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railingsofsorrow · 1 day ago

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Back To Normalcy

[JJ Maybank x reader]

summary: JJ often caught your unfocused gaze drifting to a random corner, lost inside your head. After Morocco, he noticed that a lot.

pairing: jj maybank x f!reader

w.c: 2.8K

warnings/content: near death experiences (flashbacks); obx4 ending is discussed (as in graphic descriptions of what happened so be aware); jj being the best whipped boyfriend; PTSD is hinted; hurt/comfort (trust me, no one dies); paragraphs in italics are flashbacks.

A/N: this is kind of a fix-it and it is set after the pogues find the blue crown. it will have discrepancies regarding canon cause I didn't watch obx4 part 2. bear with me. I'm editing this in the middle of class lol. merry christmas to those who celebrate and a happy new years!!!

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“So it's like... We gotta think of everything. Yeah, we found it, but we gotta—”

“... Have a solid plan, yeah, Pope.” John B cut him off, earning a glare which made the edge of his lips quirk up in amusement. If there was one thing the Pogues had fun in doing, that thing was annoying Pope Heyward. It was just too easy. “Sorry, sorry.” The Routledge boy raised his arms, pretending to surrender but the grin in his mouth betrayed him. John B never felt the will to smile more than he did in that moment. He had his friends. His family. With him. Safe and sound. Finally. Everyone in one piece. Barely. . . And back home. What more could he ask for?

What more could any of them ask for, really?

You tuned out the conversation for the tenth time that night. You loved bonfires. Especially the ones where your friends organized, where you felt at home around their stupid jokes and drunk laughter.

But you couldn't focus tonight. Somehow you always ended up right back in the scalding sand of Morocco, blood sipping through your fingers as tried desperately to stop it. Your screams of agony even though you weren't the one stabbed echoed through your brain like you had worked hard to memorize it.

You'd rather it had been you, actually. No doubt about that.

The soft nudge in your leg made you step out of the infusion of bad memories your head had conjured up. As your eyes adjusted to the bonfire's flames, you noticed all your friends staring at you in expectancy.

“What?”

Instead of the nudge, you felt cold fingers come in contact with your thigh and you almost flinched at the coldness — that coldness — before you caught the beer bottle in his hand. With a gentle squeeze to your thigh, JJ brought you back to Earth.

“I was just tellin' them here,” he began, leaving his beer aside to scoot closer. “how I'm gonna kidnap you to South America any moment now.”

“Hey.” You forced your breathing to slow down. He didn't need you freaking out now, he needed you to be on your best sane behavior, that's what JJ needed. He needed you. “Jay? Baby, take a deep breath, it's alright.”

“He, um...” JJ's shaky hands reached yours and you shook your head when his fingers curled around your bloody ones in his stomach. “I can't— You—”

“I'm here. It's okay. It's gonna be okay, yeah? You just, you just have to keep breathing. Slowly, like me? Okay?”

Where was everybody?

“And how are you gonna do that?” You forced out, taking a long sip of your beer in a foolish attempt of drowning the memories in your head.

Sarah let out a snicker and Cleo's thick accent scolded somebody but you couldn't bring yourself to the present moment. No, you were still fucking there.

“Pope!” You bellowed now unable to control the shakiness of your hands as they tried to stop the blood. So much blood. So much blood. Why? “John B! Where is— Kiara! Baby, hey, hey!” You used one of your hands to grab his cheek, tilting his head to look at you, his half-lidded eyes showed you how weak he was. You didn't care that his pretty face was smeared with your bloody hands, you had to make him stay awake. “JJ? JJ!”

He blinked with difficulty, gazing up at you. “Hi...” And he had the decency to smile. He smiled! How can someone who has been stabbed smile and it takes your breath away the same away? You never thought you'd see his last smile and you shouldn't even be thinking of that because you both are young and have a whole life ahead of you so why would you be thinking of your boyfriend's last smile?

“Hey.” You cried out. “J, you gotta stay awake for me, okay? I'm getting help. You just have to—”

“I love you.”

Certainly, your whole body froze right at that second. That hadn't been the first time he said it, no. JJ made sure to let you know he loved you thousands of times ever since he said the three little words for the first time. And every time he said it, you felt the warmth of his arms around you, his sunbathed skin against yours and the softness of his lips curling in his favorite spot on your neck after a long day.

That's what “I love you” means when JJ says it.

Except now there was no warmth because he felt cold. Everything regarding him was cold. The kind of coldness a boy with the sun in his smile shouldn't have. There was no smile, not the same smile, at least. There was no life because your favorite boy was saying goodbye and that's what his words meant this time.

Coming back to the bonfire was almost as if a bucket of cold water had been splashed in your face. Your friends had vanished. Nobody was around but you.

“Hey.”

. . . And JJ.

You should've thought he wouldn't have left you alone.

“Hey,” you offered him a half-assed smile. “Where's everyone?”

“Inside.” He mentioned towards the house with a jerk of his head before turning back to you. His cerulean eyes studied your frame for a bit before he let out a sigh, standing up and outstretching a hand in your direction.

You stared at it and him with a raise of your brow. A question.

There was nothing JJ hated more than waiting. So, he didn't wait. He lowered fully to kiss your lips since you were sitting down, enjoying the way they parted in surprise. Stealthily, he wrapped an arm behind your back and beneath your knees and before you could react he pulled you up as if you weighted a penny.

“Jesse James Maybank!”

Oh, he was well aware he was in deep shit when you say that but hell, he missed having a reaction from you that was something other than forced smiles and blank stares.

JJ often caught your unfocused gaze drifting to a random corner, lost inside your head. After Morocco, he noticed that a lot.

“Not the government name, babe.”

“Dude, put me down.”

A gasp. “And now I've been called dude what has this world become!”

He halted near the water, after walking across the beach for a few long minutes with you in his arms. You just stopped fighting, slapping his butt at every step he took.

“You think it's the drums or somethin'?”

“Could be.”

As he sent a look of disapproval your way once he placed you down on your feet, it pulled a laugh out of you.

His fingers — no longer cold — cupped your cheeks and brought you closer. “Do it again.”

“Do what?”

His eyes carried that glint of pure joy mixed with the ocean blue that would get you hypnotized. You just didn't know why this time.

“Your laugh. Haven't heard it in so long.”

Oh.

“That's not true.” You held his wrists just to feel the warmth of his skin when he began caressing your cheeks.

JJ hummed, the sound a gentle protest against your claim. He's come a long way to know your little tells, so he wasn't not easily fooled. With a glance in your way, he knew the hidden meanings.

“Uh, yeah. It is, babe.”

You pulled your hair behind your ears, burying your toes in the sand as you racked your brain to seek an excuse that would work to get you out of that conversation. Any excuse would do, really. But you feared you used all of them since you came back from Morocco. And he knew that.

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed down with difficulty.

“Are you?”

“That's not what I asked.”

