesday’s entire body involuntarily tenses, but still she makes no effort to move Enid out of the way.  She just watches profoundly as Enid rests against her. 

“Are you planning to go to bed?” Wednesday asks.  

“Later...” Enid mumbles, yawning once again, “don’t wanna move yet. Comfy.” 

Wednesday’s heart tugs in her chest. 

She is not sure what to do; not sure what to think. By all accounts, this is unexpected… and it shouldn’t feel any different from other times that Enid has initiated contact, but it does. 

Enid seems practically drained of all her energy. Helpless, even. This leaning - cuddling? - feels like a need for support more than anything, but it’s difficult to tell. It seems like it will be only a matter of minutes and Enid will be fast asleep, ultimately pinning Wednesday in place… and this means Wednesday knows she should make a move; wake Enid up and get her into bed so they can rest separately. It would be the superior way for them to recover after the night they’ve had. 

But, she kind of doesn’t want to? 

It is a perplexing feeling. 

Wednesday knows that - fundamentally - she is and always will be touch averse. She would rather touch a hot stove than hold someone’s hand; rather feel the embrace of the void than hug… But Enid Sinclair is currently falling asleep on her and she cannot find it within herself to hate it.

Wednesday knows she would hate it if it was anyone else. 

The fact she isn’t hating it still makes her feel uneasy, regardless. 

And then there’s the tightness in her chest; the thump of her heart, and her brain whirring about all of the above. Wednesday feels like she’s going a little bit insane all of a sudden. 

But then out of nowhere, comes Enid’s voice.

“Get outta your head and sleep.”

The words are barely intelligible, mostly mumbled under her breath as she continues to drift into slumber, but that doesn’t stop their potency. Even with the knowledge that Enid can likely hear her heartbeat, Wednesday is struck by the way Enid just knows where her head is… It is utterly bizarre. 

Wednesday stares at Enid. She goes to say something - Something witty and jagged; something that will ultimately start a back-and-forth so she no longer has to sit with her thoughts.

But in the end, no words come to her. 

And Enid? Well, she’s fast asleep.  

What she said prior resonates with Wednesday though. Maybe she is overthinking… it certainly wouldn’t be a first, considering how confusing she finds these things at the best of times. Even with her growing comfort at feelings that aren’t indifference, anger, or angst - she’s still, relatively speaking, a newcomer to all of this:

To caring, and to having a friend, and to… whatever this is. 

And she is tired. Ridiculously tired. Tired to the point that her head hurts, and not in a fun way like when you receive electroshock treatment without the anaesthesia. So perhaps it just isn’t the time to run herself ragged over some fleeting fuzzy feelings, inconvenient as they may be. 

And It’s not like Enid’s warmth and body weight against her are causing pain. In fact, it’s quite comfortable, in a roundabout way - even if it's strange and unfamiliar… though, Wednesday will maintain that she’d much rather be in her cold dreary apartment. No doubt about it. 

Wednesday releases a weary sigh.

Sleep it is, then. 

Wednesday resigns to this decision; frankly, there is little else to do anyway, unless she wishes to run in mental circles for however long Enid rests. As much as Wednesday loves torture - She is not so fond of this idea… and so, 15 minutes from what would be her usual awakening time, she settles down to sleep. The couch is small so there’s not much space to move around, but Wednesday has slept in multiple strange places (including many coffins) and as such, the plush awkward cushions aren’t much of a challenge. Wednesday shuffles a little bit, careful to not disturb Enid, and settles soon after. 

She closes her eyes, expecting to be impeded by the daylight that slowly infests the space… and for a short while it does, but the tempting call of sleep pulls at her consciousness the way the moon called to Enid the evening prior.  It ebbs away at her thoughts until there is nothing except the exhaustion in her bones and the feeling of Enid’s body laying against her own. 

Wednesday falls asleep soon after. 

And despite the tight squeeze, and the shared space, and everything that goes along with it…

She sleeps well; better than she’s slept in years.

[sunshine304]

Tag Game

Thank you @three--rings for the tag!

rules: How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic?

-10 -> very dissuaded  0 -> don’t care either way  +10 -> very enticed  nope -> if it’s a hard no and you’d never click on a fic with that tag or or you even have the tag blocked or you’d insta click out of the fic if it wasn’t tagged. 

Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it’s conditional.

Age gap: -2 I don’t much care about this tag? I’ve never seeked it out, but I lean a tiny bit into the negative because there’s so much extreme discourse about it that I’d be wary of the fic leaning into that kind of discussion.

Codependency: 0 Don’t seek it out and am pretty much neutral on it. Will depend on the other tags.

Obsession/Possessiveness, jealousy: +2 Depends on the ship and what direction it’ll take.

Opposites (grumpy/sunshine etc): +6 Really like this one and it’s many of my favourite ships, though three—rings is right that it’s usually no necessary to tag in fic because it’s just what the characters are.

Enemies to lovers, Enemies with benefits: +5 Can be really good and fun. Will likely depend on the author and the other tags, but def. gets my interest.

Friends with benefits: +7 Read this a lot, really like it (it’s also a frequent trope for WangXian, anyway).

Sex to feelings: +10 Yeah, the good shit. XD Usually full of all the feels and some angst, great potential for interesting character work.

Fake dating/relationship: +5 I’ve read a lot of good ones, so yeah, usually I like this one.

Friends to lovers: +3 Nice and safe option, I guess.

Found Family: +6 Really like this one and it tends to come up in my fandoms anyway.

Hurt/Comfort: +6 Good start for some interesting fics.

Love Triangle: -5 If it’s the standard “torn between two suitors and I can’t decide” I don’t like it and will rather avoid.

Poly, open relationships: 0 Pretty neutral about this one. Depends on the ship and the author and the other tags, mostly. For example, it doesn’t work for me with WangXian but I really enjoy 3zun drama. XD

Mistaken/hidden identity: +4 Can be a lot of fun if done well.

Monsterfucking: 0 I guess it depends on what kind. XD Read a lot of vampire and werewolf stuff in the past (I mean, I was in Teen Wolf fandom…). But tentacles and eldritch horrors etc. don’t interest me.

Pregnancy: -4 It depends. I’ve read some, mostly added to omegaverse. It’s okay if it’s not too focused on the details and it also depends heavily on the author.

Second Chance: +2 Agree with three—rings: if it’s just breaking up a couple for the sake of the tag, I don’t like it. As a canon divergence it’s good.

Slowburn: +5 Good if it’s not super artificially dragged out. Up to a certain point I can suspend my disbelief, but if there’s too much (forced) miscommunication, I’ll just get annoyed.

Soulmates: +9 Tends to be one of my favourite tropes. I’ll eat that shit up. Whether it’s trying to deconstruct the usual conventions of this trope or really leans into the “soulmates are super romantic uwu”, I don’t care, if the author manages to hook me with how they’re writing the ship, I’m all in.

Awww I couldn’t use a -10, what a shame. XD

Tagging @spookykingdomstarlight, @stultiloquentia, @dragongirlg-fics and @khaotungsfirst if you feel like playing. :D (And actually get the note for this... XD)

[duckprintspress]

Created Works Round-Up: Master Post

Our monthly “created works round-ups” are Duck Prints Press’s opportunity to spotlight some of the amazing work that people working with us have done that ISN’T linked to their work with Duck Prints Press. We include fanworks, outside publications, and anything else that creators feel like sharing with y’all! Inclusion is voluntary and includes anything that they decided “hey, I want to put this on the created work’s round-up!”

Now, you can use this post to find all the past posts and access them! There’s lots of great things to read, and we’ll keep this post up-to-date as we add new round-ups each month!

July, 2022. Fandoms: Percy Jackson, Welcome to PHU

August, 2022. Fandoms: Tiger and Bunny, Welcome to PHU

September, 2022. Fandoms: Criminal Minds, The Magnus Archives, Transformers

October, 2022. Fandoms: All for the Game, Supernatural, Teen Wolf

November, 2022. Fandoms: Call of Duty, Gokusen, Goncharov, The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Our Flag Means Death, Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System

December, 2022. Fandoms: The King’s Avatar, League of Legends, Naruto, Red White and Royal Blue, Teen Wolf

January, 2023. Fandoms: Call of Duty, Heaven Official’s Blessing

February, 2023. Fandoms: Alice in Borderland, Daomu Biji, RuPaul's Drag Race

March, 2023. Fandoms: All for the Game, Minecraft YouTubers (MCYT), Star Wars, Original Fiction

April, 2023. Fandoms: Daomu Biji, Heaven Official's Blessing, Minecraft YouTubers (MCYT), Naruto, Supernatural

May, 2023. Fandoms: The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Guardian, The Husky and His White Cat Shizun, Minecraft YouTubers (MCYT), Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System

June, 2023. No works submitted.

July, 2023. Fandoms: The Good Place, The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Link Click, Minecraft YouTubers (MCYT), Our Flag Means Death, Stranger Things

August, 2023. Fandoms: Darksiders, The Good Place, The King's Avatar, Percy Jackson and the Olympians

September, 2023. Original work and Fandoms: The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Transformers

October, 2023. Original work and Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

November, 2023. Original work and Fandom: J. R. R. Tolkien's Works

December, 2023. Original works and Fandoms: Daomu Biji, Doctor Who, Heaven Official’s Blessing, The Ink That Bleeds, Minecraft YouTubers (MCYT), Supernatural

January, 2024. Original work and Fandoms: Baldur’s Gate 3, Criminal Minds, Fence, Heaven Official’s Blessing, Link Click, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stranger Things, Transformers

February, 2024. Original work and Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Daomu Biji, The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Minecraft YouTubers (MCYT), Mysterious Lotus Casebook, October Daye, The Sandman, Supernatural, Unstoppable

March, 2024. Original work and Fandoms: Dune, The Magicians, Mysterious Lotus Casebook

April, 2024. Original work and Fandoms: Baldur's Gate 3, Damar Series, Kingdom Hearts, The Magicians

May, 2024. Fandoms: The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, The Magicians, Scum Villain's Self-Saving System

June, 2024. Original work and Fandoms: Baldur's Gate 3, Black Sails, Harry Potter, Honkai Star Rail, Kaiju No. 8, The King's Avatar, The Magicians, Sanders Sides, Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, Star Wars, The Strange Case of Starship Iris

July, 2024. Original work and Fandoms: Harry Potter, Inu Yasha, Our Flag Means Death, Star Trek, Stranger Things

August, 2024. Original work and Fandoms: Fence, The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Harry Potter, The King’s Avatar, The Magicians, The Sandman, Star Trek

September, 2024. Original work and Fandoms: Dead Boy Detectives, J. R. R. Tolkien’s Works, The King’s Avatar, The Magicians

October, 2024. Original work and Fandoms: Heaven Official’s Blessing, The Magicians, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, Slow Horses

Go forth, and enjoy some awesome creations!!

Who We Are: Duck Prints Press LLC is an independent publisher based in New York State. Our founding vision is to help fanfiction authors navigate the complex process of bringing their original works from first draft to print, culminating in publishing their work under our imprint. We are particularly dedicated to working with queer authors and publishing stories featuring characters from across the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. Love what we do? Sign up for our monthly newsletter and get previews, behind-the-scenes information, coupons, and more!

[ace-angel-judas]

Jungbella teen wolf au? 🥺

Arabella stopped as soon as the car door was closed on her, looking over at her father. Ayden had a serious look on his face.

“It’s a full moon tonight,”

“I know,” Arabella sighed, “Back before sun down,”

“Back as soon as school finishes,” Ayden stated, “If Sophia-“

“Sophia isn’t going to drag me into anything!” Arabella stated, “Can I go before I’m late?”

Her father nodded, Arabella quickly slipping out of the car and rushing up the steps of the school. Sophia was already waiting on the steps, a grin on her face.

“We’re ditching school,” Sophia stated.

“Oh my god, my dad isn’t even out of the drive way,” Arabella hushed her friend, “What do you not get on werewolf hearing?”

“I get werewolf hearing,” Sophia poked her tongue out, “But, also got a werewolf’s sense of smell and there is a dead body in the woods,”

Arabella furrowed her brows together, “Why are we skipping school to look at a dead body? It’s a full moon-“

“Arabella Park!”

Going stiff, Arabella turned on her heel towards the principal. Her aunt had her arms crossed, a firm look on the woman’s face.

“Aunt- Miss Park,” Arabella shuffled towards her, “I’m not actually going to skip school-“

“Good,” Grace clicked her tongue, “Because you’ll be showing our new students around and Sophia can help you,”

The blue haired girl inwardly groaned.

Two boys stood behind the principal, huddled close together. The first thing Arabella noticed was how big they seemed, arms and chests filled out like they had been working out their whole life.

“This is Jungkook and Taehyung,” Grace stated, “I expect you girls to give them a warm welcome,”

Arabella looked at the darker haired male, who gave her a small smile as Grace pulled Sophia to the side.

“Uh, hi, I’m-“

“Arabella?” Jungkook asked, “You look a lot like the principal,”

“That is because she’s my aunt,” Arabella confessed, “Not my mom, she didn’t have when she was ten,”

Jungkook laughed, making Arabella’s nerves ease slightly.

“Can I see your timetable?” Arabella asked softly.

“Sure,” Jungkook grinned, “I think we’ll be close friends,”

[leam1983]

Types

I used to think that being poly meant an end to most fantasies. I thought it would mean those three or four OCs I spent using strictly as a medium to yank on my crank would be pushed in some musty corner of my subconscious, but a check-in with Walter was all I'd need to realize that fantasies are like cockroaches. You can't kill them, but they also have a role to play in your relationship's ecosystem.

We just settled into bed and I mention this to Walt, who seems nonplussed. "George Grimm isn't real and he couldn't be real, hon. Am I supposed to be jealous of a made-up guy you've pulled up AI art renders of? He's never actually touched you, never actually kissed you - and you know what I noticed?"

