#the bottom layer was supposed to be more pink but clearly I need better food colouring

[drinkupthesunrise]

as is tradition when @ilgaksu comes to visit, I made a heihua cake. and as the heihua movie is now award-winning … we’ll, obviously, that was what we had to celebrate.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

This Year, Every Year

A/N: Day 6 goes to Billy Russo. The same Billy Russo that you coaxed out into the sun a few months back. You showed him that he was more than his scars. Now he’s going to show you that you were right. 

Word Count: 2,617

Prompt from: @something-tofightfor​

“It’s not weird, it’s tradition.” 

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.” 

You squinted one eye to better your aim before tossing a kernel of air popped corn directly at his nose. He made a face of mock annoyance that melted as soon as the tiny projectile bounced off of him. She’s the only person on this green Earth who gets away with that.   

“It’s not weird, Billy, it’s tradition.” It’s a weird tradition. You held up the string of popcorn and cranberries that you’d threaded onto a piece of fishing line. The berries, in their varying shades of scarlet and Merlot, spaced randomly between the near-white morsels, provided the perfect festive contrast. “Now are you gonna help me?” You stood and took a few steps towards the tree, the edible garland draped over your arms. Shaking the hair out of your face, you looked over your shoulder at him, catching him as he shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth. That look... “Or are you just gonna eat all my inventory?” 

You smirked at him and he returned it with one of his own, chewing through the grin. But he stood from the couch and crossed the room to take one end of the strand. “‘Course I’m gonna help you,” he insisted, suddenly grabbing for your waist with his in encumbered hand. You let out a surprised laugh as he tugged you against his body, a few pieces of corn crumbling away from the line that neither of you cared to notice. “Always.” He leaned in to press his forehead to yours, and you let go of the end you were holding, the garland dropping to the floor as Billy released his end too. 

“Always, huh?” You closed your eyes and brought your palm up to the center of his chest, over the soft gray waffle knit thermal and the heart that beat beneath it. He pulled back to look down at you, at the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting in your eyes. Your other arm wound around his midsection, hand pressed flat against his back. Letting out a contented hum as he ran his fingertips under the hem of your hoodie, you rested your cheek next to your hand. He felt the warmth of your breath through his shirt.  “I like the sound of that.” Yeah. Me too. “Even if you think my traditions are weird.” You turned your face to kiss his chest as a low chuckle escaped his lips. 

“Not all of ‘em,” he tilted his head to lay it atop yours. The damaged nerve endings around his scars were starting to repair themselves, and the sensation of your feather soft hair tickling the skin around the pink lines that marred his face was still new. Feels good to feel her. Inhaling the scent of your shampoo mixed with the pine from the needles that had gotten stuck in your locks, he turned his head to look at the tree.“Just the ones that waste perfectly good popcorn.” 

You laughed, shaking your head as much as you could against his body and the way he was holding you. “I told you, it’s not a waste. When the tree goes out to the sidewalk after Christmas, birds and squirrels-” 

“And rats,” He flexed his arms almost protectively. This city’s full of rats. 

You laughed again. “Yes, and rats, will pick off the popcorn and the berries.” Turning your head you tilted it back until you could look up at him again, shrugging your shoulders with your arms still around him. “Actually, saying it out loud does make it sound kind of weird. Pigeons and rodents aren’t going hungry in New York, they don’t really need help finding food.” No, they don’t. “But I grew up in the suburbs, in a little neighborhood. My mom used to tie red ribbons on our tree instead of tinsel, and she’d leave them on when we took the tree out to the curb. My brothers and I would watch the animals come pick off the popcorn, and we’d see birds taking the ribbons to fluff their nests with.” You smiled, a whimsical sparkle in your eye. “All winter we’d look for spots of red up in the trees.” Licking your lips, you returned your cheek to his chest, both of you facing the tree now. “Guess I just…” You miss it. That feeling. Billy knew what it was like to miss the way things were. 

“Hey,” he kissed your hair, his own just long enough to fall over his forehead as he leaned forward. “What’do I know about traditions, huh?” Nothing. “I changed my mind. It’s not weird.” 

“It’s a little weird, we can compromise.” You slid the hand that had been over his heart up and around his neck, fingers curling in his hair. He groaned quietly, the sound barely making it out of his throat. You sighed, continuing to move your fingertips soothingly. “It’s a good tree, isn’t it?” 

Billy looked at the fir tree in front of him. It stood 4 feet tall in the corner of your living room, branches sticking out at odd angles in a few places, and it had more than one bare spot where the trunk was visible. You’d strung it with lights, the miniature bulbs illuminating the blueish green needles and making the pathetic twig of a thing into something more. “Yeah,” he responded, thinking back a few nights to when you’d dragged him out in the snow to go to the tree lot on the corner. “It’s a great tree.” 

..  .. ..  .. .. ..  ..

“Come on,” you shivered, your shoulders shuddering against the cold as it bit through the several layers you had on. Tugging on his hand, yours encased in thick white gloves, you pulled him down the street. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we get back inside.” Your voice wavered in the frigid air. 

“Remind me why we’re doing this on the coldest night of the year,” he hunched his shoulders to brace himself, shoving the hand that wasn’t holding yours deep into his pocket. “Tomorrow’s supposed to be 48 and sunny and-” 

“Because it’s snowing, Billy.” You laughed, turning to him with watery eyes and a bright red nose. Your scarf was tucked up over your chin obscuring your bottom lip, your hat pulled low to your brow, trying to protect as much of your face from the cold as you could. He could tell that you were smiling because your rosy cheeks grew round. “Gotta get your first tree in the snow.” 

We don’t. “We could just call that place… there’s a tree service that delivers. You don’t even have to go outside.” He knew, having worked the deliveries as a teen, hustling around from one high end apartment to another, collecting tips from rich strangers and helping them set their trees up in waiting tree stands despite having never done it himself. 

You smacked his arm, the cushion of his jacket absorbing the light impact and making him laugh. “We are not calling the tree service. We’re slogging this tree home ourselves.” 

“Alright, easy killer. We’ll do it your way.” Snow was falling in big fat flakes, landing on his nose and cheeks and melting into his skin. This time last year, the trial was still in full swing, so even though you’d been the most important part of his life even then, this was the first real Christmas that you got to spend together. Though he gave you a hard time about your specific traditions and the meaning that was tied to them, what he really wanted more than anything was to give you the perfect holiday. Even if it means freezin’ my ass off for a tree.  

You’d almost made it all the way down the block, the streets more clogged than usual with holiday shoppers, tourists and guests, and you turned to respond missing a patch of ice that others were clearly steering clear of. What he could see of your eyes went wide as your boot sole struck the slippery surface, a panicky “woah!” tumbling from your lips as you prepared to take a tumble. 

Billy was quicker though, reflexes kicking in as he pulled you into himself, where he stood planted on ice-free sidewalk. You clutched at his arms for stability.  “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall, I gotchya.” I’ll never let you fall. 

You giggled, a mixture of adrenaline, embarrassment and pure happiness. “My hero,” You rose on your toes to brush a snowflake from his nose, right between the two raised scars, before dropping a kiss there. “Now come on, let’s pick a tree before I find more ice to fall on.” You took his hand again, his fingers sliding between yours.  

“You are good at that.” This time when you went to smack his arm, he was ready, catching you off guard by grabbing your wrist and wrapping it in front of your body, trapping you by pressing himself up against your back. “And I'm faster than you.” He said it in your ear before dragging the tip of his nose over your frozen skin. 

By the time you’d gotten to the lot, he couldn’t feel the cold. A few dozen trees of varying sizes from 12 inch table-top shrubs to over the top 10 foot giants. A booth had been set up, comprised of two by fours and clear plastic tarps and hung with classic, old fashioned bulbs. Wreaths finished with red velvet bows collected snow, the trees turning white as the flakes kept falling. Carols were playing from an old CD player inside the booth, the hum of a space heater playing a part in the rhythm section of each song. One shivering employee was working the booth, taking payments, another stood just outside, near a cluster of trees, offering photos for $5, an old Polaroid hanging over the scarf around his neck. Billy could see why people got so worked up about all this, could see why it was so important to you. It’s nice, I get it. He watched a young family choose their tree, their son no more than 6 so excited by the festivities that he clearly couldn’t feel the frosty air. He sniffed and turned to you, surprised to see that your eyes were already on him. 