You finally glanced up, finding him staring forward at the waves, almost distracted. No, not almost. The look in his eyes, you recognize in yourself when drifted back to two weeks ago and the horror took over your mind. It didn't only happen to the two of you, you remember that every time you caught John B outside in the middle of the night, arms behind his head as he stared at nowhere in particular. Or Sarah, when she would crawl up into your bed saying she missed you but you knew exactly what she meant by that. Or Cleo. Oftentimes you needed to force something out of her given everything she went through otherwise she would shove it all in and then never share. Or Pope, because he lost a lot and yes he would never say he hated the whole chasing gold adventure or Poguelandia but he missed safety and a time when you didn't have to worry about danger at your every corner. He's getting used to peace a little more now. Or Kiara, the girl who was a fighter through and through and would choose her friends over anyone in the world, but she needed reassurance once in a while and you all would coddle her a little when you knew it was time for it.

The look.

They all had it. They all suffered through stuff that made them carry it.

And not talking about it made it worse, you told Cleo that once, but since when did you ever take your own advice?

“Yeah, well, Jayj.” You begin, crossing your arms over your chest as the wind picked up. “It happened to you, not to me. It's you who should be ready to talk about it, not me.”

“I remember the blood in your hands, my blood,” JJ still didn't look at you. He was ready to talk about it, not ready-ready but he could accept what happened. That he almost wasn't here. “I remember your voice asking—pleading for me to not close my eyes—”

“Stop.”

JJ finally turned to you, his lips tugging downwards with sadness. “See? It's you who can't talk about it.”

“You almost died in my arms and you expect me to just accept that as if it was a common occurrence?!” It came out as an accusation but in reality you didn't really blame him. He had no fault whatsoever in being stabbed and almost dying. The fault relayed only on the person who caused this torture on all of you. “I can't...” Your voice cracked with newfound emotion. “I can't imagine living in a world where you're not in it, JJ.”

Before he could speak, you cut him off. The dam had broke and now everything you had been hold it in was going to be unleashed.

“You told me you loved me and then you... You stopped breathing.”

He blinked, brows furrowing in thought. JJ knew there was some things he couldn't entirely recall that day, but he didn't remember that.

“I love you.”

If his heartbeat was faint before, now it was non-existent and if felt like the weight of the world had crumbled down on you.

“Open your eyes,” you begged, grabbing his cheeks as a cry of pain left your lips. He was cold. His eyelids shut as if he was sleeping. He was calm. “JJ, open your eyes!” And that's when you felt something touch your shoulder, different hands and voices beside you. All you could focus was on him. “No, c'mon. Jay. Jay? I didn't—” you held his head to your chest, fully sobbing. It was like your heart was being ripped apart. “I didn't say it back.”

Even if she had told him she loved him as many times before, she hadn't say it one last time in time.

You flinched slightly when you were pulled into a pair of arms, fingers reaching the back of your neck to gently press you against a chest. A beating heart welcomed your ears and you didn't realize you were crying until the sobs must've echoed the entire beach.

“I'm sorry, I don't— I don't remember that.”

Your cries were muffled by his shirt. “It wasn't your fault,” you said, your chest tight. “I wish it hadn't gotten to that point cause it was... Fuck.”

JJ tightened his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into your neck. He was still clearly shaken up by what happened, reasonably so. But seeing you like that... He would've take back every decision he made that took your group to that moment just so you wouldn't have to go through that.

He complained when you pulled back a little, drying your tears to glance up at him. Your lips stretching into a timid smile. A real one.

“I'm glad you're okay.” You said with a nod, exhaling as the fog diminished significantly. “I'm happy. But I'm so deeply sorry that I couldn't do more. That I almost let you—”

“Hey, no, no.” JJ was quick to interrupt your train of thought, grabbing your shoulders. “Do not even go there, alright? Absolutely not. Don't even— babe.” He leaned down to connect your foreheads. “You saved my life. All of you. You really think I'd be fine with going... wherever that I wouldn't be able to annoy the shit out of you? I mean— ow!”

You glared at him after punching his forearm though you weren't upset as soon as he gave you his disarming grin that turned your legs to Jell-O.

“You told me you can't imagine living in a world where I'm not in it, right? Well.” JJ brought your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles as his blue eyes full of life studied you in a serious manner. “I happen to absolutely not want to live in a world without in it either...” He tugged you closer. “It would be boring as hell and that's why I would probably, I don't know, crawl out of whatever grave I was in to tickle your feet during the night.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned with a laugh and he shut you up with a kiss, his hand crawling up on your back to press your closer.

“I can't live without your sounds,” he kissed the edge of your mouth, then moved towards your jaw. “Any of them. I can't live without your smile or seeing your lashes fluttering before you wake up. Or without seeing you when you're pissed at me and you pout the entire time, it just makes me want to kiss you but I know it would earn me a punch in the neck.”

“Yeah it would.”

He chuckled, lifting you so you could wrap your legs around his middle. He held the back of your thighs, thumbs running through your smooth skin.

“Hey.” He said softly, bumping his nose with yours as the waves crashed a few feet away, butting in on your moment. “I love you. And I'm gonna stay in your life for as long as you let me. There will be no stupid rushed goodbyes or near-death experiences that will stop that, alright?” He smiled when you nodded, pressing your lips to his. “Yeah.” He started kissing your whole face then just to listen to the inevitable sound of your laugh again. He could never get tired of it. JJ would crawl out of hell just to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

“And about that South America trip—”

“I'm in.” You said, resting your chin on his shoulder, fingertips scratching his scalp as you stared at the sea. “You can kidnap me to wherever you want.”

His excited laughter echoed in your ears like your favourite song chiming in during a stormy night.

“Oh we're gonna have so much fun.” JJ started rambling on his way back to the house, you in his arms because he refused to put you down. “I'm finally teaching you how to surf! And we can visit all the beaches in Brazil, 'm gonna show you some pictures, it'll be amazin', baby, you'll see.”

“I can't wait.” You mumbled with a kiss to his temple. “Are you just gonna carry me around or...”

“Yes.” He pecked your lips, hands squeezing your waist lightly which earned a proper curse out of you and his usual untamed laugh that you were crazy about. “Just stay put and look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, wrapping both arms around his neck and didn't complain. Why would you? You had your favorite boy holding you in his arms, rambling about your future plans to South America on his way to your place. You had nothing to complain about.

You just had to get used to getting back to normalcy.

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taglist: @hoeshissworld

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x fem!reader #outer banks fanfiction #obx season 4 #outer banks imagine #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fanfiction

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bookwyrm314 · 3 days ago

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That was a bogus study (they stopped measuring when people turned 25, so we don't know how long the brain keeps changing--though we might guess it just does that as long as it's still kicking)

That being said, there's nothing wrong with checking in on a friend who started dating somebody older than them. How much older are we talking? Well, there isn't an age number rule because these things are along gradients and require context and critical thinking skills.

The older that both parties are, the less worried you generally have to be. Ages 40 and 60 are far apart, but both parties have a LOT of life experience, so the age gap probably isn't going to matter much, if at all, frankly.

But 15 and 20? Nah, that's creepy. It's only a five year difference, but the 20 year old is clearly grooming the 15 year old. No college student should be interested in a middle school child.

So, yea, age gaps can be a problem. But you have to actually talk to the people in the relationship and get context to figure out where on the spectrum of "that's a pedophile" to "this literally doesn't matter at all to their relationship" the specific real life situation falls on.

None of this seems super complicated to me, so I don't understand why people are still being weird about it. It would be sorta understandable if the context here was discussing the legislative difficulty of trying to handle this problem, but the text reblog chain above doesn't seem to be tackling that at all.