Walt smirks. "You're feeling guilty about it. That means you probably went at it last week, during one of the two evenings I spent at the office, and now you've got irrational guilt pangs about having cheated on me with a JPEG of a guy that could be me if I got everything tailored on Saville Row and had absolutely zero backdoor shyness in regards to your kinks."

His smirk turns into a chiding gesture. "You're being silly, you silly goose. We've sploshed - you know we're open concerning our kinks. Come on, tell me about him. Tell me about George Graham Grimm the Food Vampire."

I figure I'll do it like this, instead.

George was a solid coping mechanism in my late teens, someone who's cropped up in my dreams during a phase of my life that saw me define myself as unloveable by default. I don't remember the specifics of that particular dream, but I do remember the broad strokes.

I dreamt I was dragged to some sort of symposium by my Ph. D. of an aunt and was forced to spend four hours dipping my lips in cheap champagne while pretending like I didn't have a piteous inferiority complex. Dreams go as they're wont to do, elastic and fluid in their arrangement of Time, and I find a secluded dining room on the floor being used by the reception. Its décor is ornate, and its four massive tables are arranged in a square. In the middle of one of the sides is seated a mountain of a man, about four hundred pounds and change, and he's dressed in custom-tailored clothing that's probably cost a fortune. As obese as he is, he's the most smartly-dressed of the assembly, with a bowtie and vest combo that's so perfect you'd swear he was born with them. His thick fingers are impossibly agile, swiping things from the piles and piles of food waiting on the table and wolfing them down with a mixture of sheer abandon and meticulous precision - extended pinky finger included. He somehow never stains himself and his thick and flowing beard remains immaculate no matter how fast he goes. His utensils are barely touched, and he instead keeps going back to sucking on his fingers. He's a very vocal eater, groaning in appreciation or drowning a satisfied chuckle in an umpteenth bite. He does it all with his eyes closed and a light frown, almost as though he's got a mental map of the table's furnishings he keeps perfectly up-to-date.

Considering the amount of food that's involved, my first thought is that this is actually a buffet and this dude here's just decided he'd click on that I Will Attend link for the RSVP for the exact purpose of stuffing his face with free food. I don't remember the exact dialog in the dream, so I'll sub what was probably said with what actually makes sense in-context. Guy sounds like Tony Jay and Sydney Greenstreet made love and had a posh, congested and vaguely eerie descendant - and he stops between two bites, eyes opening to reveal two gray slivers behind his bifocals and his thick and well-groomed snowy-white eyebrows.

"Pardon the intrusion, but I don't recall the help replacing the buffet sign on this table..."

Just that is enough to prime my hind brain. This man's voice is the stuff my insecure adolescent self's dreams are made of. The snootiest Received English Pronounciation imaginable, rendered in a low and rough timbre by a guy who looks more fit to mumble than ti articulate - except everything is crisp. My flustered teenage brain thinks he's being contemptuous so I nervously blurt out a response - and he laughs.

I woke up, the first time my subconscious made George Grimm laugh. Again, it's Tony Jay and Greenstreet melded together, as if normal people had Plosive Laughing Prefixes without veering into outright guffaws, or as if your classic swell of Evil Laughter could've actually sounded congenial.

"Never you mind, dear boy - I was merely... indulging."

Over time, I'd realize George refuses to call eating what it is. He seeks repaste or regales his tastebuds, or maybe he prays to the God of Luxury, which I've always taken as being my subconscious regurgitating my brief obsession with Roman mythology. Grimm does fit the bill for some sort of modernized and expanded take on Dionysius and he did first come into being during my High School History classes on the Roman civilization.

"Go on, fix yourself a plate," he then says. "I'll hardly miss these bites you'll take."

I realize that he's serious, at that moment. He was rearing to polish off all four of these tables on his own. Something makes me want to keep my distance and to settle with clearing off a bit of table surface for my plate - and what I put in it never quite gels into something. It's like AI Art's idea of a plate of food, with chunks of unidentified meat, mounds of recursive and self-cannibalizing stringy pasta, black masses that might be meatballs or olives, it's hard to tell - and Dream Logic being what it is, I'm not fazed by this at all. My plate seems endless, but I work through it at a pace that I assume matches with my usual pace for a normal-sized meal. In the meantime, the big man's gaining speed at an impossible rate. He's slurping, gnashing, worrying, moaning and grunting his way towards my location, and I get the sense that he'll just keep getting faster if I try and slip away. So, half-convinced this just flipped into Nightmare Country, I feel the dream turn lucid as the overly-dressed organic Shop-Vac I'm seated with works his way through enough food for twelve people in a few seconds. He stops right next to me, daintily raised a tiny piece of cheese to his mouth and politely covers his mouth. If he's burped, no sound's been made.

He turns to face me and outstretches a hand that certainly has the mitt-like qualities of the appendages of particularly fatter people, but with an almost feline level of grace.

"George Graham Grimm - monster, scholar, gentleman, professor amongst others - at your service."

I take his hand. There's an instant of tension, the sense that Grimm's hunger's just shifted - and he's warm, warm like I've never felt anyone's hands being, before.

What I remember is that this was enough for my dream self to practically climb over his immense paunch and perch myself on it. His amusement and surprise immediately turns to relish, and George's kisses would be my measurement for Decent Snoggings for years, up until I met Prof - and eventually Walt. The specifics leave me, but I do know I dump everything on this posh quasi-ogre. Time dilation being what it is, George ends up being the perfect listener, as you'd assume, and he knows his voice is basically single-malt whiskey down my ears - again with weird plosive inclusions that make it so he hungrily moans or grunts at the beginning of every other sentence.

Obviously, my subconscious and my loins don't care about logical progression - we're Together, and that's it. George would crop up every now and again, typically when arousal was mixed with loneliness, and he'd call me his "dear boy" by repeating the word dear a good ten times or so.

Unsurprisingly, Younger Grem had Sugar Daddy fantasies and dreamed of a man large enough to be heavier than a loaded semi who'd take him out to walks and daintily request stops for "snacks" that would involve lifting hot dog carts à la Obelix the Gaul and tipping them into his open gullet. I understand that I spoke, in those dreams, but I don't remember anything I ever said. Even George's actual words faded, but I was left with a sense of either glowing praise or the sort of public expression of physical attraction that would normally make people ill-at-ease. Dude was horny on main the same way I was, adolescence oblige, and bowties-plus-silk-scarves affairs turned into spy thrillers as we both tried to find a sufficiently quiet and secluded space that would let us screw each other wild instead of catering to a gaggle of strangers in galas and receptions neither of us knew what to do with.

Then came Prof, and now Walt and Sarah. I started to feel guilty about an overdressed fatty that would've never left the confines of my mind - especially in regards to Walt.

The coincidence didn't escaspe me, back then. George Graham Grimm. Walter C. George. Walter's actually Grimm with the brakes on, the much more realistic idea of what it means to have a plus-sized boyfriend. The closeness isn't always welcomed on my end of things, seeing as I want to enjoy the Actual Man's emotional and intellectual availability, but my hind brain wants the Fake Man's relentless libido or his appetite. It's not that much of a problem, but it makes those occasional times that see me superimpose red paisley-patterned silk over Walter's gray gabardine feel like a dereliction I'm the only one to perceive.

I guess I needed George Grimm, back in the day. I needed a belly platform so big I could sleep over his chest without my feet touching the mattress, or the eventual internal running commentary on the various happenings in my life. I needed a guy with so much self-confidence and zest for life that he could turn morbid obesity around on a dime and make it look sexy. I do channel him on occasion, when I have to be snippier or more authoritative than I usually am. I probably needed the embryonic forms of the Loudest Fake Lover in Existence to make some inroads about my sexuality. I probably needed the imagined bedroom theatrics, Grimm gnashing his perfect teeth at me over climax, heatedly declaring that "our exquisite flesh" would "endure for aeons".

I think everyone needs or wants a concept of a certain "Forever Love", past a certain age, and it's probably natural to start out with an idea, a dream, a fantasy that's gone a little haywire in my case, that still sometimes looms over me while I'm working on our server stack, smelling of expensive cologne and of the cooked juices of something that's been expensively prepared. I don't need running commentary from Walt; he's always right around the corner!

George Graham Grimm, however - monster, scholar, gentleman, professor amongst others - hasn't really left my side for a good twenty-three years.

[nellyharrison]

come along, CH. 9

aka my rewrite of season 3A of Teen Wolf based on the question: what if Erica was best friends with Scott and Stiles from the beginning?

The pack tries to bring Boyd back, but it doesn’t work, and all they can do is mourn him.  Derek disappears, and in his absence, the pack learns about his past with the alpha pack from two unreliable narrators.

CHAPTER NINE - VISIONARY (click to read on AO3)

The night Vernon Milton Boyd III died was a rollercoaster ride for those closest to him.  Once the initial shock of what had happened to him faded, Cora was the one to demand they take him to Deaton.  Erica quickly agreed, feeling her guilt grow for not thinking of it first.  If they had all brought her back, surely they could bring Boyd back too.  The momentary concern that Deaton was actually dead passed when Scott called Stiles to tell him he and the Sheriff had saved the vet in time.  Any relief Stiles felt took a back seat to his first priority.

“We need you and Deaton to get to the clinic now,” Stiles told Scott, pulling Erica to his side when Jackson, Derek, and Isaac lifted Boyd out of the water and started carrying him towards the elevator.  “Boyd’s dead,” he admitted, his breathing stuttering when Erica whimpered.  “We need to try to bring him back.”

“I’ll call Allison and we’ll meet you there,” Scott promised before ending the call.

While most of the pack got an eerie sense of deja vu, Erica finally witnessed just what was required to give her the second chance she had now.  She was the first to step forward when Deaton asked for their blood, then stood against a wall as the rest of the pack followed suit.  She watched closely as Deaton mixed the final solution and injected it into Boyd.

“What happens next?” she wondered aloud, looking around the room.

“We wait,” Scott told her, walking towards her and checking to make sure the cut on her hand had healed.

“Either he’ll wake up by morning or…” Stiles added, trailing off when he realized no one wanted to accept the alternative.  “Should we bring him to the loft?”

“The building should be safe now,” Derek muttered.  “They won’t attack again before the next full moon.”

“The loft is a mess,” Isaac reminded them.

“And I don’t want him to wake up where he died,” Cora added, her arms crossed over her chest.

“We can take him to my place,” Erica decided, her eyes locked on Boyd’s still form.  “Anyone that wants to stay is welcome.”  Derek walked out of the room, drawing her attention, but she didn’t call his name.  She didn’t follow him or wonder where he was going.  She just watched him leave, and sunk a little more against the wall behind her.

Scott took Derek’s place in carrying Boyd from the building and helping Isaac and Jackson get him into Jackson’s car.  Allison told them she was going to go back home, agreeing to drive Lydia home so Jackson could stay with the pack.  Only Jackson seemed to notice the way her heartbeat revealed that she was lying about where she would be going after dropping Lydia off, but he didn’t call her out on it.  He figured if Allison had somewhere she needed to be and didn’t want to tell them about it, it was important.

Stiles continued to act as Erica’s support system, remaining by her side with his arm around her back.  He guided her into his Jeep, and in a caravan far too similar to a funeral procession, the teenagers drove through Beacon Hills to Erica’s building.  None of them spoke, either out of fear of saying something that would make matters worse or because they were too upset to speak.

Once they made it up to Erica’s place, they decided to lay Boyd on the couch.  Jackson and Scott pushed the couch over to the window, making sure Boyd was in the moonlight.  Dragging a chair for himself and Jackson, Isaac settled next to Boyd, ready to stand vigil next to his packmate.  Cora soon joined them, picking a spot on the floor to sit with her back against the couch.  The emotional drain of the day caught up with her then, and she drifted to sleep with her arms crossed over her chest.  With a shake of his head, Isaac walked over to where he knew Erica kept some spare blankets and picked one to drape over Cora.

Erica was still hovering in the middle of her kitchen, holding a glass of water that Stiles had given her before he had disappeared into the hallway to call his dad.  She jolted when Scott appeared by her side and placed a hand on her arm, her eyes lifting to meet his.  He guided her towards her bedroom and sat her down on her bed, crouching down in front of her and placing his hands on either side of her on the bed.

“I want to tell you something,” he admitted.  “Something that happened tonight.  I don’t really understand what it means yet, but I don’t want to keep stuff from you.”

“I don’t want you to keep stuff from me either,” she agreed.  “Is it something that could hurt me if I don’t know right away?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it as he considered her question.  “No,” he decided.  “It can wait.”

“Good,” she nodded, glancing down at her water before placing a hand on Scott’s arm.  “Because I don’t think I can take anything else on right now.  Scott, I- I need this to work.  I don’t want to lose Boyd.”

“I know,” he assured her.  “Maybe we’ll get lucky twice.  Stranger things have happened lately.”

“Like what happened at Allison’s?” she asked, looking back up at him.

“What, uh, what happened at Allison’s?” he replied, still in denial that anything was changing between the two of them.

“Scott, you said you didn’t want to keep stuff from me anymore,” she reminded him, moving her hand to his shoulder and pushing so she could stand and take a few steps away from him.  She placed her glass of water on her bureau, then started going through her dresser for a change of clothes.

“What do you want me to say, Erica?” he wondered as he stood up, running his hands through his hair.  “Okay, we were in a small closet, and you were pressed up against me, and- and-”

“And what?” she prompted, turning to face him.

“And…” he started, taking a deep breath as he looked at her.  “How come you never told me what Victoria did to you?”

“W-What?” she stammered.  “How did you-?”

“Allison told me,” he admitted.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” she said, shaking her head slightly.  “How could I?”

“I deserved to know, Erica,” he insisted.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she shrugged.  “I didn’t want to interfere with your relationship with Allison more than I felt I already had.”