“You shoulda had this, Billy. Every year, you should have had memories of this.” You reached both hands behind his neck, draping your arms over his shoulders.

He shrugged. “Yeah, maybe,” he nodded. “Maybe that’s true. But now I get to have it with you.” Every year.  

Wordlessly, you kissed him, your lips moving with his, wasting no time in deepening it. He responded by moving even closer to you, curving his body around you as his tongue swiped against yours and he tasted the sweet sound that you made as he tilted your head to better his angle. The city was bustling all around you, the temperature diving into the low twenties, but the two of you were oblivious to anything but each other. When he finally pulled back, your cheeks were flushed from more than just the cold. “I love you, Billy,” you sighed, melting against him and slipping your arm through his. I know you do. The mechanical whirring of the polaroid went off behind you as another couple stood in front of the trees for a picture, giving him an idea. 

“Hey let’s do that,” he cocked his head in the direction of the impromptu photographer. “After we find a tree I mean.” 

You grinned, the light in your eyes putting the blinking bulbs all around you to shame before you lead him through the rows of trees. You charged Billy with choosing the tree, insisting that there were no wrong choices...as long as it fit up your staircase and into your front door. Billy scanned the trees, reaching out to touch their branches. He stopped in front of a White Fir, its needles poking sharply into his palm. Taking in the shape of it, it could only be called scrawny, and he knew that no one wanted this tree. Looking around, all the other trees were fuller, their needles longer and finer, less prickly. “This one?” He asked you, even though you’d told him it was up to him. 

“This one,” you nodded. “It’s perfect.” The way that you said it made Billy sure that you knew what he was thinking- that this tree reminded him of himself. He carried it without your help as it was lighter than it looked due to several bald patches, and leaned it against the booth to pay. He let the attendant know that you were going to take a photo while he bound your tree in twine, and he nodded, gesturing towards the photo station. 

The photographer introduced himself as Aiden, and told you where to stand, pointing out an X that he’d marked on the ground, perfectly centered in front of four tall, perfectly shaped trees. 

“C’mere,” Billy stood on the X and held his hand out to you. You took it and he pulled you next to him. The photographer counted down from three, and you wrapped your arm around him, beaming as the camera clicked. Perfect. 

Aiden passed the photo to Billy and he inspected it as it developed, the image appearing slowly, colors coming through the black square like magic. “Let me see,” you peeked over his shoulder, but he hid the photo from you, flattening it against his jacket. “Hey,” 

“Trust me.” He slid the picture into his pocket, concealing it completely. “Not yet.” 

You eyed him suspiciously. Not yet. Let me surprise you for once. “Okay…” you dragged the word out. “If you’re not gonna show me, then let’s get this show on the road, huh?” You grabbed the top of the tree and waited for Billy to take the trunk end. 

“Yeah, let’s get home.” 

.. .. .. .. .. .. 

“Good choice, Billy,” you said, both of you still looking at the tree. “Just wait until it’s all decorated.” 

“Yeah,” he pulled  back, releasing you. “We should do that. The decorations.” He turned away from you then, walking over to the sidetable and stooping down to open the cabinet beneath it. 

“Billy?” You stooped down to pick up the discarded popcorn and cranberry strand, hanging it on the tree. “What are you-” but when you’d turned back around, you saw what he’d been doing.

In his hand he held an ornament. It was a small picture frame, silver with a red satin hanger, and in the frame was the photo that you’d taken at the tree lot. Your mouth fell open and a breath slipped out as you moved closer to him, fingers reaching for the frame. The picture captured the joy on your face, the happiness that you felt sharing another tradition with the man that you loved. But it was Billy’s image that had pulled the gasp from your lips. He wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at you, right at you, his dark eyes focused solely on the one person he’d give anything for. “I thought we could hang this this year, what do  you think?” 

Tears had formed in your eyes. Billy wasn’t a sentimental person. He didn’t put a lot of stock in things like traditions or pictures or mementos. But he knew that you did. You took the ornament from him, hanging it on one of the highest branches, the place of honor saved only for your most meaningful pieces. “Every year, Billy.” You leaned in, brushing your nose against his, your skin smooth against the raised lines that cut across his. “Every year.”

.

.

.

@something-tofightfor​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @thesumofmychoices​ @gollyderek​  @obscurilicious​​ @traeumerinwitzhelden​​ @jigsawlover10​​ @getlostinyourparadise​​ @breanime​​ @nananananananananananabatman​​ @lexxierave​​ @songforhema​​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes​​ @lysawayne​​  @ymariejp​​ @belladonnarey​​ @audreychaz​​ @songtoyou​​ @stories-you-wont-hear @luminex3​​ @ificouldhelpyouforget​

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Thirty-Nine: Cinnamon ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Mikoto ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

“So, uh...what’s your favorite thing to make?”

Back in Home Ec once again, Sasuke’s bored out of his mind. The day before was a mini school festival, and given all the rush and preparing leading up to it, their teacher has decided it appropriate to give the class a day off from all of their sewing, baking, and other activities they used to make some money for more supplies for class.

And given that all of the underclassmen girls still seem terrified of him for...whatever reason, Sasuke falls back to the usual company of his fellow senior, Hinata.

She’s taking the time to casually knit something she was unable to finish before the craft sale. Pale blue wool dances over her needles, done almost subconsciously. “Um...can you be more specific?”

“I guess out of all the things we do here.”

She considers that with a hum. “...well, I really like knitting,” is her first answer, given with a laugh given her current project. “It’s...soothing in how repetitive it is. I can just sit and get a little lost in it. Um…” Nibbling her lip in thought, she looks around as though trying to pick out things from their surroundings. “I like to bake, too...almost anything, r-really. But my favorite are cinnamon rolls.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm! They’re just so…!” Hinata beams to herself, cheeks going a light shade of pink at a happy memory. “When they’re warm, and the icing is still gooey, and the middle is all fluffy...it’s the best…!”

In spite of himself, Sasuke grins as she describes it. There’s something really...endearing about how into it she is. Clearly it makes her as happy as she looks. “Y’know, I’m not big on sweets...but I might have to try some sometime.”

“Oh, I could make you some! But...it’s quite the process...and you have to eat them warm. They’re so much better.”

“What about it takes so long?”

“Well, you have to put the dough together and knead it, and since it has yeast in it, it has to r-rise. That takes a while. Then you roll it out, and put the filling in...roll it up...and cut the rolls. Then it has to rise again -”

“Whoa, really?”

“Mhm! And then you finally bake it!” Hinata can’t help a soft giggle. “So all in all, in takes a few hours, start to finish. You have to be d-dedicated to it! So...it’s obviously a little, um...too long to do in class. And since exams are coming up, I...won’t have time to stay after school. I need to study.”

“Yeah, me too…” In spite of himself, Sasuke finds he’s rather disappointed. He has an idea, but...he’s not sure if it’s...appropriate. Sure, he talks to her every day in this class, but...he’s not sure if he constitutes as a friend. Trying to appear nonchalant, he offers, “Maybe on a weekend sometime?”

Looking up, Hinata blinks. “Well...the school is closed then...unless there’s an event on. But...I doubt the classroom would be open…”

...she didn't take the hint. Drat. “Uh…” How to say this without sounding too forward... “My mom’s got a pretty nice kitchen. I could...get the ingredients sometime, and we could...make them there…?”

...another blink. “...oh!” Embarrassed at not realizing what he meant, she laughs, going a bit pink. “I...s-sure! She wouldn’t mind…?”

“Nah. I bet she’d be psyched, actually.” His older brother cooks like a maniac whenever he’s home, but...well, besides a few things he’s tried since starting this silly class, Sasuke’s still not an avid cook or baker.

...and he can just imagine his mother’s face at him bringing a girl home. He’s never brought a girl over. Ever.

It’ll be amusing.

“I’ll tell her you’re giving me lessons. She’s been pretty jazzed about me taking this class. Bet she’ll be happy to see me in the kitchen.”

“Oh, good! And...I guess that would technically be true. Um...sure! Just let me know when you...want to try it?”

“Sure. Uh...got a list of what I’d need?”