So, defending age gaps outside of a particular context comes off as kind of skeezy to me. "It's not always problematic!" Of course not. But you're not going to know until you start asking questions, so "this might be ok, actually" is a weird starting point to put out there on the internet, without any other context to make it make sense.

Like I dunno your little bubble of the internet, but normal people with half a brain aren't saying that ALL age gaps are ALWAYS a problem no matter what. Maybe somehow you found some dumbasses who genuinely believe that? They can continue to loudly show off their red flag of not using critical thinking skills and we can all avoid them in our lives.

But I gotta believe the majority of people aren't that stupid. People KNOW power imbalances exist in a bunch of different ways, because they recognize them in their day to day lives. And the way we fight back against those things is by naming them and talking about them freely.

So yea, maybe that 21 yo went straight into the trades and is done with being an apprentice and has a decent union career they're starting and the 30 yo is the one in college. Maybe it isn't the particular demographic of older male preys on younger female. Maybe the money situation is equitable.

But if you're friends with either of those people, what kind of friend are you if you're not asking questions about their new partner? What quality of friendship do you have if you can't talk to each other about power imbalances in relationships?

Sure, it might be fine. But if you don't get the context to determine that, you have no idea what's going on. And having been on the victim end of one of these kinds of things? It's really shitty and traumatizing. And everyone who normalized it was not exactly helping me see things for what they were and escape.

So, again, weird take. Age gaps themselves are not inherently problematic, but since abuse DOES happen along power imbalances, it's-best case-really fucking weird to start writing with "ok they aren't all evil though" nobody is saying that?? Who are you defending here? The adults in risk aware consenting relationships gotta get grilled for their friends to find out things are above board.

Finding out a specific case isn't a case of abuse is not a reason to stop checking for abuse where it occurs more frequently.

can I be so honest. can I be so real. is this a safe space.

I don't actually think that a 21 year old hooking up with a 30 year old is that bad. I don't think it's a problem the way people make it out to be. that's two legal adults having sex, chief.

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olderthannetfic · 2 days ago

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As someone who some times works with disabled people who do handcrafts. It's not actually an accessibility support to make those thousands of sizes, so I really get your issues with it.

Most of those patterns work like shit. Most of the physically disabled people still do their own patterns and adjustments, they just need tools that are better suited their individual needs. A person in a wheelchair or with one arm has to adjust things, but the ones I've worked with, who've been into their crafting hobbies for decades, can do most these things themselves.

People with mental disabilities (lower functioning (IDK if Anglospeakers still use that term tho)) can't get a use out of these hundreds of pattern types because they need a different kinda help when attempting them. (Easier standard patterns with good instructions are way better than advanced patterns ranging from the XXXXXS to XXXXXXXXLs, basically)

All in all, these "inclusive" patterns whatever else falls into it is just another one of those "THINK OF THE DISABLED!!!" when in most cases it's performative and seems to be more of a "Lazy ppl/Hustlers use disabled people to demand/sell something."

Godddd.

The latest crochet thing was an issue where the pattern is written in a normal, traditional style. It has a lot of shorthand. It also explicitly says that it isn't for beginners. The free versions are a video or one of those oldschool blogs with bajillions of ads that make it impossible to read.

Now, I can see why this would be a problem, especially if you aren't willing to cough up the $5 for the download.

However, the solution is to either teach a person to read traditional-style patterns with their nice, succinct abbreviations or find them a crafting buddy who can work with them one-on-one on that particular pattern.

Learning to read patterns sometimes isn't easy. That's true for everyone with every type of brain. That's why it's a thing you teach. The moaning about this is like someone going "Some books are harder than See Spot Run and that's bad!"

The wank was a combo of people wanting every pattern written out fully in sentences the way one on etsy from last week would be and of people wanting to participate in some stupid viral tiktok trend and thus "needing" an accessible version of that specific pattern.

(Someone created said accessible version... i.e. they drove traffic away from the blog post with the ads. Good job, genius. Both this person and the pattern designer have ended up with a million haters descending on their heads, of course. Everybody lost.)

I'd trust a designer like Skeindeer Knits to have some idea how to design a sleeve that can fit over my upper arm. I would not trust Andrea Mowry and her weird stick arms ideas about biceps circumference. I love her patterns and especially her promo photos, but jesus.

I think there's a poisonous pattern of both ~needing~ to make what everyone else just did (so all patterns have to be all things to all people) and of everybody just picking whatever designer looks most aspirational in their photo shoots.

I'd have way more respect if "I only promote size inclusive patterns" was followed by "Here are designs from designers who found a plus size model or who are plus size themselves" instead of "I checked the size range listed on ravelry." (Who am I kidding? Of course they won't do that. So few big designers bother to get a plus size model that it would mean tons of extra work for the youtuber doing a pattern roundup.)

So it all ends up back at "The sophie scarf looks good on everyone!!!"

It's the holidays.

Everyone is making that overrated dishrag as a gift for their 20 nearest and dearest.

Kill me now.

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genderqueerdykes · 2 days ago

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Very random but wanted to thank you for jumping in to defend systems who don't have a dissociative disorder!!

We're a system with a /lot/ of trauma, and we believe it may be tied some part of our plurality (and overall trans identity, for that matter) but we certainly don't experience anything akin to DID or OSDD and it always makes us very nervous, since people love to hate on systems like that. We're just trying to exist, too.

So thank you, for defending us.

of course! i'm happy to hear that it's made an impact!

you know that's another good point to be made, is some systems have trauma... but not a dissociative disorder. people with severe trauma can and do dissociate without it becoming a dissociative disorder on its own. and even if you don't dissociate, trauma can still make being multiple people in one body a very valid way to cope with that trauma. trauma is super complex and complicated. it shouldn't be discredited as something that can affect someone's life this strongly. it doesn't have to be recognized as a dissociative disorder in order to be happening

like, there are a lot of experiences that occupy the gap between PTSD and DID. mental health is not black and white. and i have to reiterate that disagreeing with how someone identifies is literally not the same as them attacking you and it never will be. i CANNOT get over this. i do not understand why people think that just because they DISAGREE with how someone else identifies that that person is somehow a threat to them, or mocking them. it's not your goddamn business. that plural's plurality is their business, not anyone else's

anyways, i'm glad you feel a bit more seen. exactly what you said: you're just trying to exist. you're not doing this to hurt anyone or insult anyone. trauma itself can cause dissociation. ptsd can cause dissociation. it doesn't have to be a full blown dissociative disorder. the plural doesn't have to dissociate *at all*. everyone's brains are wired differently. you can't expect something as complex as a human brain to fall into neat boxes. it just doesn't work like that. take care of yourselves, if you need any help feel free to let us know!

#asks #answers #plurality #plural #system #plural system

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thechy-fychannel · 2 days ago

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You said you think pre-infarction house was an addict-can you expand on that? What drugs were he hooked on and why did he fully switch to vicodin and never used others again? Did he ever reach a go-to-rehab level addiction? How did wilson handle that? And what was Stacy's attitude towards his addiction? I think she would have been a lot more forgiving than cuddy because 1. She herself is a smoker who goes back to cigarettes during hard time and 2. Unlike cuddy, she didn't have a small child to worry about.