“Okay, then why didn’t you tell me after Allison and I broke up?” he countered.

“Why does it matter now?” she shot back.  “Why are we talking about this?”

“Everything good in here?”  Scott and Erica turned and found Stiles standing in the bedroom doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.  “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Erica stated, picking her water back up and chugging half of it.  “I need more water,” she decided, pushing past them to escape into the kitchen and attempt to catch her breath.  She didn’t understand why Scott brought up what Victoria had done, or what it had to do with why they had almost kissed.  Her heart was already a mess, and now her head was becoming one too.  After refilling her water, she found a spot near Jackson on the floor to settle in for the night, wanting to be close to Boyd for when he woke up.  She glanced up when Scott and Stiles came out of her room, then leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes.  If she was lucky - if they were all lucky - when she opened her eyes, Boyd would be awake, and everything would be okay again.

Except he wouldn’t wake up.  His body wouldn’t change.  The life wouldn’t return to his skin, and his wounds wouldn’t heal.  Erica would wake to Cora’s pained scream the next morning, Isaac kneeling beside her as they both cried over Boyd.  She would scramble to her feet, look down, and be met with the same sight she had gone to bed hoping would change.  Jackson stood from his seat and walked away from them, needing distance to process that this time, they didn’t get the miracle they wanted.  In the end, none of them were Boyd’s mate, so they couldn’t save him like they had saved Erica.

Scott barely caught Erica when she crumbled, his arm scooping behind her knees so he could carry her to her room.  “No, I can’t leave him,” she cried, smacking Scott’s chest so he would drop her, but he only held her tighter.  “Let me go!  Let me go, Scott!”

“He’s gone,” he told her, leaning his forehead against her head.  “I’m so sorry Erica, but he’s gone.”  She smacked him a few more times before gripping the fabric of his shirt as thick tears rolled down her cheeks.  Scott carried her to her bed and laid her down, not getting far before Erica’s hand was gripping his.  “Hey, I’m not leaving you alone,” he promised her, reaching down with his free hand to brush a tear from her cheek.  “We need to get him back to his family.  I’ll take care of it, okay?  Stiles!” he called into the hallway, their best friend appearing within seconds as if he was waiting to be summoned.  “Stay with Erica.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Stiles nodded, kicking off his shoes before climbing into bed and pulling Erica into his arms.  “Shh, I’ve got you, Catwoman.”  She curled up against him, burying her face in his chest as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brushed his other hand over her hair.  “You’ll tell the others?”

“Derek will know.  All of the packmates will,” Scott pointed out.  “Jackson’s probably already called Lydia, but I’ll let Allison know.”  He hated leaving Erica, especially when she was so upset, but if he was going to trust her with anyone, Stiles would be at the top of that list.  “Text me if she needs anything.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Stiles promised, his attention shifting back to the heartbroken girl in his arms.

Scott left without another word, working with Isaac and Jackson to come up with some story for how Boyd died to give his family.  They ended up calling Melissa and arranged to bring Boyd there.  That way they could go through the process in a more clinical and official way, and steer clear of the supernatural side of Boyd’s death.  The Sheriff ended up getting involved, and all three boys had to give statements.  They kept their stories simple, claiming they had been camping out in the woods when Boyd had been attacked by something, and they brought him to the hospital as fast as they could.

Instead of returning to Erica’s loft, Jackson decided to go to Lydia’s for the night, and Isaac went up to Derek’s loft to check on Cora.  Scott felt drained as he walked into Erica’s home, about to go into the bedroom when he noticed Erica standing next to the couch by the window.  “Erica?” he said, glancing towards the bedroom and hearing Stiles’s heavy breathing and steady heartbeat.  He crossed the room to her, placing his hand on her back and turning her towards him.  The sight of her red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks made his stomach twist.  “We couldn’t have stopped it.”

“How can you say that?” she shook her head.  “It was- I flipped the breakers.  I helped them kill Boyd.”

“Erica, no,” he insisted, cupping her face in his hands.  “It’s not your fault.  If you didn’t flip the breakers, Stiles or Lydia or someone else would have.  Or the power never would have been cut, and it would have gone wrong another way.  Or it would have gone right, but there’s no way of knowing what could have been.  We can’t…  We just have to accept what is.  We accept what is, and change what we can.  We just can’t change this.”

“It’s not fair,” she repeated once more that day, sniffling as she felt herself starting to tear up again.  “I don’t understand.  Why did it work for me?  How come you could bring me back, but we couldn’t bring him back too?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, brushing his thumb along her cheek comfortingly before slipping a hand into her hair.  “All I know is that I’m glad it worked for you.  I wish it had worked for Boyd, especially to save you from this.”  He pulled her close when her face broke, soft sobs escaping her as she leaned into his embrace.

Scott swept her off of her feet and carried her back to her room, placing her in the middle of the bed next to Stiles before climbing onto the other side.  She turned towards him, crying softly into his chest as he grazed his fingers through her hair.  In his sleep, Stiles turned over and curled up around Erica, nuzzling into her hair and reaching his arm around until it draped over both Erica and Scott’s sides.  They all slept like that, Erica nestled between them as she drifted in and out of sleep for the next several hours.  Every time she woke up, and she felt the sharp pain that came with losing a packmate, Stiles or Scott would wake up too and comfort her until she fell back asleep.

For two days, the Hale pack and those that cared for them were left in shambles.  Derek was nowhere to be found, and his betas weren’t equipped to handle the loss of their packmate without him.  Jackson hadn’t answered any of Erica or Isaac’s texts, Lydia eventually calling Scott on his behalf to ask that they give him space.  Cora had been alternating between disappearing for hours and returning to Derek’s loft just to trash the place in anger.  Isaac hid in his room for the most part, seemingly resurfacing only late at night to clean up the mess Cora left.

Erica was worrying them the most though.  She was nearly catatonic for the first 24 hours after reviving Boyd failed, and then they couldn’t get her to stop moving.  It started with a call from Mrs. Boyd asking for photos for Boyd’s funeral and led to her full involvement in the planning of the event.  She helped prepare meals for the family flying out, picked up posters and flowers, and even helped pick out the casket.  Scott and Stiles had been with her the entire time, offering opportunities for her to slow down or for them to take on more so she could do less, but she refused.  She was determined to do it all herself, even if it meant pushing away the feelings she was struggling with.

All of her hard work paid off in the end, the funeral passing without drama or much fanfare.  It was a fitting goodbye to Boyd, who was kind and strong but didn’t care for anything too flashy.  He had made an impact on those that mattered, and every one of them showed up to give their final farewells.  To his packmates, it all passed too soon.  Not enough words were said to express the loss they felt.  The brave composure Erica had maintained in order to get them all there and through that day started to crumble.  Boyd was gone, and all that was left to do was mourn him.

“The first time I met Boyd was in middle school,” Erica muttered, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as Scott and Stiles stood by her side.  The rest of the pack looked at each other before glancing over at Erica to find tears welling in her eyes.  “It, um, it was the first class I’d ever had without Scott or Stiles in it, and I didn’t know where to sit.  Boyd was sitting in the back, and he saw me, and he just smiled and nodded to the desk next to him.  He didn’t say a word to me for months, but he’d smile at me every day, and with that smile, he’d make me feel comfortable and safe.  All he’d ever have to do is smile, and everything would be okay.”

“I loved his smile,” Cora added, her jaw clenched as she blinked back tears, refusing to cry.  “Didn’t get to see it a lot in the vault, but sometimes, I’d start ranting about all the things I’d want to do to the alphas, and he’d just smile.  It should have made me angrier, but it helped, somehow.”

“He was good at that,” Isaac recalled.  “He always seemed to know how to help.  He could explain things in a way that you could understand without feeling smaller, or he could point out a solution that is so obvious you couldn’t believe you never thought of it.”

“That’s because he was one of the smartest guys in our class,” Lydia said with a small smile.  “He gave me a run for my money most of the time, but he didn’t like to brag.  Once, he even scored better than me on a test, and instead of teasing me about it, he just offered to share his notes and study materials for the next test.”

“He was a good guy,” Jackson stated, clearing his throat as he wrapped his arm around Lydia’s shoulders.  “I’m, uh, I’m gonna miss him.”

That was what broke Erica, a sharp sob escaping her before she covered her face with her hands.  She wasn’t sure who turned her towards them, but suddenly she was in someone’s arms as another person wrapped around her from behind.  More arms and hands seemed to enter the mix, and when she looked up again, she found her entire pack surrounding her.  They were all crying, their heads leaning forward and against each other as they tried to find comfort in the embrace.  They had tried to heal apart, in their own ways, but they needed one another to get through this.  They were a pack, and even though they had lost one of their members, they could and should depend on each other.

Parting ways after the group hug, Allison asked Scott if he could go somewhere with her.  As much as he hated the idea of leaving Erica, he also knew Allison wouldn’t ask him to leave her at that moment unless it was important.  He promised to meet up with Erica and Stiles later, waiting until his best friends had climbed into the Jeep and driven away before leaving with Allison.

Jackson and Lydia agreed to drive Isaac and Cora back to the loft, the four of them leading the way upstairs with Stiles and Erica trailing behind them.  They went all the way to Derek’s loft, but it was still empty.  Their alpha had not returned since Boyd died, and they had no way of knowing where he was or if he would come back.

“There’s really been no sign of him?” Jackson questioned, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Do you really expect he would come back here, of all places?” Cora retorted.  “If he doesn’t kill us, the alpha pack will kill him.  He’s hiding out.  It’s what we were trained to do.”

“What do you mean?” Lydia wondered.

“When we were younger, the hunters were a much more formidable force than they are now,” Cora explained.  “Once, Derek and Peter had to hide out in a root cellar to escape them.  They were there for two days, waiting, hiding.  That’s what we’re taught to do when the hunters find us - hide and heal.”

“Okay, so is two days standard then, or are we thinking Derek’s on, like, some extended getaway?” Stiles inquired.

“Why does it matter?” Isaac muttered.

“Why does it-” Stiles gaped.  “Let’s recap the last few weeks, shall we?  My best friend was killed and brought back to life.  My other best friend tried to kill himself.  His boss nearly got ritually sacrificed.  A girl that I’ve known since I was three was ritually sacrificed.  Boyd was killed by alphas.  Do you want me to keep going?  ‘Cause I can, alright?  For, like, an hour.”

“What’s your point, Stiles?” Erica prompted.

“You think Derek can do anything about that?” Cora asked him.

“Well, since he’s the one everyone seems to be after, it’s more like he should do something about it, yeah,” Stiles decided.

“I don’t know,” Cora started.  “There’s something different about him now.  He wasn’t like this when we knew him.”

“What was he like?” Stiles wondered.

“Oh who cares?” Erica snapped, surprising them all.  “Derek is supposed to be the alpha.  He’s supposed to be here when we need him.  Have any of you seen him since Boyd died?  Because I sure as hell haven’t.”

“He’s still our alpha,” Isaac reminded her, his brows furrowed together.

“Whatever,” Erica grumbled, walking towards the windows with her arms crossed over her chest.

Stiles sighed, then looked back over at Cora.  “What was Derek like when you knew him?”

Cora opened her mouth to answer him when they heard footsteps descending the spiral staircase.  They all turned and watched Peter coming down to join them, answering Stiles’s question in the process.  “A lot like Scott, actually,” he told them.  “A lot like most teenagers - unbearably romantic, profoundly narcissistic, tolerable really only to other teenagers.”

“Doesn’t sound all that different to how he is now, ‘cept maybe less tolerable,” Jackson mused, plopping down on the couch with Lydia settling against his side.

“Yeah, like you’re Mr. Congeniality,” Isaac snarked, dodging a pillow Jackson tossed towards him.

“What happened?  What changed him?” Stiles asked the Hales.

“Well, the same thing that changes a lot of young men,” Peter explained, smirking slightly when Erica turned towards him.  “A girl.”

“You’re telling me some girl broke his little heart?” Stiles clarified.  “That’s why Derek is the way he is?”

“Do you remember Derek before he was an alpha had blue eyes?” Peter reminded him.

“I remember,” Erica answered automatically, knowing she had used that fact to get Derek to agree not to kill the kanima the year before.

“What the hell does blue eyes have to do with anything?” Jackson demanded.

“Do you know why some wolves have blue eyes?” Peter asked Stiles directly.

Stiles shook his head, looking at the other wolves before admitting, “I just always thought it was, like, a genetic thing.”

“No, there’s a reason,” Isaac shook his head, looking over at Jackson.  “He never told you?”

“Told me what?” Jackson replied, sitting up and raising his brows as he waited for an answer.

“If you want to know what changed Derek, you need to know what changed the color of his eyes,” Peter told them.  He waited until they had all settled, either in seats or wherever they were standing, with their full attention on him.  He then began to tell them of a human girl named Paige that stole Derek’s heart with stubbornness, passion, and an attitude that the young werewolf had found irresistible.  He explained how the teens met, and how Derek had to work to win her over.

“Okay, so if Derek was a sophomore back then, how old was he?” Stiles wondered, glancing over at Peter.  “How old were you?  How old are you now?”

“Not as young as we could have been, but not as old as you might think,” Peter answered.

“Okay, that was frustratingly vague,” Stiles grumbled, turning to Cora.  “How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen,” Cora answered.

“See, that’s an answer,” Stiles commented.  “That’s how we answer people.”

“Well, seventeen how you’d measure in years,” Cora amended, causing Isaac to snort.

“Alright, I’m just gonna drop it,” Stiles gave in, waving a hand and moving on.  “What happened to Derek and the cello girl?”

“And what does this have to do with blue eyes?” Jackson tossed out there, exhaling abruptly through his nose when Lydia patted his chest comfortingly.