“Yeah, I’ll dig out my favorite recipe when I get home. Um…” Still blushed, she asks, “Do you want me to...text it to you?”

“Good idea. Here…” They exchange numbers, Hinata promising to send him the list and a rundown of the recipe as the bell rings.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

“Okay! Bye.”

Huh...he’s actually really excited about this…

A weekend passes without any word - Itachi makes a surprise visit home, so Sasuke deems it a bit more critical than baking. But when Friday arrives without any signs of anything else popping up, he decides to ask if she’s free.

“Yeah, I can make it! You’ve got everything we need?”

“Yup.” He’s only double checked like five times.

“Okay - any, um...particular time I should be there?”

“I tend to kinda sleep in...maybe early afternoon just to be safe?”

“You sleep that late?” she teases.

Sasuke can’t help a pout. “No. I just mean so no one feels rushed.”

Giggling into the cuff of her sweater, Hinata shakes her head. “I know, I know. That sounds good! I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

“Got it.”

Saturday morning, Sasuke’s in a tizzy. He volunteered to do dishes the night before after dinner, making sure the kitchen is spotless. Not that Mikoto runs a messy house. He just...wants to make a good impression. Whatever’s left from breakfast he fervently tidies up.

His mother notices, perking a brow. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve got a cooking lesson.”

That catches her attention. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Friend from Home Ec’s gonna teach me how to make cinnamon rolls.”

Mikoto perks up another hair. “Is that so...? Who’s the friend?”

“Her name’s Hinata.”

At the word ‘her’, his mother’s eyes go round, her mouth in a small matching ‘o’. After a blink, she calmly replies. “...I see. Well...I was going to work on my flowerbeds, but...if you need any help, let me know!”

“Will do.”

Once she’s out of sight, he breaks into quiet snickers.

Priceless.

His phone buzzes at about twelve-thirty, and she estimates a twenty minute bike ride. Setting up for her arrival, he’s just putting the finishing touches to his lineup of ingredients when the doorbell rings.

“Hey.”

“Hi! Um...w-where should I put my bike?”

“We can put it in the garage.” They might live in a nice enough neighborhood, but...well, better safe than sorry. Once her ride is tucked away, Sasuke leads the way in. “So, ready to see me fail miserably at baking?”

“Oh, you won’t! I’ll do most of the work, anyway. You can watch if you don’t want to do any steps.”

“I gotta give at least some of it a try.”

Hinata starts walking him through the steps (after complimenting his prep work), showing him how to activate the yeast. “See the foam?”

“Whoa, cool.”

Next they mix the rest of the dough, adding the yeast mixture and beating it until it goes smooth.

“Okay, now we need to knead it.”

Sprinkling flour on a marble slab Mikoto often uses in her baking, Hinata shows Sasuke her technique before letting him try. It takes a few turns, but eventually he gets the hang of it, Hinata occasionally dusting more flour when necessary and checking the consistency.

“That seems good! Now, it has to rise.”

“For how long?”

“An hour.”

Covering the bowl they set it in, they leave it in the warm kitchen before...turning to each other

“Um…” Hinata smiles sheepishly. “Anything you want to...do?”

“...we could, uh...watch a movie or something.”

“S-sure!”

He lets her pick, not knowing most of what his parents have bought and hoarded over the years. He could load up Netflix, but...he’s feeling lazy. Hinata, too, seems a bit unsure and picks one at random. Some newer James Bond movie he’s never seen before. They both settle on the couch and just...sit and watch, a timer set on Sasuke’s phone.

And of course it goes off during a tense fight scene, making them both jump. “Oh!”

Migrating back to the kitchen, they remove the cover and find the dough’s grown!

“Dang!”

“It’s supposed to do that!”

Mixing cinnamon and sugar, Hinata watches as Sasuke carefully rolls out the dough into a long rectangle, then brushes it with butter.

“Very good!”

They both sprinkle the mixture, and each help roll the whole thing up.

“...I think we might need two pans,” Hinata laughs. Carefully, she cuts the long roll into pieces, laying them in a thin layer of syrup along the bottom of the pans.

Then it’s back to rising.

Retreating to their movie, the pair watch in a far more comfortable silence than before. Neither notice as Mikoto wanders in for a drink of water, peeking at the two over the couch with a sly smile (and doing the same to their rising rolls).

Movie ending a bit before the timer, they find the dough big enough anyway. Once the oven heats, in go both pans, and then it’s time to wait one last time. Hinata sits on a stool, Sasuke leaned atop the counter opposite her.

“You were right - your mom does have an awesome kitchen,” Hinata admits sheepishly.

“Yeah...I need to use it more. Guess it’s a good thing I’m taking this class. Learning how, bit by bit.”

“Mhm!”

After a small pause, Sasuke decides to admit, “And I got to make a friend out of it, too.”

Jolting a hair, Hinata goes pink as the timer goes off. “I’ll...I-I’ll get them out!”

They look...amazing.

But they’re not quite finished yet. Hinata whips up the icing, and dribbles it over the buns while they’re still hot. “...okay. Time for the final step.”

“...which is?”

“Eating them!”

Sasuke fetches plates and forks, and Hinata dishes them up. She’s right: they look gooey and fluffy.

“Well...here goes.” Tearing off a hunk, Sasuke gives it one last glance before popping it in his mouth.

She watches, seemingly not aware of her intense expression.

To torture her, Sasuke chews slowly, exaggerating a thoughtful look. He will admit...these are pretty damn good. And he doesn’t ordinarily like sweet foods.

“...well?!”

He just gives a thumbs up, still chewing, almost choking as she gives a little cheer.

...that was cute.

They continue eating, sparing another roll as Mikoto joins them. Her own test goes just as well. “You must share your recipe with me!” she insists to Hinata, who sheepishly nods.

Together the pair clean up, doing the dishes and wiping down the counters. Sasuke refuses to let her leave without taking one of the pans.

“Trust me dear, we don’t need them all here!” Mikoto laughs.

“But then I’ll eat them all…” Hinata mumbles, going pink as her companions laugh.

With that...they reach an impasse.

“I’ll, um...I-I’ll bring the pan to school on Monday!”

“Yeah, sure. No rush.”

“I...I had a lot of fun.”

“Yeah...me too.”

...silence.

Nibbling her lip, Hinata carefully stores the pan into her bag, which she slings on her back before retrieving her bike. “I...guess I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

Looking a little torn, Hinata hesitates before taking off. A hand waves back over her shoulder.

He waves back.

And...can’t help but feel a little lonely.

...maybe he’ll go have another roll.

     More Home Ec AU! Ahhh I really like this one, it's so fluffy and pure xD      Hinata finally gets to make her cinnamon rolls. And Sasuke gets to help! And inch a little closer to realizing that Hinata is TOTALLY girlfriend material.      I think Mikoto approves x3      Buuut on that note, I'ma call it a night~ Thanks for reading!

[jiminniethemarshmallow]

Wet (Drabble #3)

33. "Don't hide from me, I want to see you."

49. Bathroom

87. Blushing

90. Showering together

104. Shy

(A/N): @hillinaa This one's for you bby ❤️

Have you ever met someone who can make your heart race just by seeing them or even thinking about them? Like, not just butterflies but much more intense. Does this feeling last for prolonged periods of time? If so, it could be love... or it could be heart palpitations. Call your doctor immediately-

You change the station on the radio with a roll of your eyes. "I hate commercials." You laugh to yourself, thinking about how weird commercials have been getting recently. But this one actually got you thinking. You have met someone that can make your heart race. Someone who could brighten your day with just a smile, whose presence can motivate you to get up every morning and be a productive human in society. And you had that exact same effect on him. You hoped it was love, because if not, you both needed to have serious talks with your doctors.

Your boyfriend Jimin was the most amazing person in the world. You loved his smile, his laugh, his secret dimple that you loved to stare at, his various moles, his sense of humor, his face in general, and his entire personality, even the parts that annoyed you at times. From the biggest parts of his intricate personality to the tiniest details on his perfect body, you loved him and you knew he loved you too. That thought alone made your heart flutter and all you ever wanted to do was be with him; that's why you were headed to his house right now with an overnight bag packed so you could sleep over and spend the entire weekend with him.