Ahhh thank you sm, I love this question!!! Let's get into it ✨

So my theory is that house was abusing morphine prior to the infarction. here are my reasons for thinking so:

1. Three Stories- the entire reason house's infarction was as bad as it was is bc everyone except house was convinced he was just drug seeking at first. it makes absolutely zero sense for them to think that unless he already had a history of drug seeking. unless I misremember (anyone feel free to correct me if I'm wrong) he already worked at PPTH for a while before the infarction happened. so it was the same doctors he knew and interacted with every single day that saw him screaming in agony and chose to believe he was just trying to seek drugs and not actually in pain. he had to have a history, it just doesn't make sense otherwise for them to assume he was drug seeking.

2. one very specific line in No Reason (the episode where house is shot and the whole episode is a hallucination). when house, wilson, and cuddy are in her office and house is realizing they did something to his brain (the ketamine treatment) cuddy says this specific line: "You were out of control, you were shooting morphine!" This line has always stuck out to me and no one ever seems to mention it. It's very out of place bc the conversation they're having is about him being shot and them doing something to him while he was under. I think this was his brain connecting this event to the last time someone did something to him while he was unconscious, trying to rationalize these traumatic events.

3. In early s3 when the pain comes back, he begs cuddy to give him a shot of morphine in his spine (the scene where he drops his pants in her office and asks her in tears if the scar is all in his head too since she thinks the pain is all in his head.) cuddy gives him the shot and he comes back looking for another one later on, after the pain comes back again. she informs him that she never gave him morphine, it was saline. the fact that the pretend morphine worked suggests he had a mental dependency on it. I'm pretty sure this is the point where he goes back to vicodin (it's been a few months since I did my last rewatch so I could be wrong). I think had she actually given him morphine, he likely would've become addicted to it again. Just the thought of the morphine was enough to have him looking for more.

4. Wilson's tendency to jump straight to heroin use when he thinks house is on something other than vicodin. it happens more than once in the series when house starts acting just the slightest bit off, wilson leaps to the conclusion that he's on heroin. which is an insane leap to make unless it's something he's had to worry about in the past. I think the reason wilson would jump to heroin over morphine is if he knows what it looks like when house is high on morphine. If house used to abuse morphine, wilson would be able to recognize it and if he can't, it must be something much worse. this again plays into why I think he was an addict prior to the infarction even if it wasn't morphine, because who in their right mind would jump to their best friend using heroin if that person didn't have a long history of abusing similar drugs?

Now to answer your other questions:

Why did he switch to vicodin and not go back to others he may have been addicted to? I can tell you from personal experience that while morphine feels great, it makes you hazy and tired and out of it. I think once he was prescribed vicodin after his surgery and learned that he could function on it and not feel hazy, it was a match made in heaven for him (he says a few times in the show that vicodin doesn't make him hazy, so he immediately knows if he's on something else bc he feels hazy.) He didn't need to switch to anything else as long as he had access to vicodin bc he got the high, the pain relief, and no haziness. but when he got cut off of his vicodin during the tritter ordeal, he stole oxycodone (I think?) from wilson's dead patient. so if he didn't have vicodin, it's safe to assume he would go back to whatever he had access to.

Did he ever reach rehab level addiction? / What was Stacy's attitude towards his addiction? I think if we go based off his colleagues thinking he was drug seeking + cuddy saying he was out of control and shooting up morphine, I would say yes, it was rehab level addiction. But— I feel like if it had been that bad, stacy would've mentioned it in some sort of capacity during her arc when they were discussing their relationship. she never hints at him being an addict as far as I can remember. she loved and cared about house so much that she was willing to accept him hating her if it meant he was alive and healthy. I feel like if his addiction had been dangerous, she would've done anything to get him help the same way she did during his infarction. even if it meant going against his wishes and him hating her, she would've insisted he got help. so I'm conflicted on that question, honestly. I think maybe it depends on the perspective of those around him. maybe those at the hospital saw something stacy didn't, I'm not sure. but I agree with what you said about her being more forgiving and understanding of it than cuddy was. I think if he had been an addict while they were together, she would've given him an endless amount of chances until it became dangerous, that's when she would put her foot down and try to force him into rehab and their relationship probably would've crumbled for a whole different reason.

How did Wilson handle his addiction? I think house being an addict prior to the infarction plays perfectly into the theme of wilson emotionally neglecting his wives for house. we obviously don't have an exact timeline of his marriages aside from his first one ending just before house and wilson met, but it's pretty safe to assume that he was married to and even possibly divorced from bonnie before the infarction ever happened since he seems to have been married to julie for a little while in the beginning of the show.

[sidenote: here is my personal timeline HC for wilson's marriages.

Sam: 1991-1992 (canon)

Bonnie: 1993-1998

Julie: 1999 (before infarction) - 2005]

In the episode where house uses bonnie to get dating info about wilson, she says the iconic line, "You always needed him and he was always there for you. He had a wife waiting for him at home and you didn't care." And it just makes sense if the reason house always needed him was because of his struggles with addiction. house in general is a needy person who always wanted wilson's affection to himself, that much is clear, but wilson had to of had a good excuse to always run off for whatever it is house needed from him prior to him being disabled.

Getting into more specifics about how wilson would've handled his addiction back then— I think he would've handled it similarly to the way he did with the vicodin. he's an enabler unfortunately, he would've let house make excuses and made excuses for him because he tries to give house the benefit of the doubt that he can control himself. I think back then even more so, because house wasn't in pain and disabled, wilson had no reason to think house couldn't control himself. I think it's even possible that wilson was in denial about it too, he didn't want to believe his best friend was an addict and maybe he felt like he needed to protect house when others started accusing him of such. I think that may be why wilson asked cuddy to make that bet with house to find out if he was addicted to vicodin. he ignored it and denied it last time and he's enabled him for years since the infarction, he wanted to know if he was treating house's pain or still enabling an addict. the answer was both, which makes it no less complicated. but like with all of house's issues, wilson continues to stand by him and be there for him bc he loves him and wants him in his life, addict or no addict.

#chyanne speaks #asks #house md #thank you for sending these wonderful asks and letting me ramble and deep dive into these characters!!

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twentyyearstoolate · 6 hours ago

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You awake, groggily, strapped to a metal slab - at least you think it's metal, although it's no metal you've ever seen or felt before - and the light is too dim to make out anything else in the room. It reminds you of the detention hall back in high school, but more round, and-

"That's enough... Susan."

A figure emerges from the gloom - it walks on... six legs, you'd guess, from the patter on the metal surface. It looks almost like a stick bug - like the ones you used to keep as a kid. Your old terrarium wasn't big enough for the four you kept, but you and your parents didn't know any better. Oh, it's your mom's birthday on the 26th, you still haven't gotten her a pres-

"ENOUGH!"

"But I didn't say anyth... Wait. Are you reading my mind?"

The creature chuckles, shockingly without making any noise or moving its mouth... mandibles?

"Yes, they are mandibles, Susan."

Now you understand. It was trying to intimidate you earlier with the whole name thing. What does it want? You suppose you've already asked it. The whole thing reminds you of a story out of Weird Tales. Volume 28. Or was it 27? Maybe-

"Will you pay attention? Xlaxar above... We... are the Yttites. We seek to dominate all life across the uni- Wh- STOP THAT! DISGUSTING!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"The gall of this troglodytic ape. We seek to... conquer all life across the universe. On behalf of the Grand Emperor, we- Stop. Stop. I know not what this 'God-Emperor' is or the... 'For Tee Kay' from whence it springs but they are not alike, have you heard a single word I've planted in that thick skull of yours?"