“What do you think happened?” Peter replied.  “They were teenagers.  One minute, it’s ‘I hate you, don’t talk to me.’  The next, it’s frantic groping in any dark corner they could manage to find themselves alone in for five minutes.”  He continued to tell them about their favorite spot, an abandoned distillery outside of Beacon Hills, pausing only when Stiles questioned his source.  “Back then, I wasn’t just Derek’s uncle.  I was his best friend, his closest confidante.  That’s how I know.”

If Erica thought Peter was an unreliable narrator before, she was even more dubious of the tale he spun for them.  In all the time she and Derek had spent together, he never implied he and Peter were close, even before the fire.  He acknowledged they were family, and that bond alone kept Peter alive most days, but he never mentioned any intimacy beyond that.  It would make sense that Peter would make his bond with Derek seem closer than it was, but other than that, he gained nothing from lying.  He went on to tell them that Ennis, Kali, and Deucalion had brought their packs to discuss the hunters with Talia Hale, who was seen and respected as a powerful alpha at the time.  Peter shared that Ennis was angry over the murder of one of his betas, but didn’t find satisfaction from the other alphas and left a spiral carved into the distillery wall.

Dragging his finger through the condensation on a nearby window pane, Peter recreated the spiral.  “Our mark for vendetta,” he explained, glancing over at Erica beside him.

“Man, you guys really take that revenge thing to, like, a whole new level, don’t you?” Stiles commented.

“It’s not just revenge,” Cora stated.  “Losing a member of your pack isn’t like losing family.”

“It’s like you lose a limb,” Isaac completed for her.

“They wouldn’t even let him see the body,” Peter added, recounting how Ennis had stormed the hospital and caused a scene that Stiles’s dad ended up being called to break up.

“I don’t get it,” Cora interrupted.  “What does this have to do with Derek?”

“And blue eyes!” Jackson shouted once more, growing more frustrated that the color of his eyes still hadn’t been explained.

“Everything,” Peter told them.  “It’s never just a single moment.  It’s a confluence of events.  Personally, I looked at Ennis’s circumstances, I saw a profound loss.  Derek saw something different.  He saw opportunity.”

“Opportunity?” Stiles repeated, rubbing his hands together as he leaned forward.  “To do what?”

“To always be with her,” Peter answered.  He proceeded to paint a picture of a lovesick Derek, so smitten with Paige that he lost himself in her, the music she created, and the way she made him feel.  “The thing was, he had this constant fear.  He was obsessing over it, thinking about it all night, all day, always on his mind.”  His attention shifted to Erica again, walking towards her as he continued.  “One day, she would find out, and she would freak out at the monster he really was.  The only solution he could find, the only way to solve his problem, to quiet that fear, was to turn her.”

“You’re lying,” Erica insisted, shaking her head.

“I kept telling him not to do it,” Peter assured her.  “Every day the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became.  You know teenagers.  I bet he even blames me.  He’s probably convinced himself the whole thing was my idea.”  He frowned sympathetically at Erica, then moved away from her and towards his niece instead.  He explained how Derek saw all of the alphas in the area as a chance to turn Paige without having to ask his mother.

“Why wouldn’t Talia turn Paige?” Isaac wondered.  “I mean, she was his mom, right?  Wouldn’t she want to make him happy?”

“My mom didn’t become the alpha she was by turning random people,” Cora told him.  “In fact, I don’t think my mom ever turned anyone into a werewolf.  Everyone in our pack was either born to the family or joined through marriage.  Her strength came from them - from us.  Because we were all so close, it made the pack stronger, and her stronger as a result.”

“But she didn’t do it all on her own,” Peter reminded her.  “An alpha does get their strength from their pack, but to that same measure, they are only as strong as their pack and their advisors.”

“What advisors?” Stiles questioned.

“Like Deaton,” Erica realized, remembering what he had said to Derek about a promise made to his mother.

“They keep us connected to humanity,” Cora explained.  “But they’re a secret even in the pack.  Sometimes only the alpha knows who the emissary is.  Derek and I had no clue about Deaton.”

“Or his sister, Morrell,” Peter added.

“She’s an emissary too?” Stiles gaped.

“For the alpha pack,” Peter confirmed.

“Oh my god, of course,” Lydia laughed dryly, surprised she hadn’t realized it sooner.

“Our guidance counselor?” Stiles emphasized, clearly more surprised than Lydia.  He looked around and found that he was the only one as surprised as he was.  “Why the hell don’t you people tell me any of this stuff, huh?  I shared some really intimate details with her.”

“And did she give you good advice?” Cora wondered.

“Actually, yeah,” Stiles admitted.

“That’s what they do,” Peter told him.  “That’s what Deaton used to do for Talia.  Derek knew that Deaton would advise against turning Paige, so he had to take matters into his own hands.”

“Which alpha did he ask to turn her, if not his mother?” Erica asked.

“There was only one that had suffered a loss in his pack recently, only one that was looking to build his power,” Peter detailed.

“Ennis?” Cora answered.  “Why would you choose him?”

“Why not?” Peter replied.  “Ennis needed a new member for his pack.  Paige was young and strong.  Doing a favor for Derek meant Ennis would be in good with Talia.  Back then, everybody wanted to be in good with her.”

“He doesn’t remember it was Ennis, does he?” Stiles figured out.

“If he does, he keeps it to himself,” Peter assumed.

“So then what happened?” Stiles prompted.  “Did he turn her?”

“Almost,” Peter muttered, turning away from the group.  “Derek got cold feet at the last minute.  He came at Ennis.  A 15-year-old boy against a giant.  There was no reason for him to fight.  She’d already been bitten.”

“So did she turn?” Cora asked, her eyes widening slightly.

“She should have,” Peter stated.  “Most of the time, the Bite takes.  Most of the time.”

“But not all the time,” Erica sighed.  Derek had been worried about that when she asked him to turn her.  He had mentioned it when Jackson first rejected the Bite.  She remembered how he had talked about someone else he knew that rejected the Bite, and the way he couldn’t say what had happened to that someone.

“When you offered it to me, you said, ‘if it doesn’t kill you,’” Stiles recalled.

“If,” Peter nodded.

“Is that what was happening to me?” Jackson asked, looking over at Erica.  “The black ooze, the slow powers, the hallucinations - those were all because my body was fighting the Bite?”

“Who would have guessed turning into a murderous lizard was the better alternative in that situation?” Isaac muttered to himself.

“What happened to Paige?” Erica directed to Peter.  “When Derek realized she was rejecting the Bite, what did he do?”

“He tried to help her, even asked me what was happening to her,” Peter explained, walking around the room as he spoke.  “He knew the answer, though.  It didn’t matter that she was young and strong.  Some people just aren’t made for this.  But she fought.  She struggled desperately, trying to survive.  Derek stayed with her, taking away her pain in the hopes that she would start healing and everything would be okay, but it wasn’t enough.”  Erica gasped softly at the realization, her head turning away as she imagined a 15-year-old Derek being forced to take away the life of the first girl he ever loved just to stop her from feeling any more pain.  “I remember taking her body from his arms, to the woods, to a place where I knew that it would be found.  Another in a long line of Beacon Hills animal attacks.”

“What about Derek?” Cora asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she walked towards her uncle.

“Taking an innocent life takes… something from you as well,” Peter told her.  “A bit of your soul…�� Darkening it, dimming the once brilliant, golden yellow to a cold, steel blue.”  He turned his head upwards, his eyes flashing as he said, “Like mine.”

“That’s why I have blue eyes,” Jackson nodded.  “All of the lives Matt made me take when I was the kanima - that’s what changed them.”

“I’m sorry Derek never told you,” Isaac offered to his packmate.

“Whatever,” Jackson grumbled, standing and walking out of the loft.

“I should…” Lydia started, pinching her lips together as she gestured after her boyfriend.

“I’ll come with you,” Isaac decided, briskly following Lydia out of the room.  The rest of the teens looked around at each other, Erica watching Peter make his way back upstairs now that he had finished telling his tale.

“What?” Cora suddenly said, staring at Stiles.  “What’s this- What’s this look on your face?”

“What look?” Stiles replied, blinking at her.

“The kind of look that makes me want to punch you,” Cora answered.

“Oh my god.  You are so Derek’s sister,” Stiles commented.  “I forgot.”

“Pretty sure that’s just what his face looks like,” Erica offered, managing a small smirk when Stiles squinted at her.

“Well, what is with the look?” Cora asked again.

“I just don’t believe him,” Stiles muttered, gesturing up to where Peter had disappeared.  “Alright, in Ms. Blake’s class, we’re reading Heart of Darkness, and it’s in first person, right?  Narrated by Marlow.  The thing is that he’s-”

“An unreliable narrator,” Erica finished for him, a bit stunned that Stiles had come to the same conclusion she had.

“Exactly,” Stiles nodded.  “You know the details of it have changed, you know, just because of his perspective.”

“Well, then we heard the story from Peter’s perspective,” Cora concluded.

“Right, and I don’t think we got the whole story,” Stiles added.

“So, what, are- are you just gonna ask Derek about the girl he fell in love with and then killed?” Cora wondered.

“No,” Erica said, shaking her head.  “I will.”

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Stiles questioned.

“Probably not, but he’s more likely to tell me than he is to tell you,” Erica pointed out.  “If he ever comes back, that is.”

“He’ll come back,” Cora assured her.

“How do you know?” Stiles asked.

“I just do,” Cora shrugged.  “There’s too much here that matters to him for him to just pack up and leave.  Beacon Hills is his home.  He’ll fight to defend it.”

“Well I’m not going to hold my breath,” Erica decided.  “If he turns up here, let me know, alright?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Cora agreed, standing and making her way towards the stairs to head back up to her room.

Stiles glanced over at Erica, who managed a small smile, then the two of them began walking down to Erica’s apartment together.  “Do you think Jackson will be okay?” Stiles asked just to break the silence.  Erica looked back at him, raising an eyebrow, which had him chuckling awkwardly.  “Not that I care about him or anything.  He just looked really upset when he left.”

“Isaac will help him work out any anger he has, and Lydia will pick him back up again the way only she knows how,” Erica mused, closing her apartment door once Stiles had joined her inside.  When she turned back around, he was waiting to pull her gently into his arms.  She sighed as she sunk into the embrace, laying her forehead on his chest as his hands splayed on her back.  “Thank you for being here.  Not just, like, now, but, you know, the last couple of days.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Stiles shrugged, adjusting his arms so he was hugging her tightly with his head resting against hers.  “I know I’ve dropped the ball a bit the last couple of years, but it felt like I needed to be here.  It felt like you needed me, and I didn’t want to let you down again.”

“I did need you,” she admitted, inhaling shakily as she lifted her head and looked up at him.  His arms loosened to accommodate the change, but he kept her close, his eyes meeting hers when her tongue darted out to wet her lips.  “Stiles…” she breathed as he began moving towards her.  He paused, giving her a chance to stop him, then leaned closer.  His nose brushed against hers, her breath stalling in her chest as her eyes fell closed.  She had always dreamed about kissing Stiles, and now it was going to happen.

“You won’t believe who I just talked to!” Scott shouted when he burst into Erica’s apartment.  Stiles and Erica jumped apart, but it was clear to Scott what was about to happen if he hadn’t interrupted.  “Uh, I… Sorry, I should have knocked.”

“It’s fine,” Erica stammered, walking to her kitchen as she tried to steady her racing heart.  Part of her was disappointed that her kiss had been interrupted, but there was a part of her that felt guilty that Scott had caught them in such a compromising position.  Part of her felt like she had betrayed him, somehow, and that was a part of her she was nowhere near ready to face given everything else on their plates.

“Yeah, uh, don’t worry about it,” Stiles added, watching her walk away before shaking his head and refocusing on Scott.  “Who did you just talk to?”

Scott was still a little too stunned at first to realize Stiles was talking to him, but when the question registered, he cleared his throat.  “Allison brought me to talk to Gerard.”  He noticed Erica stiffen and took a step towards her as he continued.  “He’s weak.  Too weak to hurt any of us ever again.  But he had information on Deucalion that we can use against the alphas.”

“And what did he want in return for that information?” Erica asked, knowing that a monster like Gerard wouldn’t do anything unless it benefitted him.

“For me to take his pain away.  Some of it, anyways,” Scott told her.  “But I warned him that if he lied to me, I’d go back and pain would be the last of his worries.”

“Nice,” Stiles chuckled, patting Scott on the back.  “Alright, what did the wrinkly douche have to say?”

They sat in Erica’s living room as Scott shared the story Gerard had detailed for him.  Strangely enough, the events of Gerard’s story seemed to supplement what they had already learned from Peter and gave them more of an idea of how the alpha pack came to be.  It also provided much-needed insight into Deucalion’s abilities and how they could use his blindness to their advantage.  At the very least, it was a good place to start.  The more they learned about the alpha pack, the better chance they had at surviving them.  The odds of them all making it out of this war alive were still pretty slim, but they had all that they needed to keep fighting.

[pastelbatfandoms]

Aww why?!

Not My first choice but ok!

Ugh....wait so wouldn't me and Chris be siblings?! Maybe we're Step...

😍 sorry Chris!

Put your results in the tags!

[clickandrag]

You don’t have a costume for Halloween yet? Well what about a fandom one?! 

(not all characters fit into the fandoms but you can just chose anew one!)

[2-dsimp]

Can you do gaming club leader xiao.if so than then thank you so much.if not than it ok

Welcome to 2-dsimp’s Cabaret where every desire will be fulfilled😉✨

(SD: Sorry for the wait!🤧)

Yandere! Gaming Club Leader! Xiao!