He greets you at the door lovingly when you get there, pecking you on the lips and pulling you inside for a night of YouTube videos, movies, and junk food. You have the best times cuddling with him, joking and laughing about this and that and you wondered how you found someone so perfect. He made you feel like a queen. As your night began to wind down, Jimin suggested that you both get comfortable and ready for bed. Probably because he knew you would most likely fall asleep against him within the next hour if you stayed up watching the rest of your movie. You agreed and went to his bedroom, retrieving your bag to bring into the bathroom.

The sound of rushing water was the only thing that could be heard in the bathroom and you sighed, letting it wet your hair and flow down your body like a stream. Jimin's bathroom was much nicer than yours, most of the time your hot water didn't even work so this was a great experience for you. His shower was spacious and clean and you wondered if he cleaned his home just for you. You relaxed into the water and closed your eyes, but suddenly there was a small knock on the door before Jimin pushed it open. You brought your hands up to cover your body even though he couldn't see you through the distorted glass, yet you still knew he was looking at you.

"(Y/n), is it okay if I join you?" He asks after clearing his throat. When you don't reply immediately he begins rambling nervously. "It'll save time and water if we shower together and I know how much you care about being environmentally friendly. But it's okay if you don't want me to, I just wanted to spend more time with you and be closer-"

You peek your head out and stop him before he can go on. "Sure, I mean it's your house, it's not like I can say no." You watch as his eyes turn into cute crescents, a light blush present on his cheeks revealing that this did not go as smoothly as he planned, but he was happy regardless, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

The first thing Jimin noticed when he walked in was your clothes sitting in a neat pile in the corner of the room. He couldn't help but grin when he saw your lacy white lingerie sitting on top of the pile, signifying that maybe you were planning on this night turning out a little differently, but the night was still young and there was still plenty of time to do whatever and whoever you wanted.

You couldn't see him clearly through the shower door, but you could see the outline of his figure and his honey skin being revealed more and more as he stripped off the layers of his clothes. You've both seen each other naked before, although not that many times, and his body still amazed you. Even though your view of him was limited, you could still see the the ridges of his muscles and it made you drool, forcing you to tear your eyes away from him. But then the shower door slid open and he stepped in.

Jimin couldn't take his eyes off of your body. The curve of your breasts, the allure of your hips and thighs, the jiggly roundness of your ass when you turned away from him to face the water, it was all very enticing. He could see your hands covering your front as you moved further away from him, allowing him room to step into the water. Your face was tomato red and you refused to let him see it.

"Don't hide from me, I want to see you." He says softly, standing so close to you that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. His voice was full of confidence and sincerity, completely different from what he sounded like a minute ago.

"I'm not hiding, we're supposed to be taking a shower." You retort, continuing to wash your body as if you aren't affected by his presence behind you.

"I am showering." Jimin whispers huskily in your ear as he reaches around you to grab the body wash sitting on the ledge in front of you. His chest presses into your bare back and you close your eyes at the contact, cheeks reddening at how worked up he gets you by doing the simplest things. He moves back from your body and you relax a bit until you feel his hands rub up your sides, spreading shower gel all over your sides and up your back. A visible shudder runs up your spine as soon as his hands make their way to your front and work their way around your breasts.

"W-what are you doing?" You hate how your voice betrays you, cracking embarrassingly.

"I figured I'd help wash you. Is that okay?" Jimin asks innocently, his body now pressing into yours from behind. You only nod, not trusting your voice and you can almost feel his smirk as he starts to move his hands against you again. You let him wash your arms and shoulders, tilting your head to the side as he places kisses along your neck. He couldn't resist touching you, he loved the way you responded to his every touch, how you were too shy to look at him even though you didn't shy away from his hands. You were adorable and what made it even better for him was that he knew how wild you could get in the heat of the moment. Your act of purity didn't fool him.

Suddenly, you turn around in his grasp, facing him and watching the droplets of water slip down his skin perfectly. Your intention was to turn the tables on him, but you got a little distracted. Jimin on smirked at the lustful gaze you gave his body.

"Why don't I wash you now?" You suggest, finally snapping out of your trance. He bit his lip before grabbing the soap and pouring some into your palm. Your small hands were warm and soft as they glided along his skin, running up his abs and pecks, feeling the muscles tighten slightly at your light touch. You were confident while cleaning his upper body, showing no shame while feeling up his strong arms, you even wrapped your arms around him to wash his back, pressing your front into his and allowing him to feel your hard nipples.

But the hesitance returned when you started to go lower, hands refusing to dip down any lower than his naval. Jimin noticed this and grinned, grabbing your wrists to guide your hands down until they reached his member. You took the hint and grabbed onto his length, cheeks turning pink again once you felt his half hard cock grow in your palms. The butterflies in your stomach made their appearance, your speeding heart rate going up at the intimate contact. Jimin's hands went straight for your ass and pulled you closer, connecting your lips hungrily as you pumped him up and down. He groans into your mouth when you add more pressure, squeezing his shaft just right.

"Why are you always so scared to touch me when you do it so well?" He asks, pulling away from your lips just enough to look in your eyes. Your gaze diverts away from his but your hands keep moving, the contradiction of your actions confusing him. "You always seem so innocent, even when you're doing something dirty like this, it drives me absolutely fucking crazy." You finally glance up at his eyes and he smiles. "But in a good way."

He pushes you up against one of the cold walls and you shutter when it hits your hot skin, losing grip on his member in the transition. His mouth attacks yours as his hands move up your body, reaching between you two to play with your sensitive nipples. He pinches the nubs and rubs them between his fingers, eliciting moans from your throat that he gladly swallows. Then you're begging for more, tongue swiping his bottom lip and surprising him when you make the kiss deeper. You taste good on his tongue, your mouth tasting like the fruit and candy you snacked on earlier and he can't help but wonder what the rest of you tastes like.

As he begins to pull away from your lips, you chase after him, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him in place and he lets you for a little while before finally moving his mouth down your chin and neck, kneeling in front of you to lift your leg up over his shoulder. As the kisses he leaves on your inner thighs get closer to where you want him, you become more needy, pushing your hips up toward his face impatiently and earning a warning bite from him. He can see that you're dripping already, your wetness characteristically shinier than the water from the shower head. Unable to resist the urge anymore, Jimin leans in and licks a heavy strip up your heat. Your heart practically leaps out your chest at the sudden contact, heat spreading all throughout your limbs.

"Jimin," You moan softly, intertwining your fingers into is messy wet hair. His eyes look up at you from below, observing your reactions as he licks between your folds. He finds that you are as tasty as you look, your delectable flavor coating his tongue as he fucks you with it, feeling around your walls before using it to lick around your clit. He repeats the process a few times, enjoying how his name rolls off of your lips prettily.

Your view from above was probably one of the hottest things you had ever seen. Jimin was looking up at you with his bedroom eyes as he wrapped his thick lips around your clit, hair plastered to his head by the water that was pouring over his body. He suckled the bud with varying intensity, loving every reaction he got from you as a result. You were so wet that your juices were beginning to coat his chin, but neither of you noticed or cared, too focused on how well his expert tongue worked your body. After a while you started to grind your hips into him, craving more as you felt heat build up in your abdomen. Your hands were unconsciously pulling his head closer to you, your fingers pulling on the strands lightly as he brought you intense pleasure. Your legs began to shake and that's when Jimin decided to pull away, leaving hickies on your thighs before trailing kisses back up to your lips.

You gladly kiss him back, not minding the taste of yourself on his lips, and you bring your leg up to pull his waist closer to you, no longer shy to tell him what you want from him. He gets the message quickly, grabbing your leg to hold it there as he grinds himself into you. His other hand moves to your waist, pulling you further into him so he can feel as much of you as possible. You pull away abruptly.

"Fuck me from behind." Hearing such dirty words come from your lips makes Jimin twitch against you, eyes dark and lust filled. In no time flat he’s whirling you around and pressing you against the wall, pinning your hands beside your head. A whimper of surprise leaves your lips from his sudden aggression and he gives you an apologetic kiss on the shoulder.

"Want me to fuck you hard?" He practically growls in your ear, giving it a small bite.