"I'm really sorry, I've been off my meds for a while."

"Mrist, communicating with you is like trying to read a dozen datapads at the same time. Yes, mrist is a swear word. No it's not like 'fuck,' it has nothing to do with forni- oh. I suppose it is, then. I-"

It pauses.

"I can feel your... flitting about, are you all like this? ...Six percent... ...Six percent that are diagnosed? No, stop, I don't want to hear about premium healthcare. Healthcare premiums, whatev- STOP! SHUT UP!"

"Look, my brain's just like this, okay? I can't turn it off."

Its face betrays no emotion, but through some sort of empathic link, you sense a creeping dread come upon the creature. It backs out of the room slowly. Sort of like a slapstick routine wh- Oh, it's run off.

---

"Commander. I recommend immediate return of the captive and an emergency condemnation order on the planet."

"What's got you so worked up? You never- oh. Oh dear. Oh yes. Agreed. Get the cognitohazard off my ship, posthaste. And carefully, we don't want to risk backlash... Why did it imagine you with... those?"

"I'm going to visit the psychodoc to flush this experience. I suggest you do the same. Let us never speak of the horror again."

The psychic races of the galaxy thought humans would be easy prey. That is, until they abducted you, an unmedicated ADHD college student.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #creative writing

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froidefille · 1 day ago

Text

Day 20: a fic with fanart

📚 Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid

Draco/Harry, 99k, E

Summary:

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost. But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy's world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself. What happens when you’re forced to see that you were wrong?

Fanart links

🖤Kismet's portrayal of Harry's delirium in the cabin by @kk1smet

🐩 zigster's vision of Harry and his wolf by @zigster-ao3

🤍 junk-ren's depiction of their first meeting

☕ Creeee's art of Draco and Harry hanging out in the apartment by @creeeee

🐺⚡🗡🌕

I have tried, numerous times, to put my stream of consciousness that is me talking about this fic and its' fanart into something resembling a proper rec. Please be kindly informed that I have failed. Apparently, when there's Wolf Harry involved, I loose my ability to be coherent so enjoy me screaming about this work - in spoilers and quotes -under the cut <3

Thank you @hprecfest for the prompt, @quicksilvermaid for creating this story and @kk1smet, @zigster-ao3, junk-ren and @creeeee for sharing your wonderful art with us!

See y'all for day 21 prompt <3

OKAY, here goes!

In the very first scene of the fic Harry recognizes Draco while they are both glamoured by his behaviour alone. He could probably write a PhD on Draco Lucius Malfoy with minimal effort 😅 Oh and the classic "Scared, Malfoy" also makes an appearance as beautifully illustrated by junk-ren <3

The socio-political aspect of the story! Harry is bitten while on duty and he gets sacked bc they can't employ werewolves ????? But they can have people out there on the missions that have put them in this position in the first place? Literally what is this shit! The society's prejudice is harmful enough but what's breaking my heart is that Harry believes it. And then as we learn what exactly has happened and just how conficted Harry is about the way he is now - well, by the end of the story I couldn't help by feel proud of the progress he's made :') The way were-creatures are treated in this society is an excellent metaphore for minorities of any kinds and as a member of one such group, it felt so validating to read about it illustrated like that *melts*

So now Harry is ex-Auror, and rightfully bitter about it, he does private commsions under alias HUNTER JAMES. Yes, you're reading this right. Oh bby, you are NOT being subtle xd Draco, on the other hand, is a fugitive. Which makes for a very delicious suspense throughout the story, the boys never being sure of each other.

Bodyguard Harry while Draco is the brain of the operation !!!!! I am not okay. Literally Harry being muscle (and scents xd) of the op while Draco does all the planning. Exquisite. Also boys just... being themselves ^^

Harry pulls his arm out of Malfoy's grip and barely resists snarling at him. He's suddenly sick of being treated like Malfoy's lackey. 'I'm just the hired muscle, remember. I hardly think it matters if I look pretty.' Malfoy's mouth thins in displeasure. 'And that is exactly why you're the hired muscle and I'm the one hiring you. I know exactly what's needed for you to fit in and not embarrass me, and it's a tailored suit and you need it now. So shut up and hurry up.' Harry narrows his eyes and Malfoy does the same right back.

Werewolf Harry!!!! Scenting !!!! Protective instincts!!!!! TAKING A LITERAL KNIFE FOR DRACO AND ALmosT DyiNg WHIle Draco takes them to a safe house in the middle of nowhere AND TAKES CARE OF HIM WHILE HE’s deLiriouS. And thanks to @kk1smet we have the visual of this scene!!! There's also this little fact that Harry is able to smell bodily reactions so he’s aware of more than Draco wants him to see:

Harry waves the question away. 'So, what prep do you need me to do?' Malfoy's eyes flick across his body for an instant and Harry smells a hint of arousal. It surprises him enough that he breathes deeper, almost unconsciously, but when he meets Malfoy's eyes, there's no hint of his reaction to the words. He wonders if he's mistaken. There's no way Malfoy could be interested in him, especially not after the conversation they'd just had.

... which still doesn't make him any smarter about said reactions 😅

Not to mention his wolf part wants what it wants:

'I need some air,' Harry growls, needing to be away from Malfoy; to be away from the intensity of his emotions. It's the moon, he knows that. He always gets more protective this close to the full moon; always fixates more on people. This level of emotion, though—jealousy—is one he doesn't normally experience. He doesn't like it. He especially doesn't like that it's directed at Malfoy. Fucking wolf.

I don't know about you but I was cheering for the wolf to have his way 🐺

Harry having the Weasleys as his pack 😭😭😭

'Hi, Harry,' Bill says, reaching out and drawing him into a hug. There's no trace of surprise in his voice. Harry spends most of his moons at the Burrow, weak and shivering through his suppressant potions as Molly fusses over him. Bill holds him tight and Harry lets himself relax into the embrace, letting the familiar sound of Bill's heartbeat relax him slightly.

Harry not accepting himself and keeping his lycanthropy a secret while Draco has ZERO PROBLEM with it AND HE FIGURED IT OUT RIGHT AWAY!!!!!!!!!!! He was literally like, yeah, cool, cool, can we go on now please? And not only that he was literally campaigning wolf rights to Harry himself!

Loyalty Bond!!!!

You wear something of mine - traditionally it would be a house sigil, but I don't think you sporting the Malfoy crest would be advisable.' Malfoy smiles, but there is no warmth in his eyes. 'Then we cast a bond that ties you to me. […] Your mind and your will would be your own. You'd just be incapable of betraying me.' He holds up his hand, clearly anticipating Harry's next objection. 'You would be able to remove the Bond at any time. You just remove the object I give you.'

And despite knowing that, Harry keeps blaming the bond for catching feelings

The bond is creating that sharp, twisting feeling, that feels like jealousy, when he watches Malfoy flirting with the brawny man opposite him.