Headcannons 👾

🎮 Is a total shut-in, this gamer boi has yet to see the light of day and quite frankly never had the plans to attempt doing so since he was homeschooled for most of his life before his parents gave him the boot

🎮Claiming that they were keeping him from the real world and restricting him from outside interaction

🎮With a heavy heart his doting parents sent him to attend the public high school of Akademi

🎮First day in—he wanted to shrivel up and die

🎮Sensory overload much? Also due to his pretty boy looks it gave him the runaround of the century

🎮He was forced to put his ghosting skills to the test by dodging and weaving those who persisted in vying for his attention despite his resting bitch face and his lone wolf nature almost religiously

🎮He just wanted some peace and quiet and it was only attained when his Senpai stepped in and became his saving grace

🎮 He was at first skeptical of their intentions but soon became thankful of how kind and considerate they were of his needs to be grounded

🎮Sincd it was overwhelming, being bombarded with questions upon questions of which became too intrusive at some point in time

🎮His stand offish nature restricted him being able to communicate freely with his peers taking that into consideration, his Senpai practices with him to become more sociable by having light pleasant conversations of the others interests

🎮 Thanks to the little hint of his passion for gaming with a beaming grin Senpai guided him to an empty tech room with fancy computers of where instantly something clicked in his mind that this could be his safe space, their sacred hangout

🎮Surveying the dark cool room with hopeful cat like eyes, he started to settle down in the comfy rolling chair and he nonchalantly began playing video games that were conveniently already installed to cope with his miss endeavors

🎮Little did he know he played himself because as soon as the video game club members started to flood in preparation for their upcoming game championship competition weeks from now

🎮They immediately took notice of Xiao’s long nimble fingers dragging along the keyboard with skillful strokes and perfected killer combos which left them begging on their knees for Xiao to become their leader

🎮Begrudgingly he accepted the imposing position and decided to use this chance to secure a hideout from the raging hormonal teens

🎮Spoiler alert: under his supervision they became the undisputed champions

🎮Slowly as time passes Senpai’s saint like patience with his loner tendencies payed off as he was now less guarded and more prone to follow them around the school like a watchful vigilante

🎮Xiao is the type to never forgets the good deeds one has done for him and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do everything in his power to pay it back especially if it’s his crush

🎮Once a rival has made themselves known around him they’d better be careful because once gamer Xiao has been activated he’ll begin to treat life like a video game meaning all sense of his humanity will be stripped away

🎮As he see’s his rivals as just another moving target to knock-off, of course he doesn’t murder right off the bat some good old acts intimidation should do the trick if not…

🎮He’ll submerse himself within the game mentality of assassin Creeds Mc and destroy the brave soul who thought they could hold a candle to his Senpai

🎮Effectively assassinating his rival without anyone noticing nor making a sound

“Senpai you’ve done so much for me…I’ll be sure to pay you back in full, if you so desire I’ll even give you my heart as it was already yours to begin with~”

[padfootdaredmetoo]

hi! can you please write a tommy x reader fic where he acts a bit jealous? been loving your fics !!

I'm not going to lie I had a little to drink before writing this, sorry if its a little rough. I'm also really tempted to write a part two that's all smut. Let me know if that would be something you'd be interested in!

Thank you!! So happy you enjoy my stuff!!!!! XOXO

Rated: Teen! Reader is uncomfortable at the bar when an old gross school mate approaches her.

Part two: https://padfootdaredmetoo.tumblr.com/post/664707567204876288/loved-the-last-tommy-jealousy-fic-could-you

It was a slow, rainy day at the betting shop. A nice change of pace to the usual madness. After having finished everything and some extra chores, you and Esme decided some whiskey was in order. Four drinks in and the conversation had become relatively inappropriate.

“I told him we couldn't just do it there on the side of the road!” But her eyes had a twinkle in them that said they did it anyway. She looked around at the empty shop, then motioned for you to follow her down to the floor. The two of you sat cross legged on the floor, hidden by the bar like a couple of children. She whispered a story so filthy you couldn't help your face flushing.

You’d never been interested in any of the men who’d approached you over the years, most of them stopped once you’d taken up as Thomas’s personal secretary. To your misfortune he was the one you wanted more than anything.

“Ugh Esme I would kill for him to notice me like that.” It was something that made you endlessly ashamed. You were from the streets of Small Heath, working your way up from nothing. Pining over a man made you feel completely pathetic, especially when considering the stuff you’d survived.

“He doesn't deserve you, love.” She winked at you just as you noticed Tommy leaning over the edge of the bar looking down at you with those big sinful eyes.

“Who’s the lucky guy then?” He asked startling Esme. Taking a long drag of his cigarette he pulled the whiskey off the counter and poured himself a glass.

“No one.” Esme and you answered at the same time. You looked him dead in the eye and you swore on your life you saw something flash in those blue eyes.

“Well whoever he is, I'm inclined to agree with Esme.” With that he took his whiskey and floated out of the room. Your heart stopped till you heard the door to his office click shut. Making eye contact with Esme was a mistake as you both started to howl with laughter.

“Go in there” She said, trying to catch her breath “ And just climb on his lap and take him” The words only made you laugh harder. There wasn’t a possessive or sexually confident bone in your body. Something you were hoping to work on. You prayed he couldn't hear the two of you.

“If you two are going to laugh like that you might as well go home and get ready!” He shouted. There was a heavy silence before the two of you started laughing and stumbling out of the shop. You had almost forgotten about the party down at the Garrison. You‘d left your dress and stuff to get ready at Esme’s because it was much closer than your place. You stumbled through the entryway of her and John’s place, finding the quiet slightly eerie. Normally there was a whole pack of children that greeted you at the door. They had been driven out to stay with some of Esme’s relatives for the week, giving her and John a break.

After a disastrous supper and her helping you with your makeup you were ready to head down to the pub.

You’d only gotten more steadily drunk as the night progressed. John wolf whistled at the both of you as you came down the stairs. He picked Esme up off the last step and twirled her around like she was a princess, putting her down only to start kissing her. You said a silent prayer that one day a good man would want you like that.

“Alight! Hands off or we won't make it to the party!” You scolded them jokingly only to be pulled into their arms, both of them kissing your cheeks. You squealed and Esme sent you towards the door with a pat on the ass.

All of you stepped out onto the street and made your way towards the Garrison.

“If he doesn't notice her in that dress then he must be blind.” John said to Esme and you smacked her arm playfully

“Esme!” Horror evident in your voice.

“I didn't tell him, I swear. He just guessed. And I may have reached out for advice on what dress would be the best to wear if attempting to catch Tommy’s eye. I'm being clever!”

You let out a groan and John’s arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“He really doesn't deserve you, dear.”

Getting in the door you’d made the choice to switch to plane tonic water to try and sober up a bit before drinking any more. Taking a seat at the bar you watched the two of them go right onto the dance floor. They were an odd couple but they made for the sweetest best friends a girl could ask for.

You turned to the bartender and quietly asked for a tonic water. He slid the glass across the bar with a wink, just as someone grabbed your arm. You jumped at the contact, turning your head you saw Hugh Eaton from school.

“Y/N!! How are you??” He slurred, clearly he’d been drinking. You brushed his hand off of your arm and tried not to panic.

Hugh was someone that used to follow you around mocking you constantly. He came from a very wealthy family, it wasn't until your last year of school he’d tried to corner you in the hallway. Nothing happened, you’d rejected him and he went off about how poor you were. You’d beaten up boys for less, but Hugh had one of those families people didn't mess with. A fear that carried over to the present moment.

“Fine thanks” You hoped he would just move on if you played dead. A temper started to rise in your stomach at the emotion he brought up. This was supposed to be a fun night.

“Oh come on, have a chat with me, dear. You certainly did well for yourself.” He looked you over and you struggled to keep the liquor in your stomach.

“Nothing to chat about.” you answered in a cold tone. He let out a loud laugh.

“Don't be like that love.” He put his hand back on your arm squeezing it tightly trying to keep you from leaving. You turned your body towards him so you could look over him to try and find a Shelby to flag over knowing it was the easiest least embarrassing way out of the situation. If you lost your temper it would end in a big scene as it always did, one you’d be happy to inflict upon the gross man, but the attention it brought was not something you wanted.

He went on to talk about his school adventures and how he was going into politics. You finally spotted Tommy in the crowd, his eyes were locked on you while Esme was trying to explain something. He gave you that same fiery look as before, Esme noticed he wasn't listening.

She turned to see what he was staring at and you gave her the look. The: please Jesus get me the fuck out of here look. She said something to him and Tommy’s gaze snapped down to her, then he looked back at you. He made his way over to you placing a hand on your low back.

“You will have to excuse Y/N.” He gave no reason because he never needed to. Hugh released your arm immediately. You got up and Tommy led you on to the dance floor. He held you close and you followed the pace he set.

“Esme said you didn't like that boy?” He asked in his usual unreadable tone.

“N-no I don't.” You pushed your forehead against his shoulder to avoid having to meet his eyes.

“And why not? I assumed he was the one you were speaking of earlier”

“Oh fuck no! He was the only boy in school I couldn't beat up. His parents were to fucking far up the ladder.” You felt Tommy pull you a little closer.

“And why did you want to beat him up?” You swore there was a slight bit of venom in his tone.

“He was just an ass, and handsy ass. When I turned him down he tried to humiliate me every chance he got. Not hard to do when you come from nothing.”

“We come from the same place.” You looked up at him and he winked. “You want me to cut him?” He said casually while twirling you around. You saw Hugh still sitting at the bar looking absolutely furious.

“I think this dance was revenge enough.” You said with a cheeky tone.

“Maybe for you.” He said darkly and you shivered.

“Thanks for rescuing me and for the dance.” The song was ending and you assumed he’d have better things to do, important people to talk to.

“Doesn't have to end here, love.”

“What do you have in mind?” You asked slightly breathless, trying not to get your hopes up.

“We could leave, really give him something to think about.” You adored the slight bit of amusement in his voice. You didn't trust your voice to answer so you gave him a nod. His hand stayed at the top of your bottom, sending your mind to a filthy place. There was no way he was actually taking you home. Probably just walking you back to your place.

The cold bit into your flushed skin. Realising you had to walk all the way home, you scolded yourself for not having brought your jacket from Esme’s. As if knowing he draped his coat around your shoulders.

“Thank you.” You mumbled. He kept his arm around you as you walked down the street.

“So this other fellow?” Your body tensed, face beginning to redden.

“What about him?” you answered sheepishly.

“Well you and Esme never shut up so I assumed there’s quite a story” He slowed down when approaching the betting shop. You figured this was the best chance you got, Tommy was a lot of things, but you trusted he wouldn't punish you for your feelings.

“That’s what happens when you fall for your boss, and work at the desk next to your best friend.” The words tumbled out of your mouth and you looked up at the sky to avoid his reaction. He let out a sharp laugh, a laugh that was as rare and sweet as fresh honey. You closed your eyes and he pulled your face towards him gently.

“Now try falling for your secretary, who sits next to your brother’s wife.” Your eyes flew open in time to see that delicious, rare smile on his lips, his face just inches away from yours.

“People could write plays about us.” You said still in shock.

“Let’s give them something good to write about then eh?” He leaned in and swept you up into a consuming kiss that lit your whole body on fire.

_______

Part 2 loss of virginity while the house is empty??

[thatslikely]

lined-paper confessions - s.s.

lined-paper confessions - stiles stilinski x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of fighting (scott and jackson predictably), strict teachers

word count: 1.5k

a/n: head full of stiles rn... requests for our favorite sarcastic boy are open right now so send some in!

Why is every teacher at Beacon Hills High the absolute worst?

Mr. Harris had just rapidly climbed your (highly opinionated) mental ranks to number one: your new least favorite educator. Giving you after-school detention, for doing nothing but watching with horror plastered on your face as Scott McCall, Stiles’ best friend, threw punches left and right at a topless, water-drenched Jackson, who reciprocated every strike as if he were nothing but a reflection. Seriously?

Previously, you had simply been sauntering down the locker-lined hall, Stiles on your right, passionately ranting about some unnamed problem that had him on edge for the past few weeks. You two turned down the empty, cinder-block-walled athletics corridor as he continued to agitatedly let off steam; the setting was decidedly unromantic given the unshakeable scent of overly pungent deodorant and mildew that was all too familiar. 

You clung to every word emitted from his mouth with an almost comical frown like it was a mug of steamy hot chocolate on a bone-chilling winter day. To your disgruntlement, however, his ramblings were stopped mid-sentence when Scott and his wealthy rival Jackson tumbled out from the dingy boys’ locker room, hands clenched in fists and eyes flaming with fury.

Stiles bent down in a rush, poorly attempting to conclude the boisterous brawl with furrowed, concerned brows, but he looked not dissimilar to a toothpick compared to the two burly teammates. 

“Detention for all of you!” Mr. Harris spat venomously as he dashed to the scene, his voice ringing above the grunts and slams that came from the fighting co-captains of the lacrosse team. “Detention now, Stilinski, McCall, Whittemore, Argent, and Y/L/N! Come on!”

You were dragged by the ear to the vacant library, a place which you often resided in whenever you studied with Stiles (often about mythical creatures, to your confusion). Posters that looked commonplace in an elementary school lined the walls, vibrantly encouraging students to pick up a book, or pen works for a writing contest of some sort.

Golden strips of fleeting sunlight peeked through the slatted blinds, and three gum wad-dotted tables were beckoning for the group of you to sit for the next two hours, or until Mr. Harris would finally decide that your soul had rotted away enough to release you.

You were sternly directed to the uncomfortably stiff chair opposite Allison’s, whose eyes shot daggers wherever they glanced. You flashed her an almost unregistrable smile, as if to say ‘hello.’ Slinging the loose straps of your backpack over your seat, your gaze flickering through the pin-drop silent room immediately locked on Stiles’ figure.

Boy, was he perfect.

The unbuttoned flannel over his shoulders speckled with mud from some vaguely mentioned adventure, his soft, tousled hair, that always had a lock out of place, his freckled face, that always bore some goofy expression, all of it. You couldn’t get enough; nothing would satiate your innermost desire for your lips to meld with his’, for your hands to intertwine through the hallways before class, after class, whenever, wherever. 