"Yes Jimin, I want you to fuck me into this wall." You beg, grinding your hips back into him. You're definitely not shy anymore. Upon hearing your request, Jimin wastes no time sliding into you, going in with no resistance. You moan loudly and the sound bounces off of the shower walls, echoing and sounding like music to his ears. It doesn't take long for you to adjust to his size so he starts moving almost immediately, loving the way your walls grip him as he backs out. He slams back into you with full force and presses his body tight against yours, trapping you between him and the wall so there's little room for you to move. Your hands are still pinned to the wall as he starts picking up the pace, rolling his hips up into you smoothly.

His movements become sharper as he gets more into it, falling into a rhythm. You try to push your ass into him as he moves, but you're restricted so you settle on just arching your back and taking it. You've never had shower sex before and honestly, it was a lot different than what you expected. There were so many sensations to focus on, the water rushing over both of your bodies, your nipples rubbing against the cold wall as Jimin fucked you, the sound and feeling of his wet skin slapping against yours. You tried to zone in on just one of them but you couldn't, it all felt too good.

His grunts from behind you were magnified by the small space and they made you even more aroused than you thought possible. His voice sounded raspy and deep and you only get to hear him like this when you're having sex, but the increased volume made him sound so much better. They mixed with your moans as he pushed himself deeper, moving back a little bit so he could have more room to thrust. You took advantage of the extra room and used it to grind into him, meeting him stroke for stoke. A bolt of electricity shoots up your spine when he hits a soft spot within you. He hears the change of pitch in your voice and keeps hitting the spot, groaning at the way you feel around him.

"Shit," You gasp, balling your hand into a fist at the pleasure. "Baby, fuck me harder." Hearing you curse his name and beg for more drives Jimin and he easily gives in to you, placing his hands on your hips to pull you into him more forcefully. You cry out and squeeze around him a little, making him groan in your ear.

Deciding that he can go a little harder, he lifts one of your legs and hooks his arm under it, placing his palm on your stomach to keep you in place. This position allows him even deeper into your hole and you can't stop moaning at this point. Your face is flushed but for a completely different reason this time. The room seems a little bit too hot as you work up a sweat and you can see the mirror and shower door fogging up. Jimin is now bombarding you with the full force of his hips, the pace unmerciful and unrelenting, and you can feel butterflies in your stomach again. Although the butterflies aren't because you're nervous, it's because of the excitement building up in the pit of your stomach as you approach release.

Jimin leans over to put his hand on the wall, using it to keep his balance when he puts his foot up on a ledge to hit you from a different angle. His hand lands on top of yours and you immediately lock fingers with him, holding onto him tightly in an attempt to calm your racing heart. You hear him begin to moan, his hips not moving as smoothly as before and you know he's close. The hand that's on your stomach moves down to your clit and rubs rushed circles into it. You gasp and clench around him, your high dangerously close. With a few extra hard thrusts, you cum around him, his fingers and hips stuttering against you as you tense up, his name echoing off the walls of the tight space.

You squirm when his fingers continue, your knee almost giving out, so Jimin pulls out quickly and drops your leg, letting you turn around and drop to your knees. You take his tip into your mouth gently, sucking on it as he pumps the rest desperately with his hand. You moan around him and give him kitten licks while you watch his thighs tremble. Looking up, you see his head thrown back, mouth agape and gasping as he focuses on reaching his peak. His abs clench and release repeatedly and he moans your name, signaling his release. Pulling off of him with a pop, you sit with your mouth open, waiting for him to release on your face.

"(Y/n)," Jimin whines as white ropes of cum finally shoot from his tip and land on your face, and god it’s the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard. You shut your eyes and let him create his masterpiece before the water washes it away. Some of it lands in your mouth and you gladly swallow it, licking your lips and looking up at him innocently again. With a final groan he lets go of his softening cock and looks down at you, smirking at how your cheeks start to turn red again. It really should be illegal for you to look at him like that. How could you still be so shy after doing something so dirty with him literal seconds ago? You perplexed him. 

He helped you to your feet and smiled at you, pulling you into his arms for a slow kiss. The bathroom was quiet again, the only sounds heard were the water and your passionate kiss. You both sighed when he pulled away, staying in each other's arms like that for a little while before finding the energy to let go.

"We should do that more often." You say, surprising him a little.

"Yeah, we really should." He smiles and you smile back at him and this time you're the one giving him butterflies and making him blush.

[stereksummerexchange]

Best worst ideas and heat centers

@sunshinexlollipops -  It’s my first time writing an AOB about them and, even better, my first time writing smut. So yeah, if this sucks that’s pretty much why. Hope you still like it, pal! Have a wonderful summer!

by @marauders-mess

Mature - Smut, AOB dynamic, AOB, Werewolf heat, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Derek, Omega Stiles, Knotting, Midly swearing, Werewolf Stiles, Professional knot, Clinic worker Derek, Bottom Stiles, Top Derek, Scenting, Scratches, Biting, Marking, Mates

“The undertone of his own scent on top of the alpha stranger hits him. It makes the voice of his wolf go from a loud growl to a low whine. He swallows thickly. Stiles takes a couple of seconds more, adjusting to the idea that now it was too late to change his mind.“

Heat is inconvenient. That’s the first thing that parents and teachers tells you when you get of age. There are hormones that rocket to the sky. A fogging desire to hump everything near you. And of course you can’t forget the loss of rationality that makes you end up presenting for strangers just because your primal side tells you to. Your senses are too sharp; smells make your mouth water. Things start to overwhelm you. Suddenly smells cause your skin itch. Lights and shadows make your ears ring and feel dizzy. And that’s without mentioning how your genitalia reacts. Like clothes and chairs getting drenched. Or your dick pointing to things that you didn’t even know turned you on.

So heat is pretty discomforting.

But it also is pretty unfair. If you’re in luck of being an Alpha, it doesn’t strike you full force. You get the need to mark, to claim. And every little thing ends up being a territorial problem. But you get that every two months. And just under the length of two days. Lucky bastards.

Instead, an Omega heat is baring your throat and pumping out your ass to almost everyone around you. It’s whining because the scent of an alpha hypnotizes your mind. Shuddering because you need fangs over your neck and claws marking your body more than breathing. And the best thing of it all is that it happens every month, and rolls over you full force for four long days or longer. Sometimes even a week. Just peachy.

And yeah, you get time out of school, work, fighting crime under a mask or whatever duty you have with a ticket straight to Jack-Off-Ville. Really wonderful. Who doesn’t want to stay home and play Hand Solo, am I right? But the painful arousal numbing your mind takes away the fun.

There are some solutions that school and goverment are glad to inform new pups getting their first heat each year. Pretty much the usual: stay inside, in a locked room with enough food and water. Have someone you can trust to check up on you once in a while. Sexual toys can be really helpful, but the heat fever may or may not dissapear just with that.

There’s also the option of the social health centers.

Those places are like fucking five star hotels for your heat. As easy and expensive as one would dare to think. You just go, fill some papers with the usual information. Name, age, social security number. What kind of room would you prefer? Are you an alpha or an omega? At what age did you have your first heat? What are your usual symptoms? Are there usually complications? Do you want some specific toys? Would you like a partner? Will you pay with cash or a credit card? Y'know, the usual.

And after all that, you got a nice room that has an unique code to get in. Safe from people in heat running around. And inside you are welcomed with food, water, a private bathroom and lube. Probably more lube than food but hey, you can’t really complain.

And the thing is that there he was. For the first time in his life. Getting the full experience. Fidgeting on the bed. Twisting his hands on the bed sheets. Licking and biting his lips.

Overthinking.

Because that’s exactly what Stiles is best at: overthinking.

He breathes deeply. In for three, out for three. Goosebumps travel across his naked body. It’s not cold nor fear. It’s anticipation. Anxiety. The good kind of anxiety. Or at least that’s what he expects. He sighs, closing his eyes trained at the ceiling.

His mind is starting to get fuzzy at the same time the door to his room opens. He can feel his eyes flare yellow for a couple of seconds even though they’re closed. Instinct kicking in, trying to warn him about an intruder in his den. The undertone of his own scent on top of the alpha stranger hits him. It makes the voice of his wolf go from a loud growl to a low whine. He swallows thickly. Stiles takes a couple of seconds more, adjusting to the idea that now it was too late to change his mind.