I hate to break it to you baby but that's just you xd

Also, right after Draco tells Harry he’s not in touch with his family, Harry emphasizes immediately with such feeling:

He feels a tug of loneliness in his chest, at the thought of being without a pack. He forces himself to put ideas like that aside. Thoughts like that are dangerous. Malfoy is his path back into the Ministry and a former Death Eater who needs to be put back in Azkaban where he belongs. That's it.

Sure bby, of course, keep telling yourself that.

There's anger in the room. Sadness. Disgust. It hits him at once, all of it, and it's all he can do to keep standing. Then Malfoy is there, and the door is swinging closed again, cutting the overload off briefly. Malfoy's scent wraps around him as he clenches Harry's arm, leaning in close to look into his face. 'Hunter?' he says, his voice a mixture of annoyance and something else Harry can't quite recognise. 'What's going on?

I can recognise it, it’s concern, it’s care, it’s a hint at the delightful hurt/comfort we are about to be treated with 😄

Oh, and in the meantime, Harry WORKS OUT. Just like that, while poor Draco tries to do some research. Go check out @creeeee's work if you want to see how difficult that must have been for our favourite Slytherin 😅

Also, the UST, the lust and wanting underlying the plot. Which takes some turns but the climax is sooooo satysfying. Of both the plot and the plot-what-plot part :D Honestly, this fic is so hot, I just cannot

THE CAVE SCENE!!

I will never forget it. It was so special :') Wolf Harry!! I love him. He's just a big puppy with sharp teeth, the end. Go see @zigster-ao3's idea of Harry and his wolf and imagine them in that scene. Now you have the visual for all those feelings, good luck ever forgetting that!

Finally I loooooove how we can see their relationship changing over chapters. It so gratyfying when reading a longer fic, when you can explore their relationship's evolving from barely accepting each other to this fierce feeling of adoration.

Lastly - the last chapter. This one I don't want to spoil because honestly, I had tears in my eyes reading this. SO IYKYK 🤍🦊

'I wanted to run with you, though.'

#hprecfest2024 #hprecfest #who we are in the shadows #Quicksilvermaid #drarry #drarry fic rec #hp #hp fic rec #HPDM #please forgive all the typos it's 1:33 AM #drarry art #hp art

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yapperblog · 3 hours ago

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Like it's the last night

Tags: angst, brief mention of a break up, lapdance, oral (m! and fem!receiving), fingering, PinV (unprotected).

Explicit RPF below, don't interact if you are not comfortable with that; +18

Joost turns to see you, his whole body physically relaxing at the sight. In a blink of an eye he is standing next to you, ready to wrap his hands around you, feel the smell of your perfume. Before he gets to move closer, you turn around suddenly.

"We need to break up." your voice is stern.

"What?" he says with a chuckle, thinking he misheard you.

"I am breaking up with you, Joost. We can't keep going like this anymore." your face is without any emotion, he watches you say the harsh words so easily, like it's the most natural thing. But it doesn't make any sense to him.

"Why? What happened?" his heart sinks. Are you pulling a mean joke on him? "I don't understand." he tries to reach out to touch you, but you take a step back, his hand falling limp by his side.

"This is the problem. You never understand. How can you not see that you are pulling me down?" your words feel like a barb wire around his throat. "I deserve so much better." you say and tears start falling down his face, meanwhile you remain so stoic, that he starts to believe you are right.

He tries to speak, but nothing comes out, he watches you go, his legs not moving. He just stays in place, your figure disappearing in the distance.

"Wait!" Joost screams.

He sits up in his bed, face wet with tears. His hand immediately moving to your side of the bed searching for you, but it's empty. The panic sinks in, his brain still hazy.

He puts his face in his hands, finally coming back to his senses, realising it was all a dream. A nightmare even. He checks the time on his phone - 7:10. You left for work already, you are still his girlfriend, you didn't break up with him, he repeats to himself. But the words you said keep ringing in his head. You do deserve better.

He tries to go back to sleep, but it is of no use, self-doubting thoughts are too loud. He wants to hear your voice, needs reassurance, he thinks of calling you, but doesn't want to disturb you at work so early in the morning, so he settles for a quick text.

"Want to grab dinner after work together?"

he types and hits send, staring at the screen, waiting for you to see it and reply. After a few silent minutes, he puts down the phone. You must be busy. There is no point trying to go back to sleep, he decides the shower will help to get rid of the weird thoughts and forget the dream.

While drying off his wet hair with a towel, he checks his phone again to see two notifications:

"Sure! Would love to!"

"Someone is up early. Everything ok?"

Seeing your text brings a smile to his face. He swears you can read his thoughts, you always know when something is on his mind.

"Just a bad dream. I will come pick you up at 4."

All day he couldn't properly focus on any errands he had to run, all tasks left behind half-finished. He switches from one thing to another, in hopes of busying his brain enough, but the thoughts are too loud in his head. Is he doing enough in the relationship? Are you truly happy with him? Is he happy? Does he maintain work and life balance? Work definitely takes up more of his time.

He mind flashes back to seeing your face when he wakes up earlier than you, in those silent moments his heart is full with so much love for you, so many times you caught him laying by your side, brushing your hair softly with his fingers, a smile spreading on his face when you slowly wake up, or on the weekends when you both can lay in, spending sweet time in each others embrace, sinking into the mattress when his hips slot so perfectly between yours, rocking gently, hitting all the spots, that make you moan into his mouth. He thinks about how your fingers feel in his hair, when you've missed each other so much, you can't wait to tear each others clothes off, kissing hungrily, his fingers bound to leave marks how hard he is holding your hips, whispering into your ear, how good you feel around him, how much he loves you, pushing so deep into you, getting drunk on your sweet moans and whimpers.

He starts to feel hot at all the images in his head, he needs to change his trace of thought, before he gets fully hard, as he doesn't have the time to deal with it alone right now. Every corner of the apartment is filled with memories, his eyes catch on a broken off piece of a mug, you accidentally dropped on the floor during your last argument. It seems so stupid now, the spilled tears from the both of you so unnecessary. You talked it out after and found a compromise, hugging each other tight, promising and reassuring everything will be okay. He picks up the piece and throws it out.

He starts to feel claustrophobic surrounded by four walls and decides to go for a walk, fresh air always helps, it is getting close to 4pm anyways.

He walks around the park for a while, drawing while sitting on the bench, then gets an Uber to get to your work. He still arrives an hour early, waits for you to finish up, meanwhile busying himself on the phone.

The weather has dropped down very suddenly that week, the cold air biting your cheeks as you walk out of your office building. Joost is all bundled up in a hoodie, puffy jacket, beanie pulled down low on his forehead and headphones sticking out. He is barely recognisable, but you wouldn't mistake him for anyone else.

"Hii." you call out from a distance. You can't help but smile at him waiting for you, you've been looking forward to seeing him all day.

Your voice immediately draws his attention. A wide smile spreading across his face, as he looks in your direction. If he had a tail, it would be wiggling wildly.

He puts away the headphones and quickly closes the distance between you, wrapping his hands around you, trying not too throw himself at you, but it's so difficult after the day he had, he needs to feel you.

"Hi" he says finally letting go of you just enough to see your face.

"Hi." you say again. He is always excited to see you, like a little puppy jumping at your feet when you come home, but this is different. You almost get worried something happened and he can see it on your face.