One eyebrow-cocked, knowing look from Scott in your direction sent Stiles’ umber eyes to meet yours’, an almost confused look swimming through them. He opened his mouth curiously, surely to ask a question, most likely something along the lines of, ‘is there a stain on my shirt?’, but before he could, Mr. Harris seethed, “Take your seats, now.”

Stiles whipped around, not wanting to anger Mr. Harris any further, and he took his seat. The room was quickly conquered with suffocating silence, which the snotty chemistry teacher was bent on ensuring.

You unsheathed a doodled notebook from your backpack, eventually indenting its pages with inky black strokes of various weights and thicknesses. Your habit of penning loose sketches, vague outlines, began one day in math when the clock seemed to tick aggravatingly slow, and every word from the teacher became drawled further and further until they dissolved into the hum of the air conditioning and the chewing of gum: the rhythm of the classroom.

The unconscious lines eventually formed to a familiar portrait: Stiles. Some would be tempted to call him your muse, your kindling of an elegant flame of creativity. You’d always nod your head in complicity more than agreement, for the smart, albeit rebellious boy meant eons more than that to you.  

You had just hit your stride, your wrist’s movements thoughtless and easy, when someone- rather something, hit the back of your head lightly with a small crunch. It was a small, scrunched piece of loose-leaf paper, ripped at the edge. 

You turned your head to the direction that the projectile was tossed at, but both Scott and Stiles appeared to be very, very engrossed in a hushed conversation, neither of their postures attempting to suggest anything suspicious.

You smoothed out the paper of the angular fruitwood table in front of you, attempting to read the almost unintelligible handwriting.

Hey :)

(this is from stiles, by the way)

Your mood lightened a smidge, a grin bubbling onto your face. You tore a piece of paper out of your notebook along the perforation.

Before you threw it in an arch in Stiles’ direction, you penned a response to his note.

Hey ;) how’s detention treating you?

(This is from y/n, by the way)

Crunch.

not great, as expected. I think I saw harris pick his nose. do you have any bleach to douse my eyes in by any chance?

You chuckled a little, a small smirk glimmering on your face for the first time this excruciatingly long afternoon.

Sorry, I’m all out. used it all after I saw Jackson shirtless. how do you survive in the locker room every day?

A smile lifted on Stiles’ face, one so inflated with abundant excitement (and hormones), he might have burst at the seams.

“Man, you’re down bad,” Scott simpered, nudging his best friend’s forearm.

“Shut up,” Stiles hissed with an eye roll.

just keep your head down and you should be fine. one time, Greenberg looked at him a little too long and he nearly turned to stone, like jackson’s abs were medusa or something.

“Passing notes, are we?” Mr. Harris queried with a malicious scowl, his knuckles white from asphyxiating a helpless ballpoint pen. He slinked over to the tables you and Stiles rested uncomfortably in, raising his brow in heavy suspicion. 

Stiles’ deep, dark chocolate-colored eyes widened in worry. “No, sir.”

“I’m keeping my eye on you, Stilinski. You too, Y/L/N.” 

As soon as Harris was out of sight, perched back at the desk and typing furiously, another wad of paper tapped your occiput. 

hey, y/n, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you for a while.

The note, while its contents wouldn’t usually spark too much concern, was subtly unlike the few ones you had previously received. The lines of each letter were neater, more methodical. The small blots of ink resting at the conclusion of every stroke were larger, deeper, as if the nib of his pen had rested in the liquidly black pool for a second too long.

Your face scrunched with confusion, and upon noticing your shift in emotion, Allison nimbly tapped your wrist and mouthed, ‘Is everything okay?’

You nodded with wrinkled brows while shakily scratching a reply.

what is it?

Your knee bounced up and down reflexively, clicking from your rapidly retracting pen echoed through the idle shelves and arrays of desktops. It felt like years, centuries even, before a reply finally tumbled at your feet.

do you like me?

(circle one)

yes? or yes? 

Your jaw nearly fell to the carpeted floor in shock as if gravity had been multiplied; your speedily thrumming heart was doing flip after flip in the cavity of your chest. Without a second thought, you quickly circled both of the ‘yes’es as if there were no friction under the ink-dispersing tip of your pen. Before cupping the piece of paper, you scribbled out an additional little note.

wanna go out this saturday?

Stiles’ anxious gaze bore into your hunched-over figure as you giddily wrote your reply. What if you rejected him (even though the page lacked a ‘no’ option, meaning that you would have to add one, which was even worse)? Was it possible for him to ask to go to the bathroom and just never return? Are there any secret werewolf abilities that Scott could use to make him disintegrate on the spot? 

But his overthinking was soon alleviated when he received your response, this time neatly folded into a paper heart instead of a crunchy ball. Each crease was crisp and thoughtful; he didn’t have to unfold your expert origami to know which option you circled (or lack thereof).

He grinned goofily like an idiot as his chocolate eyes glazed your response a million times over, taking in every letter, every stroke, the dot in your ‘i’ or the question mark ending your simple but heart-rate-escalating proposal.

Crunch.

stiles stilinski/teen wolf taglist:

it’s a date then. i’ll pick you up at 6? passenger seat’s already reserved for you ;)

@loulouloueh @when-you-wish-upon-a-starrynight @ronbrokemyheart @dylobilysmomg

if your name is crossed out, that means I couldn't take you! check your visibility settings so I can @ you next time!

fill out this form to be added!

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Lunar Violence (jjk)

Summary: You’re not a big fan of your best friend’s favorite band, Lunar Violence. Their werewolf gimmick makes you roll your eyes, even if the music isn’t too bad. When she drags you to a concert just as the blood moon rises, though, everything changes.

Warnings: werewolf sex, possessive behavior, choking, knotting, marking, heats and ruts so whatever consent issues you feel are within that realm, unrpotected sex, werewolf dick, abo dynamics

Word Count:7445

Rating: Explicit

You're not normally a fan of gimmicks, particularly with your music. So when your best friend begs you for a solid week to go with her to this concert, you're wary when you do a simple Google search.

Lunar Violence might be the dumbest fucking name for a band you've ever heard, but they certainly seem like they're going for a certain vibe. You'd definitely have been into it when you were a teen, the fake fangs, the facial piercings and torn leather pants, the howling they do at the ends of some of their songs.

The music itself isn't bad, the lead singer is stupid hot and has a smooth low tenor and bedroom eyes. 

You flip through only a few of the member pictures before making a decision based on the fact that they're good eye candy, at least.

Your friend Jia jumps up and down excitedly when you tell her and shows you the signs she's made. She's got a thing for the one they call Happy, a lean bassist who has a bright smile and a sexy glare.

"What are with these names? The seven dwarfs? I think they're mixing metaphors."

Jia snorts. "They call the drummer Baby because he's the youngest. It’s not that dumb and the music is really good, you’ll love it, I promise!"

"This is so dumb. You owe me."

"If I get close enough to Happy to make eye contact I'm gonna make him mine and then I'll give you anything you want." Jia says determinedly.

It’s a few weeks before the concert, so you find yourself listening to a few albums and actually getting pretty excited about it. It should be a fun time, get you away from the stress of your every day life, at the least.

You had no way of knowing that the night of the concert would complicate your life tenfold.

“Do we always have to schedule concerts around rutting season?” Namjoon whines after hitting yet another wrong chord on his guitar.

“It’s the best part about this job!” Hoseok grins.

“I can’t fucking concentrate being horny all the time, I agree with Joon,” Yoongi agrees, banging his forehead down on the keyboard.

“Should have called you Horny rather than Lucky,” Seokjin snorts, and Hoseok laughs so hard he nearly knocks over his bass guitar.

Jungkook watches them with a fond smile on his face, his brothers. Not by blood, of course but being the only werewolves in the city made them have an instant connection and camaraderie, and they’d created a pack pretty quickly. The music had come later, they’d all been interested in it, all had some talent and all been blessed with good looks, and after that it was only a matter of who did what and stage names.

Kim Seokjin, with his regal looks and sharp jaw: Prince.

Min Yoongi, with the scar over his left eye he’d gotten scrapping with a grey wolf in the woods behind his house in Daegu as a pup: Lucky.

Jung Hoseok with his easy smile and eager nature: Happy.

Kim Namjoon, always so serious and intelligent: Beethoven. 

Park Jimin, with his pretty face and sneaky smirk: Sly.

Kim Taehyung with his sweet nature and affectionate personality: Honey.

Finally, Jeon Jungkook, because he'd been barely old enough to breed when they'd met: Baby.

"Baby hasn't had his first rut yet, yeah?" It's Jimin, smirking, always giving Jungkook grief about something. 

Jungkook narrows his eyes and chucks a drumstick at him but it's no use, Jimin catching it in one band and twirling it like a goddamn baton. Jungkook would say Jimin was graceful if he hadn't seen him fall off about a dozen barstools and half a dozen stages, sober even for the latter.

“Kinda late, isn’t it?” Seokjin speaks up, and Jungkook knows he’s teasing but it stings a little, nonetheless. 

“He’s only just turned 23. You were two weeks from your 23rd before you ever popped a knot, hyung, or have you forgotten?” Namjoon snarks, and Jungkook snickers as Seokjin makes a face, that vein on his neck pulsing just a bit.

He shouldn’t laugh, they’re just as likely to come to blows during the beginning of a rut and in a full moon cycle, but he can’t help himself

Yoongi, as usual, manages to keep the peace by offering to order pizza and foot the bill, a truly saintlike act since they could go through a pizza each, as hot as their temperature would be running by now.

Jungkook doesn’t say that he’s had a knot for two years now, the very thought of his hyungs knowing that makes him blush so much he hides it by wiping his face with a towel, pretending to have been sweating. 

Truly, he should have had a rut by now, triggered by all the pheromones' from the shows they’d been doing, this tour had been particularly rough due to the upcoming blood moon, at least for all the other boys, and it isn’t as if Jungkook hasn’t mated, of course, but a full rut? Not even the hint of it. It worries him, but Namjoon keeps assuring him that everyone gets there in time, people are just different.

Taehyung had been a late bloomer himself, not starting his first rut until he met and fell in love with his girlfriend, a short feisty redhead he’d met after a hand injury from stringing his bass guitar and slicing his palm open. She’d been a nurse who scolded him for not coming in sooner and it’d been almost instant, her green eyes triggering every wolf thing about him, or at least that’s how he tells it, all wide eyed and dreamy.

She’s a near constant in Taehyung’s hotel rooms now, sometimes riding along on the tour bus, but he doesn’t let her into anymore of the concerts even when she pouts, because human mates around a group of wolves around rutting season can be a dangerous time.

Taehyung is one of the gentlest wolves Jungkook knows, but he’d seen him snarl when Yoongi so much as winked at the redhead near a rut, so it’s probably for the best.

Anyway, Jungkook wasn’t worried (much). He’d find his true mate eventually, but probably not at a concert. Maybe he’d start his rut there, at least, around the full moon. He’d never have imagined that he’d find both.

The crowd is nice enough, although they seem a little feral. Some of these girls have signs that should be x rated, but you're not one to judge, especially since you've never actually….done anything too x-rated. 

You feel a little strange when you enter the concert venue and you can’t quite put your finger on it. You shrug and blame it on the strong drink your friend had made you chug before you entered since she couldn’t finish it all herself.

It’s like there’s something living under your skin, some rush like heat, and it  makes you feel antsy, ready to dance along to the music or at least laugh at your friend losing her mind next to you.

There’s a lot of gimmick to the concert and it’s bright and dark at the same time near the stage. You’d swear you’d seen the guitarist strum with no pick, with a sharp claw instead, but you’re sure it’s makeup, part of the show. They’re wearing contacts, too, you’re pretty sure, and the music is good, your friend isn’t wrong.

The song you’d heard that you’d like is actually their encore song, heavy on the bass and drums, and the lead singer even makes your skin feel hot a little when he makes eye contact and winks at you. The last solo the lights come down on the drummer, he’s on the back stage so all you can see is his long hair bouncing, the flex of his admittedly impressive biceps as he finishes the song.

You’ve been jumping up and down and singing along so much that you’re sweating and feeling a bit dizzy, so you drag your friend out the back alley while she’s still swooning, having gotten a direct smile from her favorite bassist.

“Did you see him? He looked right at me! We’re in love, Y/n. Do you want to be my maid of honor?” She’s babbling when you hear the click of a lighter next to you.

There’s people milling about, it wasn’t exactly a sold out show but there was a decent crowd, and people are now piling into the bar next door.

“Did you like the show?” 

When you turn your head you’re shocked to see that it’s the lead singer, a couple strands of his silver hair falling over his eye as he smiles at you.

“Oh. Oh, yes, I liked it very...very much,” you stammer. He’s even more handsome up close. Those are some really good contacts, you can’t tell they aren’t real at all, even though surely no one’s eyes are a violet color like that.

“Sly!” Your friend screams, and you jolt forward, surprised.

The singer’s hand lights on your shoulder and you look down. You have time to think that they must make great money for these expensive special effects because they sure do look like claws before your friend rushes past you, yelling because Happy had come out the back with the rest of the band.

There’s no mob or anything, maybe a dozen people other than you and Jia, but it makes you a bit anxious nonetheless, especially since you’re still feeling just as antsy, hot and dizzy as you were before.

It might be worse, actually, as you stand outside in the moonlight.

“Sly’s just my stage name.” His voice sounds softer, closer to your ear as he leans in. “You can call me Jimin.”

“O-okay,” you stutter, unused to feeling this way. You’re usually more outgoing, talkative, but it feels so strange. You find yourself looking up at the sky as if looking for the moon.

It’s better, once you’re inside the bar, there’s not as much of a crowd and you’re sitting at a big table with Sly...Jimin, you remind yourself, and Jia and Happy, who seems to fit his name well, laughing open and loud with your best friend as if they’ve known each other forever.