“You requested an alpha to knot you?,” says a low voice that sounds like a growl and makes his insides flip. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the heat or the guy actually has the voice of a sex god, but probably at this point it doesn’t matter. He nods slowly, acknowledging with a huff in exchange. “My name is Derek Hale. I have to check that you fully understand the gound rules which are no intimate touching, no foreplay, no feral activities, no marking besides the knot and scenting.”

“Basically a bunch of noes that– fuck,” he isn’t prepared for the sight that welcomes him once he opens his eyes and looks at the door. His voice is from a sex god. Damn, how good it is to be right. And he is going to tap that. Or get tapped by that. Semantics.

The alpha keeps standing awkwardly at the door, dressed in just black briefs and a t-shirt a couple sizes too small that Stiles recognizes as his. There’s muscles bulging under the layer of fabric. Muscles that he wants to lick and bite and do all kinds of things that were already on the not-to-do list. And if the frown that he has is anything to go by, Stiles isn’t being as subtle about it as he thinks.

The silence is getting dense in the room. The alpha - Derek - rakes his eyes all over Stiles’ body, who starts to wriggle, feeling suddenly exposed and utterly horny at the same time. Huh. He prays it’s just a side efect of the heat and not a new kink of his. Stiles averts his eyes to a point over Derek’s shoulder, trying to look more composed that what he feels.

“I’m Stiles Stilinski–”

“What the hell is a Stiles?”

That is a question that he hears quite often and always loves to answer with as much sarcasm as possible. But in this case, a sincere bubble of laughter burst through his throat. He wasn’t expecting it. And by Derek’s face of utter disbelief at that slip up, neither was he. It’s completely priceless. He thinks about how for a moment it doesn’t feel like a medical procedure with a patient but more like two guys alone in a room. More of a cheesy porn scene than a Doctor House rerun. He lets out another laugh, a bit high pitched. Perhaps he isn’t as composed as he wants to believe. He’s slowly going into hysterics. Just peachy.

“Me, I am a Stiles. But don’t worry about it,” he gets up in a sitting position on the bed and watches somewhat amused at how the alpha’s eyes never leave his body. “Shall we start?”

Derek snaps his head up to Stiles’ face. Like some sort of trained puppy. He almost laughs out loud in response, barely containing himself. A bold nod followed by clothes falling to the ground is the last missing piece before Stiles’ brain starts to melt. The pit of his stomach getting fuzzy. He feels like a teenager again, letting his heat take the best of him. Which is his mind. But he couldn’t care less. A greek god is sitting by his side in the bed, ready to knot him. Losing his mind is just a side effect. And he can live with it.

His mouth feels dry for a moment once their eyes locks. Stiles tries to figure out what to call Derek’s eye colour and how is it possible that with the green and the blue there is also grey and gold giving him the same effect as a kaleidoscope. Plumb pink lips swollen and parted from bitting and licking nerviously. Honey brown eyes scanning the alpha up and down like a predator behind heavy lidded eyes. Derek looks away, swallowing hard. And that, my friends, that’s something Stiles is going to have in mind for future reference.

He can feel his throat close and the voice of his wolf growling claim claim claim and mine mine mine over and over. The heat taking over almost completely. This is such a bad idea, he is so sure. He runs a hand down his face, trying to focus. His skin prickling with the need to touch and his gums trying to flash out his fangs, to claim and mark down what clearly isn’t his to do. He balls his hands into fists, trying to ground himself.

“How would you like to proceed?”, Derek’s eyes again lock with his. Stiles feels taken aback because it is almost like if he was about to devour him. You need to keep this proffesional, Stilinski. This time he is the one adverting his eyes away.

“Just… stay there”, said Stiles, his long and lean figure standing up and walking slowly towards Derek. Stiles’ dick is hard and red, a normal response to the heat, but he’s sure it would have happened even without it involved. He’s mesmerized to see that Derek’s is erect and pulsing too. How many times had Derek been professional knotting for him to be so casual about this? Casual and calm but also looking like he would pounce and fuck the shit out of someone at any moment? It makes his insides churn with a bit of jealousy. He’s definetely going insane because of the heat. He swallows hard again in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid thinking, trying to stay calm even with those kaleidoscopic eyes now scrutinizing his face up close. Stiles’ not sure when they got so close or if it was him or Derek the one who took it further. He bites down a moan when the alpha starts scenting his neck with little to none delicacy. He’s going to have beard burn for days. A small whimper escapes from his lips.

Fuck.

“Stiles”, a voice hoarse and cracked says. Stiles can feel his knees tremble at how wrecked Derek sounds. Like Stiles was more than just a client. Was it supposed to be like this? Feel so personal? Something pulls inside his chest and makes him want to get on board with the crazy ideas on his mind and forget whatever fucking rules they should follow. Like biting every inch of skin and bruise the rest with kisses until his primal side feels satisfied. Like carving his back with blunt nails and make Derek smell like him for the rest of his life.

Derek let out a soft growl, making his wolf howl, loud completely restless. Insisting to claim this man, to make him his. Persistent to a point in wich it ached, his skin prickling with unstoppable desire. This is definitely one of the worst idea he ever had, but Derek’s already under his skin. It’s too late now. He can’t leave. He can’t stop it. He don’t want it to stop.

With his mind attune to his primal side, it was easy to stop thinking and get going. He wanted to howl out loud. Bracing his hands on Derek’s shoulders, Stiles put his legs around the alpha’s sides. The arousal written all over his face. He can see Derek clawing the matress to keep himself from touching Stiles and that won’t do. Moving his hips a bit for both of them to feel the lust pool down in their groins. Alpha red eyes flashing at the feel of his insides breaching. Stiles gives a mischievous half smile before starting to lower himself on Derek’s shaft; his hole damp, clenching in anticipation, needing to be fucked raw and hard, to take the heat away.

His mind trying to convey if it is something normal, but losing the train of thought at how good it starts to feel. Derek growls low, which makes him huff a small laugh that dies into a moan. He wants to provoke Derek, get under his skin too. If it is the only way he could get him to remember his awkward self, so be it. “You can’t touch, big guy; s'on the ground rules”

Derek growls even louder, which makes Stiles’ insides vibrate. Everything feels amplified, smells stronger. Would Derek’s taste get stronger too? A whine escapes from his lips, thinking about testing it out. He wants to lick, to kiss, to suck and bite.

Great.

Just great.

It was supposed to be something easy to do. That’s what pamphlets said about health centers. Lying liars who lie. It was supposed to be a big “fuck you” to his heat not plain torture. Not literally because he gets to fuck Derek at least. Sort of. Does it counts when you do it all yourself? The torture is the idea of not being able to touch or mark his skin. It’s driving him crazy. The rhythm of Stiles’ movements get quicker each time a new wave of heat crash over him. The frenzy that pushes his mind into wanting to just come and be knotted is another whole new level of mental distress. In Stiles’ perfect scenario, Derek would take things slowly, make Stiles babble and beg to be fucked and marked. He wants to cry his name out like a prayer and leave no place free of the smell of him and come and them together. But they’re being so impersonal that it’s slowly killing him.

Derek leans near to the pulse point on Stiles’ neck, supporting his forehead there. Stiles stills for a moment before resuming the movement of his hips. He tries to think of a loophole to get around the rules. Something. Anything. His eyes close tightly while his mind tries to break the fact of this just being something professional. They’re not patient and a knotting somewhat-doctor. They’re not. But it doesn’t matter how hard he wishes, they are. His heightened senses flooding with Derek’s everything makes Stiles’ insides twist in a mess of angst and deep desire. The one you can’t shake away. The smell and the sound of skin hitting skin. The moans and whimpers. He can’t handle it. Too much out of his control. Stiles wants to know how Derek does it. How does he stays focused and pretend like this is a nice day in the office with a coffee mug in hand? He wants to know and wants to yell at him for it. But before he can say anything, another growl slips out of Derek’s throat as his hips buck up, slamming in to Stiles. Followed quickly by a surprising, growled out “Mine”, making Stiles gasp and completely stop moving.

And he knows.

Stiles knows how fucked up this is but can’t find a fuck to give. The alpha teeth dragging across the sensitive skin of his collar bones. His tongue caressing the places roughly scraped. A constant rumble on his chest making everything inside Stiles’ vibrate with him. He’s clawing Derek’s shoulders and back while Derek’s hands are on Stiles’ hips, clawing back. A combined loud moan fills the room.