"I missed you." he says looking into your eyes and leans in for a kiss, he knows it has to be quick, you are in public. But he can't help it, you answer the kiss just as desperate - you've missed him too, for an average day it felt too long that you haven't seen him. His lips feel as intoxicating as they always do, he squeezes you even tighter to him, wishes you were back home already without the layers of clothes separating you. You put your hands under his jacket seeking his warmth. He can feel your cold hands even through the hoodie underneath.

"Let's get something to eat, ja?" he asks, taking your hands in his, trying to warm them with his breath.

"Let's go. I know a good place nearby." you lead the way.

While eating you tell him about the new drama at work, he listens and tells his own remarks and thoughts about your coworkers and what he would have done. Gossiping with him is always so fun, he is the great rare combo of having a friend, who can give gossip and shopping advice, but also a boyfriend, who cares about you dearly and tends to your needs in bed. When you ask him about his day, you notice the lack of enthusiasm, he still tells you all about it, but there is no usual spark.

"What was your bad dream about?" you ask him suddenly. You can tell you hit the spot, this must be what has been bothering him.

He looks at you, knowing he can't get away with trying to brush it off. There is no reason to really, you are always there for each other. He shouldn't hide it.

"I know it's stupid and just a dream. But we broke up in my dream, and I have been feeling off all day. I'm sorry."

"It's not stupid, Joost." you reach for his hand to try to accentuate your words. "And don't be sorry, I would have felt the same way. Sometimes dreams feel so realistic, I also wake up disturbed." he gives you a weak smile. "I love you." you move closer to hold his cheek. "Is this also about a fight we had?"

"Probably." he replies. He hasn't been in a lot of relationships. He cares about you deeply, has never felt this way about anybody before, sometimes he catches himself thinking he wishes he could be glued to you to spend every breathing moment together and it scares him. If you ever loose feelings for him, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

"I love you." you say again, seeing he is in his head again. "That's why we bicker, because we care about this" you motion in between you two. "About us. We want this to work and it will."

You can finally see his shoulders relax. He leans in to kiss you, which you gladly accept. "Love you."

In the taxi back home you are stuck in traffic. Before the driver regulated the temperature, the windows started to fog up a little at the sides. In the corner of your eye, you notice him doodling with his finger on the window. You lean closer to him, putting your head on his shoulder, he kisses at your hairline, putting his head on top of yours and continuing to draw. He writes I love you, and intertwines your fingers together on his lap.

Since that conversation with Joost, you've had an idea brewing in your head. It was obvious he needed to relax, a couples massage could work, but there was also something else that wouldn't leave your mind. It is silly and cliche really, but the thought of focusing all attention on him, making him feel good, reminding him you are his and you'd do anything for him, makes not only your heart flutter. Even if it means giving him a lapdance. He never expressed an interest in it directly, but you did notice you manage to pull the loudest most delicious moans from him when you are on top, so this could work.

Joost is in the other room working on his music, through the closed door you could hear him humming a melody and sending voice memos to Tantu from time to time. This gives you time to get ready: you put on a new set of lingerie, which doesn't leave much to imagination, already in anticipation of his face seeing it for the first time, and a short silk robe tied around your waist.

Now it's the waiting game. You decide not to call Joost over, you leave him to finish up and come into the living room on his own terms, so he doesn't have any lingering thoughts of unfinished work and can fully enjoy your surprise.

As you sit on the couch, mentally preparing the dance you will do, quietly laughing at your own imagination, you hear the door open and Joost's slow steps. You quickly throw your phone further down the couch, sitting up straighter trying to look sexy, giddy waiting for him.

Joost walks in, his eyes immediately meeting yours, a wide smirk spreading on his face.

He whistles noticing what you are wearing. "That's a nice outfit." he says coming to see you closer. You try to keep a straight face and not laugh.

He is about to flop down on the couch next to you and wrap his arms around you, but you stop him.

"I've got a surprise for you." you stand up and smile up at him tracing your finger down his chest. He is wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. He reaches for your waist to pull you closer, but you take his hand instead to lead him towards the chair. You gently push him to sit, which he obediently does and laughs confused.

"Ok, so you sit and relax, ok?" you reach for your phone to turn on the music you picked. As you turn around towards him, you catch him looking at your every move. You want to spoil him rotten, your heart is filled with so much love and it's all for him. He feels the same way, he wants you to have everything and more. He buys you everything you mention even in the passing, which you chastise him for, but he can't help it. He remembers the perfume you liked, knows exactly what pastry to bring you to cheer you up. There is never a moment when there isn't a fresh bouquet of flowers in your house, which he brings for you. He doesn't need a reason for it, you are the reason. He showers you in "I love you"s, he is your biggest hypeman, even your smallest achievements are applauded by his loudest cheers.

You take a step towards him, smiling sweetly at him, making sure to sway your hips to the music.

"Is it my birthday today? Did I loose track of time?" he asks laughing, but you see the way his eyes eat your act up.

"I just want you to have a good time." you walk towards him, he spreads his legs apart to make room for you. As you come to stand in between his legs, he sits up to be closer to you, but you push him back with one finger on his chest. "You work so hard" your voice is low. You start walking around him, tracing your finger from his chest to his shoulder, around his back. He turns his head following you. You start massaging his shoulders, feeling the tension.

"We can pretend it's your birthday, would you like that?" you lean in closer to whisper it in his ear, still working your hands into the tense muscle.

"No, this is good." he replies and you can already tell your plan is working. You kiss him on the cheek and continue walking, placing your hand on the back of his neck. You walk around the chair, his eyes never leaving you for one second. You are now a few steps away from him dancing in tune with the slow music, you move your hands down your body, lifting the hem of the silk robe up just enough to give him a sneak peek at what's underneath.

He sucks in a breath, seeing just a lacy string on your hip, but it already has him worked up at what's to come. "Fuck" he whispers.

You walk slowly towards him, you can't contain a smile when you notice his blown out pupils and the way his chest moves up and down. He has never been a patient man, and you love to test him.

"You look so hot." he says looking up at you, when you come to stand in between his legs again. You sit on top of his legs, facing him. "Yeah, you like it?" you put your arms around his neck, moving closer to him, your legs on each side of his. He puts his arms on your hips, feeling the warmth through the silky material, finally getting to touch you, he lets out a sigh.

Before he can reply, you start placing slow kisses on his cheek, his forehead, his nose. "I missed you" you say in between kisses.

"I missed you too." he says, his voice breathy.

"Tell me about your day." you say when you nudge his jaw with your nose, he rolls his head to the back of chair, giving you more access to his neck. You start placing kisses and little bites, his hands grip your hips harder, moving to your thighs.

"I- um" he finds it hard to focus, when your mouth feels so good and warm on his skin, but this is exactly your plan. "We finished the beat," he continues, while you place a kiss on his pulse point, moving closer to his ear. "for the new song."

"So proud of you. Can't wait to hear it." you say into his ear. A satisfied moan escapes his lips and he squeezes your thighs, feeling the soft plush skin. Little words of praise always work on him. "What else?" you ask as you move to leave open mouth kisses along his throat.

"I am working on the lyrics for-" you giggle against his skin when he can't finish a sentence properly.