After a few hours and a couple of drinks you’ve lost most of that antsy feeling since being indoors, and you and Jimin vibe well, becoming fast friends. You’re both flirty and talkative after getting to know each other, and your mood is lifted from the concert, the alcohol, and the socialization.

You even laugh about calling their gimmick dumb as they dodge questions about where they get their makeup and accessories. You assume it’s some kind of sponsorship situation or contract, not thinking much of it.

You manage to excuse yourself long enough to look for the bathroom, although Jia abandons you since she’s made her way into Happy’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and with a blissful smile you’re not sure you’ve ever seen on her.

There’s someone standing in the hall and it’s a narrow hallway and he’s pretty wide from the back so you stumble a little when you turn, placing a hand on the wall.

“Oh, excuse me!” You say, brightly, but when he turns you gasp, a little surprised by the bright red of his eyes before you realize it’s another member of Lunar Violence.

“Hello,” he says, quietly with a little smile and he has these prominent front teeth that are pretty cute, make him look a lot less intimidating, despite those contacts and an eyebrow piercing and his size.

“Oh, hello! You’re…”

“Baby,” he blurts, and it makes you giggle.

You feel a little tipsier than you’d realized, and you guess it must be since you’ve been sitting down for an hour or so and just gotten up.

He puts a hand over his face, embarrassed. “My name is Jungkook,” he explains. “I’m the drummer?”

It’s cute how his voice pitches up into a question, as if you wouldn’t recognize him. He’s definitely a bit more modest than the other two members you’d met, with Jimin and Happy (who you’d just learned also goes by Hoseoki), bragging about tours and performances. 

“Pretty big for a baby,” you tease, and he makes an embarrassed sound in the back of his throat.

“I keep trying to get them to let me change it,” he mutters.

You introduce yourself and he smiles again, and his eyes aren’t as red as you’d thought at first, anyway, maybe it’s just the light. You brush past him as you continue to the bathroom after excusing yourself, and it’s a little zing through you, like static electricity.

It takes you longer in the bathroom than it usually would, that last drink really must have packed a punch, and when you return to the table Jungkook is sitting there, too, next to your empty chair. Jimin looks a little sullen and pouty, but he smiles at you, those violet eyes crinkling up at the corners, and you give him a bright smile back.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is all energy, jiggling his leg and tapping his fingers on the table and Hoseok seems to be watching him intently.

The atmosphere in general seems to have changed, and after exchanging numbers with everyone with the urging of Jia, you two excuse yourself.

The three men walk you outside and Jimin is close while Jungkook hangs back. You imagine Jimin is so close since you mentioned feeling a bit dizzy and he asks you twice if he can call you a car but you tell him that the fresh air will do you good.

It’s funny, the moonlight seems to energize you a bit. When Jimin leans in to kiss you on the cheek, you jump a little at a sound behind you, something like a bark.

Jimin jolts back a little, eyes widening, and you both laugh at your nerves.

“Stray dog,” you remark, and Jimin snorts.

“Something like that.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “So what exactly the fuck happened after I left?”

Jimin is sullen on the couch, arms crossed over his chest with a busted lip and Jungkook is sitting next to Hoseok on the floor on the other side of the hotel room with tissue up his nose, Hoseok tilting his head back.

“Baby is about to go into rut,” Taehyung sings, laughing, his girlfriend draped over him on the bed drowsily, his teeth marks littering her neck and throat.

“Don’t,” Yoongi warns. “Everyone’s just wound up. Full moon is in two days, after all, cut him some slack.”

“Sees one girl he likes and suddenly no one else can talk to her,” Jimin complains, gingerly working his tongue across his lip ring to see if it’s torn.

“You tried to kiss her,” Jungkook growls, and Hoseok pushes on his chest to keep him from getting up.

Jungkook can’t explain why his wolf wanted to rip Jimin’s throat out when he leaned in to kiss you, he’d just met you, didn’t even know your last name, but it was visceral, sudden, something crawling up his throat. He’d almost moved forward to do it before Hoseok said his name, sharply.

“We all get a little possessive about potential mates around the full moon,” Namjoon reasons. “But that’s not the way to handle it, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hangs his head and removes the tissue from his nose with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, hyung.” He looks over at Jimin but he means it for Namjoon. He’s still bitter, somehow, about Jimin’s hand on your lower back, his lips brushing your cheek. It makes his head feel fuzzy, his guts roll.

Namjoon, on the other hand, had been the one to “discover” Jungkook, back when he had no idea why his eyes were starting to change color with the moon cycles or why his nails grew out like claws. He’d started learning percussion just to get rid of some of the energy he had around those times, and he’d been 17 when Namjoon approached him in a music store when Jungkook was looking into buying cymbals. 

Jungkook had been abandoned when he was a baby, adopted at four years old and he had no idea about his wolf lineage, or even that they existed, until Namjoon explained it to him.

“Jungkook doesn’t know his lineage,” Namjoon reminds them all. “He might just be presenting as an alpha, that’s a lot around the full moon, Jimin, you remember.”

Jimin grumbles something under his breath and Jungkook has to take a deep breath through his nostrils, smelling iron from their scuffle earlier, in order not to lunge across the room and hit him again.

Eventually, Jungkook has to move to his own room despite usually bunking with Jimin, and he finds himself unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling. He keeps seeing your bright smile, your curls bouncing around as you talked and laughed, mostly at Jimin, and it makes him stiffen to think of how Jimin had met you first.

Why did it matter, anyway? You’re just a person, just like he is, just a girl, and he doesn’t have the best track record with talking to girls, anyway. You’d been in the front row, with your friend who Hoseok had gotten so smiley about, he’d seen you just before he started his set, his vision clearer around the full moon.

The others laughed at him for how he talked about “the wolf,” as if it wasn’t a part of him, as if it wasn’t who he was, but that’s how it had always felt. He just hadn’t had a name for it until he’d met Namjoon. It was like this thing, inside him, this beast, something that clawed and scratched to get out.

Seokjin keeps telling him that he’s fighting the wolf, that’s why he hasn’t gone into rut or popped his knot, that’s why he feels so achy and fidgety around the moon cycles, that’s why he hasn’t shifted. Namjoon would always respond there was no way to know that but Seokjin just rolled his eyes.

“Aish, I’m your hyung, listen to me. I fought mine, too, when I was young, and when I shifted I broke a few bones. You should give in, let it ride in the front seat once in a while.”

Jungkook had nodded at the time but now, he doesn’t know how to do that. Drumming helped, it was a lot of work and energy expelled and it felt like he could let him out, the wolf, just a little. It’s why he’d gotten so big, staying active and lifting weights was something the wolf liked.

The wolf came sometimes when he masturbated, too, when he’d feel particularly worked up around the full moon, after a concert, sweaty and rolling his hips into his hand.

When he tries it after meeting you, he can’t even finish, ending up panting and sore, the wolf still snarling over the memory of Jimin’s lips barely brushing across your cheek.

Surprisingly enough, it’s Jungkook who texts you first. Wanna go for a drink?

You’re not sure whether to say yes at first, you’ve been feeling so strange. You can barely sleep, your skin feeling hot, as if you’d burned yourself with a too hot shower. You think about that night at the concert a lot, Jimin’s violet eyes, Jungkook’s almost red ones, how odd you’d felt.

You would have talked to Jia about it but she’s been abducted by the werewolf band, apparently, you’ve barely seen her in a week and when you had she’d been littered with hickeys and with a big goofy smile.

Part of you wonders if this is all some sex ring cult but she seems happy, jubilant even, so you agree, meeting Jungkook at a downtown bar.

He’s there before you arrive, you can see him through the window sitting at a table, looking wide and a bit intimidating until he lifts his head and smiles at you with a little wave.

His eyes are a warm brown now, pretty and wide, you’re able to notice the shape more without the contacts.

Jungkook is still all energy, maybe that’s just how he is, talking to you more and more as the nights go on and you two share a pitcher of beer, scooting his chair closer. You find he flushes a pretty rose when you flirt with him and can’t stop laughing when he nearly falls out of his chair when you prop your legs up in his lap.

By the end of the night he can’t stop smiling at you and you’re intrigued, moreso than you’d imagined you would be when you’d first met him, smiling shyly at you at the bar near the concert. You start to feel funny again, your head fuzzy, probably from the alcohol.

When you tell him, he’s all wide eyed concern.

You giggle. “Now I know why they call you Baby.” 

He huffs a little. 

He walks you outside just as he did before but this time he doesn’t hang back, and when you reach the alleyway, he places a hand on the swell of your hip as you take a few deep breaths of the night air.

You’re surprised, laugh a little until you look up into his eyes. You’d swear they looked red tinged again, but surely it’s just the beer.

“Not a baby,” he murmurs, moving closer, pressing you up against the brick with his body, and you hitch in a breath.

“No?” You ask, boldly trailing your finger along his collarbone through the black tshirt he’s wearing.

He shakes his head, leaned down close enough to your face that his nose brushes yours.

“Prove it,” you tease, and he makes this rumbling sound in the back of his throat that makes goosebumps break out across your flesh.

He leans down further, nips at your lower lip, and you moan, body surging forward toward his as if it was made to fit it. You’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but his tongue is in your mouth, his hands on either side of your head, caging you in.

You feel hot all over, dizzy in the most pleasant way, at least until he pulls away, gasping.

You whine, a sound you don’t think you’ve ever made before, when he’s not touching you anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

He’s gone before you can even gasp out another whine of his name, and the moonlight on your skin burns instead of cools.

Jungkook tells this story in a burst to his bandmates the next day, hungover with his head pounding.

“You just left her there?” Jimin says, his face shocked, and Jungkook feels the wolf make a growl start at the back of his throat.

Namjoon puts a hand on his shoulder and it turns into a whine instead. 

“I’ve never felt him that close, hyung. Right at the surface. I wanted to…”

Namjoon and Seokjin meet eyes above Jungkook’s lowered head.

Jimin catches it. Jimin catches everything, it’s one of the best and worst things about him.

“What? You think…” Jimin laughs. “No. She can’t be his.... She’s not a wolf, I would’ve smelled it when-”

Jungkook surges out of his seat, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. “When what, Jimin?”

Jimin’s eyes glow a pale violet as he snarls back, uncaring that Jungkook towers over him.

In the end, Namjoon and Seokjin have to separate them physically as they bark and snarl at each other.

Hoseok and Taehyung are missing, having holed up to ride out their ruts with their human mates instead of the house the seven share.

Yoongi huffs out a breath. “He’s definitely presenting as an alpha.”

“No shit,” Namjoon barks, unusually on edge. 

Yoongi, Seokjin, and Taehyung are the betas of the group, and until now there had only been a slight difference among the bandmates despite their different rankings.

Alpha pheromones were stronger and their senses were more heightened around rutting season, particularly for other mates. 

In the end, they have to completely change how they house themselves, with Jimin sharing a room with Yoongi, and Jungkook sharing with Seokjin.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jungkook says miserably, his wolf finally calmed as he sits down on the bed.

“It’s not your fault,” Seokjin says, voice much less harsh than Namjoon’s had been earlier when he’d scolded him. “I saw Namjoon during this time, and it wasn’t easy.”

Jungkook looks up at the elder with wide eyes. “Really?”

Seokjin snorts and nods. “Yeah, around the full moon he was unbearable, snarling at everything.”

“I just didn’t want to scare her or...or hurt her...I wanted to put her against the wall and…” Jungkook trails off, embarrassed.

Seokjin only smiles and ruffles Jungkook’s hair. “That’s normal too, Baby. You wouldn’t have hurt her, especially if it’s what we think it is.”

“What...what does that mean?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Something you gotta work out on your own.”

Jungkook groans and flops down on the bed as Seokjin laughs, heading downstairs to make dinner while things are calm.

He has trouble sleeping again, but this time instead of wondering why, he knew, could almost feel the soft skin of your hip on his palm like it was still there, how you’d moaned into his mouth, whined for him.

Jungkook isn’t sure there’s a cold enough shower to help.

You can’t seem to sit still as the full moon nears, feeling like you might jump out of your skin. You can’t count the number of friends you’d called but no one seems up to going out. You bite your lip while looking at Jungkook’s contact on your phone screen.

If you think about it long enough, you can still feel the way he pressed against you, how the hair on the nape of your neck stood up when he nipped at your lip, how hot you’d felt, how wet…

You sigh and scroll up, seeing Jimin’s name instead. Jimin had been fun to be with the night you’d met, easy to talk to, less….intense. And he didn’t make you feel like you were about to crawl out of your skin, so you ask if he wants to meet up for a drink.

It’s late, by the time you decide, and the moon is out, waxing toward fullness. There’s only a tiny sliver remaining, big in the sky, and you can’t stop looking up at it as you walk to the bar near your house.

You’d chosen it because it’s close and not because it’s where hot drummer Jeon Jungkook, also known as Baby, had pressed you against an alley wall and made you almost…

Jimin jolts you out of your thoughts, calling your name and waving as you approach the door. He’s leaned against the doorjamb, giving you a smirk and you think now you understand why they call him Sly.

It makes you smile and again, you vibe well with him, you get along in the best way, conversation is easy and you don’t feel gooseflesh or your hair stand up when he brushes his fingers against yours.

Jimin knows he’s playing with fire when he replies to your text, but they don’t call him Sly for nothing, and you’re interesting, for a human. He’s only met one other female wolf, a tall and feisty woman with a sharp tongue and the most beautiful brown eyes, but she’d had a mate and well...things hadn’t ended well. 

Jungkook thinks of his wolf as this separate entity but Jimin disagrees, let’s his wolf do what it wants, so that all the bad things he feels have some kind of outlet. This was especially so after he’d lost his brown eyed wolf girl, so he invites you back to the house, knowing that Jungkook will be at the gym all night before the full moon tomorrow.

In fact, all of the others will be out, finding fun of their own, and why shouldn’t Jimin do the same? It isn’t as if Jungkook has marked you, or even can, since you’re human. 