This is wrong and he knows he should stop.

But the sudden urge to make Derek fall apart the same way Stiles is and mark him up so he can’t forget he is his. It’s stronger than anything he ever felt before and it clouds his mind from all reasoning. He starts scenting Derek feverishly. Nosing along his neck, licking and nudging his jaw. Only to suddenly claim Derek’s mouth almost painfully. A clash of fangs, teeth and tongue. The movement of their hips stop, allowing their primal side go. Derek is clearly as intensely affected by all of this, touching every little piece of skin he can - running a hand down Stiles’ back, squeezing his ass, scraping his thighs, scratching his happy trail, pinching his nipples. But never his shaft. Just close enough to make Stiles beg for more. When Derek somehow seems satisfied, he sums up the movement of his hips into deep strokes that draw gasps and moans out of Stiles’ mouth. He can feel something inside himself melt. His wolf side’s ecstastic. Mine. Mine. Take. Mark. Bite. Mark. Scent. Give. Scent. Mine. Mine. He’s not sure when he started, but he can hear his own voice babbling the words out. Wrecked to the core.

A small whimper catches his attention and the next thing he knows, Stiles’ is pinned down on the bed with Derek biting down on his shoulder. Hips stuttering, Stiles feels the swelling of the knot forming in him just as both of them are coming. White lines now covering their bare chests. Stiles can feel joy and pride forming in his chest at the scene. Derek is his and he’s Derek’s. A strange purr comes out of him while scenting Derek’s neck, still holding onto him. He can feel the cloud of arousal dissapearing slowly. The calm and the afterglow turning in to sheer panic.

Oh shit.

How high was he on hormones? He can feel Derek tense slightly under his touch. Derek retracts his fangs looking at the bruise on Stiles’ shoulder. He looks at it too and yeah, that’s definitely a mark that’s never going to leave. Neither physically nor emotionally. Stiles’ face blushes, a small smile tugging at his lips. The same bruised, bitten and parted lips after kissing Derek senseless just moments before. They’re both breathing heavingly. And Derek keeps looking at him, probably in the same way that Stiles is. With awe and surprise. And something fond that make him feel all gooey.

He tentatevely takes one of his hands and cups Derek’s face, who nuzzles into it and relaxes completely. Stiles can feel his heart rate increasing and his insides flip. He wants this forever so much. The soft alpha wolf by his side, nuzzling and cuddling. His other hand slowly traces every feature on Derek’s face. From his eyebrow and the crinkles at the side of his eyes, to his lips and the stubble around it. Every little detail that makes him beautiful. Stiles’ is sure the memory of it all will never leave his mind.

“That wasn’t– We shouldn’t–,” he can hear Derek’s voice crack and go soft before he finishes the sentence. Words dying somewhere along the way between reason and feelings. Warm hands caress Stiles’ side slowly. Derek hides his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck and he can’t avoid the delightful smile that appears on his face.

Everything starts to fall in to place. The tugging in his chest. The jealousy. His wolf going nuts. Even how sappy he is feeling right in this moment. It finally makes sense. It wasn’t normal. That literally wasn’t supposed to happen. Not in such a big world, with so many chances. But what exactly in his life was ever normal? The answer is exactly nothing. And there they were. Making theirs a one in a million case.

He laughs out loud, shaking their bodies with it. Derek rumbles still tucked in Stiles’ neck, making Stiles grin. “Don’t be such a sourwolf.”

Unique and awkward but perfect in their own way.

Mates.

This was definetely his best worst idea ever.

[firingmaincannon]

all that I want is to wake up fine

(okay here’s an actual fic post with a description now that the episode is out for everyone)

Title: all that I want is to wake up fine

Rating: T

Characters: Grif

Relationships: none

Tags/warnings: depression, red team angst, trauma, suicidal ideation (kind of), drug use (also kind of)

Summary: Grif keeps himself occupied during his retirement. (spoilers for rvb15x6, “Reacts”)

(View on AO3 here!)

FYI @flame-cat made an amazing podfic of this as well! You can check it out here, please do, it’s so good, I can’t believe it

Day Zero.

Grif watches the transports take off, keeps staring until they’re blips in the distance. Sits down near the water, stares at the sun until it disappears behind the mountains across the lake. Has bright spots on his vision afterward. Doesn’t really care.

Not gonna be much to look at here anymore, anyway. No reason to keep his guard up.

He closes his eyes and lays his hands flat on the rock, feels its heat burn him. He doesn’t move, though. It’s not a big deal.

Day One.

He can’t sleep, which is bullshit. There’s nothing to do here but sleep now. He loves sleeping. Why the fuck can’t he sleep? He buries his face in the pillow and reflects. Come to think of it, it’s been years since he’s tried to sleep somewhere this quiet. There’s nobody shouting, no gunfire, no windows rattling from mortar shell testing. They fucking took his ability to sleep in regular human conditions, on top of everything else, the bastards.

He gives up on sleep, checks the fridge. Only thing left is Simmons’ meth-meth couscous. Son of a bitch didn’t even throw it away. What, was he planning to finish it?

He tosses the couscous out the nearest hole in the base wall and doesn’t think any more about Simmons. Eats ketchup out of the squeeze bottle, because there’s no one to stop him now. He’s all-powerful.

He eats too much ketchup and pukes. Decides not to eat ketchup by itself anymore, but not because other people would care.

Throwing up tires him out and he goes back to bed. He turns a fan on as loud as it goes and crawls under the sheets. Hopefully the droning will be enough for him to pass out.

Day Two.

He wakes up--late? Looks like the sun’s been up a while, but he doesn’t care to check his alarm clock. Thinks twice. Unplugs it. Goes back to sleep. When he wakes up again, it’s dark. Goes back to sleep. Still dark next time he wakes up. Goes back to sleep. Wakes up. The faintest pink light is starting to come through the window. Gets up and pulls the blinds shut. Goes back to sleep.

Day Four.

Turns out sleeping for more than a day makes you really fucking hungry. He’s almost excited about it. Been a long time since he’s slept this long. There’s not much to choose from, mostly ration bars and MREs. Same old pre-Chorus shit. Donut just had to fuck up all the fresh food that Kimball sent them, didn’t he? Motherfucker.

He finally finds instant pancake mix, and on a whim decides to mix in some coffee grounds. Maybe he’ll wake up a little. The coffee makes the pancakes a hideous color and the smell like death, but he eats them anyway, with his hands because like hell is he doing any dishes today. They’re bad. He considers if adding ketchup would make them worse or better. Decides against ketchup when his stomach reminds him with a sickly gurgle what happened a few days ago. So he just deals.

Sometimes they had eggs back at Blood Gulch. On lucky days he’d get to fry them up, supposedly for the entire base. But Lopez can’t eat and Donut is always watching his waist and Sarge says he only eats meat and Yoo-Hoos and Simmons hates runny eggs and fuck you, Simmons, he’s making his imaginary eggs so runny right now, you couldn’t eat them even if you were here.

He misses….

He misses eggs, is what he misses.

Day Eight.

Donut was right. The park’s gone, but the water’s still there. He doesn’t have a bathing suit, but there’s no one around to say shit, so he goes in naked. Sits at the bottom of the pool and closes his eyes. He’s a good swimmer. Had to be, growing up on the oceanside with a little sister who liked to get caught in undertows. He can hold his breath a long time.

He holds his breath. Keeps holding it. Keeps holding it. Keeps holding...

Day Thirteen.

He’s never had a problem rewatching Battlestar before, but all he can think about now is how much Simmons hated Starbuck. What kind of shithead hates Starbuck? The kind that’s scared of women, that’s who. Every time she’s on screen he can hear Simmons’ bitching. And she’s on screen a lot. Once he hears the whining so clearly that he snarks back out loud without thinking.

After that he snaps the DVD in half. He’ll watch Donut’s romances or Lopez’s novelas instead.

Day Eighteen.