Your eyes aren’t quite the same shade of hers, but he can pretend.

Jungkook works out until his muscles ache but nothing can shake this feeling he has, like something’s wrong. When he leaves the gym even the moon looks off, as if it’s dimmer than it should be, and something’s pulling him home, like this tug in his gut. It feels like it used to as a kid in his first foster home, when he’d get so anxious he’d climb onto the roof and stare up at it.

He’s almost running as he gets closer, feeling his skin prickle as he gets to the house, his wolf so close to the surface he can feel the fur that isn’t there yet standing up on the back of his neck.

He smells Jimin first, wrinkling his nose at the alpha pheromones, and when he walks upstairs it isn’t as if he decides to let the wolf take over, or struggles with it - it’s instant.

You’re standing in the hall, head tilted up, and Jimin is leaning against the wall, smiling down at you, and when you lean up to just softly brush your lips against Jimin’s, Jungkook’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest, and the wolf barks, loud and warning.

You turn, surprised, and Jungkook doesn’t think, doesn’t act, it’s all wolf. He grabs you by your waist, hefts you up over your shoulder, and begins to walk you to his room.

Jimin protests and Jungkook growls over his shoulder, daring him to try something. Later, Jungkook is glad his friend didn’t follow, because he isn’t sure that he could have held the wolf back.

You kick and yell and beat on his back and Jungkook doesn’t realize what he’s done until he’s plopped you down on his bed, crawling toward you.

You kick him in the chest and it barely registers. You stand up and that’s when he snaps back to himself, at least to a degree.

"Don't leave. You can't leave." It's panicked, his voice, higher pitched almost like a whine.

"I can do whatever I want," you snap.

He makes this sound between a whine and a snarl and it's startling, strange, and you stop at the door.

"I know that! I know, but he doesn't!" 

"He..." you turn to look at him and he's trembling, head down, and you step closer, worried. "Baby, what do you mean?"

Jungkook just stands there, still trembling, until you reach out to touch his hair, gently. "He thinks he owns you, that you're his, that no one else can touch you." He explains, almost in a whisper.

"Who is he?" You ask slowly.

He raises his head slow and you gasp when you look into his eyes, instead of a warm brown this burnt amber, red hued.

"The wolf."

You stand there, blinking in surprise, for a long moment before actively telling your feet to move to the door. Unfortunately, your brain seems to have some kind of disconnect to your limbs, because you just step even closer, lean in and inhale along his neck, this scent of sweat and the iron of the weights he’d been lifting washing over you.

Rationally, you know that you should be shocked, horrified, even, that werewolves are real and you’re apparently standing in a house full of them but all you can do is run your tongue along the vein in his throat and Jungkook is trembling all over, whimpering like a puppy.

“Y/n, please, don’t-” he chokes out.

“Why not?” You murmur against his skin, the scent of him making your body react like you’ve never felt before. There’s this ache between your thighs that you’ve only felt a hint of before and you want more, nipping at his skin, unable to think clearly.

“He wants to...wants you,” Jungkook stutters, balling his hands into fists to keep from touching you.

“He does? Or you do?” You ask, lifting your head to pout at him, and Jungkook groans.

“Both,” he whispers hoarsely. 

“Then take me,” you say, and you don’t even know where the words came from. Your head feels light on your shoulders, dizzy with the scent of him, how his skin tastes under your tongue, and you do what he did to you the last night you’d seen him, nipping at his lower lip. Your canine pierces the skin and you taste iron on your tongue

Jungkook growls and lifts you again, this time with his hands under your ass and thighs and your legs wrap around him instantly. He all but throws you down on the bed, this time, and you whimper when he grips one of your thighs with his big hand, squeezing the flesh there.

“Mine,” he snarls, that high pitched whine at the end, and it makes you arch your back, claw your nails across his shoulders.

Jungkook leans down to sniff at your neck and growls again, wrinkling his nose and when you open your eyes he’s staring down at you with those red/amber eyes. 

You look back defiantly but you’re rolling your hips against his, you can feel him hard against your core and even though you’d never gone all the way with anyone before you want him inside you, can’t think of anything else.

“You smell like him,” he accuses, voice hoarse, and his wide eyes fade back to brown, just slightly, the color dilating around his pupils.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, feeling something like guilt, even though nothing had happened, really, and even it if it had…

He rubs his nose against your throat, covers you with his body like he’s replacing any of Jimin’s scent with his own. He licks against your neck, bites down on your skin, making you yelp.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook whines. “I’m sorry, I have to. You’re mine, I have to mark you, have to scent you anywhere he touched you,” he tries to explain, his hands skating down your ample curves.

“It’s okay,” you say, and somehow you mean it, you understand, the very thought of Jungkook smelling like anyone else makes your heart jump into your throat, something primal rise in your gut. “I know, baby.”

“You’re mine?” He says again, voice pitching up into a question just like when he’d introduced himself and it scares you, the way it makes your heart ache.

Instead of speaking you kiss him again, hard, moving your hands to his hair to get him closer. You had worn a skirt and halter out, it’s so warm even though it’s close to winter, your skin feeling so hot under the moonlight that you couldn’t wear much else.

Even as you kiss him he’s tearing at your clothes and you lean up to help him until you’re bare beneath him and panting, this whining noise coming from your throat that you can’t explain.

“God,” Jungkook groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I-”

“You haven’t...haven’t done this before?” Your eyes widen.

Jungkook realizes what you mean and he blushes a bit. “I’ve...yeah, I’ve done this before but not...not like this. I feel like...the wolf feels like...he’s been crazy. Since the first moment I saw you.”

“Like you’re gonna jump out of your skin? Always feeling...hot?” You ask.

Jungkook nods slowly, eyes widening.

“Me too,” you admit. “I don’t...I don’t know what it means. That’s why I came out with Jimin, I-”

Jungkook cuts you off with a choked whine. “It means you’re supposed to be mine.”

He snuffles against your neck again, hands at your hips, still holding back, trembling. “It means he never should have touched you.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, even though you know you have nothing to apologize for. “I want you. I’ve never...I’ve never done this before but I want you so bad,” you admit, clutching at his tshirt, pulling it up until he gets on his knees and pulls it off, tossing it to the side. You spread your hands across his chest and he lets out a wrecked moan.

“You’re holding back,” you accuse.

He nods. “The wolf, he doesn’t….I don’t want to hurt you. Especially...fuck, no one’s touched you like this before?” His hands slide up and down your thighs as he stares down at your body, your breasts, the cleft of your cunt.

Jungkook knows that shouldn’t make him so hard, shouldn’t make his dick pulse in his sweats, shouldn’t make the wolf keen with pride. Mine mine mine, the first, the only is all his brain is chanting, he feels dizzy like he’s drank too much even though he hasn’t had a drop.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, but he can’t, can’t let the wolf out, he’s afraid he’ll rip you apart. You’re human and a virgin and he can’t risk hurting you.

The wolf won’t even let him say it, so he just shakes his head. 

You huff out a breath, your body aching all over, need making your arousal coat your thighs. You don’t know what you’re going to say until you say it.

“Should I ask Jimin to do it? I bet he can smell me,” you taunt, shocking yourself.

Jungkook freezes, his eyes bleeding to red again and one hand jolting out to wrap around your throat.

“Don’t,” he warns.

You know you should be cautious since you’re about to fuck an actual werewolf, but fuck, you’re so hot, you can’t think, you need something inside you and you drop your feet to the bed, spreading your legs wide.

“Jimin would mark me. He’d fuck me, fill me full like I want.” 

Jungkook feels something in him snap, and his heart hurts and his cock aches and the wolf is keening, clawing inside him and he can’t control it anymore, just like before.

“Never,” he growls, squeezes his fingers around your throat and you gasp, your stomach aching with need.

Finally, finally he slides his fingers along your pussy and you choke out a sob as his thumb slips across your clit but it’s not enough.

“Jungkook,” you whimper. “Make me yours.”

“Already mine,” he murmurs, and finally slides two fingers inside you, making you cry out. “You’re already mine but I’m gonna give you what you want, mark you, fuck you, make sure Park fucking Jimin never so much as sniffs at you again.”

“Yes,” you sigh. “Yes, please, please.”

Jungkook still worries somewhere in the back of his mind that he’ll hurt you, that the wolf will, and by now he understands they’re one and the same but you’re rolling your hips up and his cock feels heavy and full like he’s about to burst, somehow wider at the base and he rips down his sweats, fucking you with three fingers now. 

When his cock bounces against his stomach you gasp, and if you’d been in your right mind you might worry he’s too big but something inside you is crying out in pleasure just at the sight of it. You spread your legs wider and he releases your throat, leaning over to kiss you instead, biting your lip as he slowly works himself inside you.

It’s a tight fit even after three fingers and you’re whining into his mouth, wanting more.

Jungkook isn’t a virgin, far from it although a little less experienced than some of his band members (Hoseok had once bragged about fucking a house of sorority sisters during a rut), but the way you clench around him has his hips twitching, wanting to buck into you even if it would split you open. 

Despite his worry, neither he or the wolf wants to hurt you, though, so he waits for you to adjust even as you beg, waits until you can take all of him.

He’s barely realized that he’s popped his knot until he looks down to see where you’ve joined and he groans. He knows how to do this, has been talked to (endlessly, by Taehyung, about his human girlfriend and how she desperately wants to take his knot and they’re working on it but it will take time and training), knows that you can’t take his knot but the wolf is howling for it, wants to fuck you hard and then pop it inside you, spill a littler into your womb.

You whine and pulse around him, reaching up to tug at his hair. “Kookie,” you pout. “Baby. Want you inside me, fuck me harder, please-”

“I can’t-” he chokes out, but then you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him deeper and the wolf growls, leans down, mine mine mine chanting in his head. My mate.

You felt a tiny pop when Jungkook first entered you, nothing painful and then just need, you want more and more and you don’t even know how to say it. You look up at him, near tears, needing something that you feel he won’t give you.

“I’m not yours yet,” you slur, and he looks pained, his eyes dilating from warm brown to amber red again and again.

He rocks his hips against you slow, and you’ve orgasmed twice already, once from his fingers and one from his cock but it’s not enough and you whine, it comes out almost inhuman, like his.

“Fill me up,” you urge, and Jungkook tries to hold the wolf back, he really does, but he’s too far gone, this close to the full moon and in the start of his first rut. 

Jungkook groans, fucks you harder and faster and when you cry out his name his balls draw up and he thrusts forward harder than he’d meant to, popping his knot inside you.

You make a surprised sound and his eyes pop open, his hands cupping your face even as his hips twitch as he cums, spills inside you.

“Y/n. I’m so sorry,” he mourns. “I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry,” he babbles, kissing along your neck and throat, seeing that he’d already marked you twice, once on each side of your throat, and he barely remembers it.

You let out a happy sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, feeling finally sated, at least for the moment. “What are you sorry for, silly baby?”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” He asks, and you look up into his eyes and they’re heterochromatic, now, red hued amber and brown both.

“You’d never hurt me,” you mumble against his throat.

“Never,” he promises. “Never, I love you so much.” 

You’re half asleep, sated with him still inside you, planting soft kisses on your lips and face. You don’t know where you’d learned the word, but it feels right when you say it, right before you drift to sleep.

“I love you too, Alpha.”

It takes a while to understand, especially between Jungkook being barely able to leave his room since he’s in rut and you’re in heat, but eventually, you figure it out.

Your great grandmother had been an omega werewolf, and it’s a recessive gene so you’d been the lucky one to receive it. Since you had never shifted because your gene wasn’t activated by male wolves, you had no smell.

At least, not until the full moon, when you shifted into what Jungkook says is the prettiest wolf he’d ever seen.

After, when you’d near your heat, Jungkook would snap and snarl at the boys so much just for talking to you that it made you roll your eyes, but eventually you got the dates right (for the most part, there’d been one instance in which Jimin had made a snarky comment and Jungkook had lunged at him and they’d gone rolling down the stairs), and you holed up in your apartment, instead.

Jungkook was working with Seokjin to understand that the wolf is him instead of some seperate entity. You tell him you’ve always known that. From what you know now, if the wolf wasn’t, he would have taken you the very first night. True mates are rare, and you’d both known it the whole time, even when you hadn’t.

You and Jia went to every concert, her always telling you her neverending sexcapades with Hoseok to be able to take his knot, front row, waiting for your Alpha’s set. It’s cute, you think, that they call him Baby on stage but he’s your Alpha, especially since he’s both, always, to you.

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)

In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.

(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)

A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]

“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”

Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.

“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.

“So what?”

“So I’m forgiving him.”

She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m���not like you.”

“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”

“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.

“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.

“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”

“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”

Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”

Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.

“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”

“Essi—”

“Think about it.”

She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.

Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.

Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.

He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.

“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.

“Good,” Jaskier lies.

 ---

The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.

What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.

He was left anyway.

But now…

Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.

Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—

“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.

Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”

“No?”

“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”

A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.

“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”

Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?

“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”

“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.

“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”

Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.

“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.

Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.

 ---

Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.

Jaskier makes no effort to get up.

Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.

He will not do that tonight.

Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.

Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.

“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.

“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.

He’s so still, hovering even.

“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.

Adorable.

Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.

“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.

“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”

It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.

“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”

Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?

“Well, I don’t.”

Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.

“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”

The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.

“Sleeping.”

Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”

“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”

Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier…” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”

“You do?”

“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”

Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.

“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”

“I do.”

It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.

He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.

The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?

The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.

 ---

Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.

Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.

“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”

She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”

“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”

Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.

“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”

Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.

“You said you’d come.”

Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.

“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”

Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?

“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”

With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”

“Surely you understand, Geralt.”

“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”

Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?

For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.

Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.

Was.

Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.

And yet, he’s punishing him still.

The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.

The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.

Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.

Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.

Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.

It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.

Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…

Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.

---

Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;) 

Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3

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