He wakes up on the floor covered in developing bruises, yelling his fucking head off. Another dream about the old base, before Blood Gulch. His old squadron. It’s like he can still smell the blood. These have been happening a lot lately, more than they used to. For a second he wishes he wasn’t alone here, that he could tell someone about it. Simmons, maybe. But no, never mind. He woke up screaming a few times when he first got to Blood Gulch and all he got for it was shot by Sarge. Nobody ever asked why.

He picks himself up off the ground and goes to sit in the kitchen like he’s always done. No one teases him for midnight snacking. No one comes out to comfort him, either, but that’s not new.

Day Twenty-eight.

He plugs in all the stupid Christmas lights they used to communicate with Caboose when he plane-shifted (and seriously, fuck Blue Team and everything they do). Watches them flicker. Tries very hard not to read what they might be spelling out. Fails. Gives in and starts keeping track. He gets to AGNDIIVW before he decides it’s complete gibberish. There definitely aren’t any ghosts trying to communicate with him. He thinks if there was one, it’d probably be Church asking for more fucking favors. He rips the plug out of the wall and the lights go dark.

Day Forty-one, maybe.

Today he realizes that Blue Team had their own stash of Oreos hidden in Caboose’s room. And Grif’s supposed to be the selfish one? Fuck you, Tucker, he’ll show you selfish. He takes the pillows from every single bed in both bases and throws them on the floor, drops onto them as hard as he can. They’re all his now. He is the pillow dictator.

Actually the pillows smell kind of terrible by themselves and worse together. It’s awful but he can tell which one belonged to which idiot just by smelling. Donut’s is floral and overpowering. Throws that one out of the pile. The one that must be Tucker’s is fucking unspeakable. He wraps his hand in several layers of paper towel to pick it up and toss it too. Motor oil, aftershave, whatever weird organic shampoo Carolina uses, fucking bubblegum scent from Caboose (complete with the actual bubblegum stuck on the corners, the guy is a goddamn animal)…. They all fail inspection and get chucked. Eventually he’s left with just two. His own, and….

The smell isn’t unpleasant but he still wants to puke. He throws Simmons’ pillow across the room. Fuck it, he’ll stick with his own.

Day Fifty(? Fifty-one? Fifty-two?)

He settles down on top of the base (the wreckage of the base, Donut can fuck himself, he’s so glad Donut’s gone) with his guitar and an amp. Plays a little. He can’t quite get the tuning right. Might be the humidity out here.

Finally gets all the strings in tune. It sounds weird anyway. Maybe he’d just gotten used to Carolina’s caterwauling. “You can’t sing for shit,” he says out loud, because he never could say it out loud to her before. Doesn’t feel scared saying it, or thinking it, for once. He feels a little mean, though. She wasn’t that bad. Not compared to everyone else in the group. He wonders if she ever sings now, on her Freelancer adventure bullshit with Wash, or if it was something she only did when she was around the Reds and Blues. He hopes she does sing, a lot. Wash deserves it.

Day ???

It’s beautiful today, and that pisses him off. Makes it hard for him to stay inside and do nothing, which is all he wants to do most days. But on a whim he hops in the Puma—because he can call it that now, god dammit, and not get shot in the face for it—and takes off.

In his head, he goes a long way, takes a trip past the dinosaur-robot warzone, up the mountains to the east of their bases, into the plains. It’s a nice mental trip he has laid out. But the Puma shits itself an hour away from the base and he can’t get it started again for the life of him. Et tu, Puma? he thinks, and kicks the treads. So. Great. He’s stranded out here now, and it’s not like there’s anyone to come pick his ass up. Not that they probably would anyway, unless they needed the vehicle. But whatever. This is where he dies, apparently.

…Or not, because when he wanders into the shade of a nearby thicket to die in comfort, he stumbles upon more meth-meth mushrooms. With these he can probably run all the way back to the base. Or his heart might stop. Either way, at least he won’t starve to death.

They taste like shit but he feels fucking incredible. His heart might be exploding right now but who cares he is running so fast he is the fastest person on the planet and that would be true even if he wasn’t the only person on the planet can he run on water right now? he can probably run on water right now oh hey look it’s the base woops he passed it but might as well keep running anyway and maybe he’ll set a new record for how far one person can run he’s probably already set a record because he’s so, so fast and Sarge will be so mad that Grif’s the best at something and oh huh maybe he’s not going so fast anymore maybe it’s starting to wear off and oh, god dammit, he’s coming down, he hurts everywhere and now he’s an hour away from the base in the other direction. Fuck.

It takes him hours to recover, and the better half of a day to walk all the way back. He feels fuzzy for a couple days afterward but he’s pretty sure he’s not dying. Probably. But it doesn’t worry him too much.

Day ???

He’d figured they’d call, eventually. They must have found the source of the stupid message by now, right? It’s been weeks. Months maybe. He’s pretty sure all the analogue calendars burned with the bases and his HUD’s been fucked since before they left. But it can’t take them that long. The fucking reporter seemed pretty singleminded about her investigation, and she’s smarter than the rest of them put together, so she at least must have found Church by now. And he’d thought that once the others found Church they’d come back, or send a message, or something. Apologizing for everything—no, no way. Yelling at him more for not wanting to deal with Blue Team problems, more likely. Something.

Just…

He’d figured they’d call.

Day ???

He wakes up from another nightmare. It’s been so long that he doesn’t remember the faces of his old squadron, but it doesn’t matter, because tonight they’ve been replaced by newer people. Faces he doesn’t want to see here on this planet right now, yelling at him or smirking or thinking things they know nothing about. But not faces he wants to see dead either. Not that.

Day ???

He breaks his E string while playing and suddenly wants to smash the guitar so bad he can hear the wood of the neck creaking under his fingers. He doesn’t do it. Smashes Tucker’s bass instead. Smashes it to tiny pieces against the wall of their practice space. He wishes he felt like Pete Townshend while doing it, but he just feels tired. He sits down amongst the shattered chunks of wood and plastic and breathes hard for a long time.

Day ???

They’re not going to call.

Day ???

He sits by the lake, the same spot where he watched their ships leave orbit, and thinks of Kai. Wonders what she’s doing right now. If she’s in as much of a mess as he is. If she thinks about him, most days, the way he thinks about her. If he’s even a blip on her radar. If not, he doesn’t blame her. She’s always had her own life, which is exactly how he wanted it. It scares the shit out of him, every time she disappears, but he fought like hell to give her a chance to do whatever dumb shit she wants to do. And honestly, if that means she forgets about him sometimes, whatever. She knows he loves her, and she loves him back, in her own freakish way. That’s how their family has always worked.

“You gave up a lot for her,” Simmons told him once, when they were back in Blood Gulch and shitfaced and Kai had just showed up and he’d had to explain their whole deal. Grif had shrugged, because it’s just how life worked for them. It wasn’t a big deal, was it? He was never going to be a great success anyway, it wasn’t like working a shitty job or dropping out of school really hurt him any. He wasn’t giving up much.

Now he’s years older and a millennium more tired and he’s so, so angry. Not at Kai, because she doesn’t know what he did for her, and never will, because if she did she’d feel bad and he doesn’t want that. No, he’s angry at Simmons, and Sarge, and every single person he ever even thought of as something resembling a friend. They all chose the military, they all chose this, and he didn’t get a choice. None of this was ever his choice. That’s nothing new. That’s been his life since the day he got drafted. And okay, maybe he could deal with that, because that’s how his life has always been.

But he never wanted any of this, those fuckers never noticed. They never asked. They never cared.

None of them cared at all, god dammit, they just called him lazy or stupid or fat and maybe all those things are true but why would he be anything else if he hasn’t had something worth choosing or living for since he stopped being Dexter and started being Private Grif of the fucking Red Army? Why would he bother being a complex person when nobody around gave a shit about him either way? Why trust people with his private shit when nobody wants to hear it? Why care about them, after all this time he spent fighting with them and watching their backs and taking bullets for them, when the first time he tells them he can’t do this anymore, they leave him behind? Why invest a fucking second of his time in them when they’ve never asked anything about him, never wondered why he might not want to fight anymore, never questioned why he sleeps all the time and eats all the time and does his best not to care about anything?

Because that’s the problem. He’s tried so hard not to care, and he’s spent years failing, and they don’t know because what he feels doesn’t mean anything to them.

“Grif cares about his friends,” the reporter said. Yeah, no shit. They just don’t care about him.