"You are evil." he sits up straighter to look into your eyes, wrapping his hand around your lower back to push you closer to him. Teasing him is your favorite game and he lets you do it, knowing the reward is sweeter. You start to circle your hips trying to feel more of him, a smirk spreads on your face when you feel the outline of his already half hard dick through the sweatpants, your clit rubbing on his tip making both of you suck in a breath, but before you can get too far ahead of yourself, you unwrap his hands around you and take a step back.

"Heyy." his voice whiny when you leave him. Your legs are a little wobbly as you stand up, teasing him got you worked up too quickly. But how couldn't it, when he looks so good, all pliant for you, waiting for your every move.

You turn back around to face him, continuing moving to the song, slowly walking your way up to him again. He seems to have gotten back to his senses in the short break you gave him, you can tell by the smile that adorns his face, one dimple you love so much showing, he looks more confident now that he knows what's coming. His legs are still spread, his hard on so obvious against his sweatpants. Hands on the arm rests of the chair, but you know he wants nothing more but to touch you, and you are happy but to give him that.

"You look so great, schat." he watches you sway your hips to the song, your eyes closes, enjoying yourself, letting him ogle, as you move closer and closer to him, letting the anticipation build. "Could have told me earlier you were planning this, I would have wrapped it up with Tantu quicker."

"I didn't want to interrupt your creative process. Who knows what you are up to with your producer." you say giggling. "You already have matching t-shirts, who knows what's next." you come to stand between his legs.

"Oh we get up to all sorts of things. Aligning our beats together, cranking up the tempo, on repeat all night." You roll your eyes and laugh. "Can't create an album without a little bit of love making, don't be jealous." he says looking up at you, smiling proud of his joke.

"You two are my favorite weirdos." you put your hands in his hair and push it back, running your fingers through the strands. He moans in delight, always begging you to scratch his head laying his head on your stomach after a long day.

"Give me your hand." you tell him, which he happily does. You put the tie of the robe in his hand and he gently pulls on it looking into your eyes, untying your silk robe, watching it reveal your body fully to him.

"You are perfect."

You slowly turn, swaying your hips along to the song as you pull off the robe completely, letting it drop to the floor. You place your hands on either side of the armrest, as you lower your ass over his crotch, your back to his chest, hovering and moving side to side, teasing before you finally press down, letting your ass roll over his crotch and thighs.

"Oh fuck, baby. Just like that" he is holding your hips, letting you move on your own, he just wants to feel you.

You circle your hips, feeling him swell underneath you. You can’t resist the grin, happy at how quickly you can make him hard.

He presses himself closer to you. "Can I touch you more?" whispering into your ear.

"Please." he is not the only one getting aroused. This is supposed to be about him, but you know he enjoys your pleasure as much as you do.

He slowly moves his hands from your hips, up your torso to your chest, cupping your tits through the lacy bra, feeling your nipples harden under his warm palms. You moan at his touch and can feel him smile against your cheek, he is also breathing fast and hard while you continue to move your hips on his crotch. Your arch your back and moan, once he starts pinching and pulling on your nipples, you feel yourself getting wetter each passing second.

"So good for me." he whispers into your ear. You are enjoying yourself, but want to take the control back so instead of grinding this time, you bounce in time with the beat, arching your back to feel his entire length. He leans back on the chair, covering his mouth with one hand. You lean into him, reaching your hand behind his neck, you want to feel all of him, needing him like air.

"Don't." you move his hand, which was covering his mouth. "Let me hear you." his put down his hand and opens his eyes, meeting yours. He leans for a kiss, moaning into your mouth and you eat it all up. Knowing you can make him fall apart so easily, makes you even more aroused and determined.

After a particular move of your hips, you notice him whine louder than usual. So you repeat it again and again, getting off on his sounds alone, your own breathing hitching feeling his dick twitch beneath you. His chest hot like coal beneath you, he can't seem to decide where to put his hands, wants to feel all of you at the same time, he moves from your holding your hips to squeezing your chest, enjoying the feel of it under his hands.

"Baby." he tips his head back. "I'm gonna cum if you continue this." he says matter of factly. He is so lost in you, in this closeness, he is fine cuming in his pants at this point. The stimulation and the sight of you enough to tip him over the point.

"Open your mouth for me." you hear him say and follow his instruction blindly. He puts his finger in your mouth, you swirl your tongue around it. He then starts tracing it down your chest, your stomach and in between your legs.

"Is this okay?" he asks before pulling your panties to the side, still trying to make sure to care for your needs first. You realise what he is doing, you want this to be about him, so you quickly gather yourself up, slipping out of his hands, turning to face him. "You are the best." you give him a kiss on the lips. "I love you." another kiss. "So much" a kiss on his neck.

"I love you too." he manages to say. "Let me take care of you." a kiss on chest, as you move to sit on the floor in between his legs.

You sit up higher to place a kiss on his stomach over the t-shirt. Then move it up to place a kiss directly on his skin, revealing his tattoo to you, placing more kisses there looking up at him. His eyes are filled with so much love and lust for you, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you in his life. You move lower and lower.

"Can I take these off?" you ask holding the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Yes." he says nodding. He lifts his hips helping you take it off, letting it fall around his ankles. You place a kiss on the tip of his still clothed dick, feeling the wet spot there.

"Oh fuck." he sighs and you wish you could record all of his sounds and moans to keep it on repeat.

"Can I take these off too, gorgeous?" he nods and you take off his underwear, getting to see his pretty dick. The tip leaking and red. Your mouth is salivating at the sight, you take the base in your hand and stroke it halfway, watching the dollop of precum leak out of his tip.

"I am not gonna last at all." he doesn't want to close his eyes, wants to commit every second of this to his memory, but he is also so close already, he is afraid he will cum as soon as your lips wrap around him and he doesn't want this to end so fast.

You tuck your hair behind your ears and start placing kisses along his shaft, knowing he is close, you decide not to tease him any longer and take him in your mouth, focusing on the tip at first. He lets out a loud moan, borderline a whine, as his hands grip arm rests of the chair. You continue working your way down his length, moving your hands at the base what you can't reach yet. He puts one of his hands in your hair, not pushing, just needing to feel you, to ground himself at least somehow. You come up for air, letting the spit mix with his pre-cum, it's messy, but it's just way he likes it.

You relax your throat and take more of him, your nose pressing on his lower stomach. The pressure feels so good around his tip, he can't help but buck his hips, making you gag, he apologises immediately, but feels you moan around him. You continue bobbing your head, keeping your lips around him, licking on the underside, tasting him. After a few pumps you deepthroat him again, you try to keep him there for as long as you can, feeling him tighten his hold on your hair and moan loudly. The muscles of his stomach twitching. He is so loud, you hope the neighbours won't complain, but you can't care about it now, it is all worth it. You move your hand down to touch his balls.

"I'm close" he manages to say as a warning in case you don't want him to finish in your mouth, but you just hum in agreement around him creating vibrations around him, and continuing to massage his balls. You look up at him, your eyes watering, you look so good with his dick in your mouth, almost naked and he can't control it any longer. You feel him throb and he releases in your mouth with a loud groan. You swallow, letting him ride out his climax before you pull away. You wipe your chin from all the spit and his release you weren’t able to swallow. His chest is raising up and down as he tries to come back to earth. You put your head on his thigh, trying to regulate your own breathing. You are still so wet, you can feel your clit throbbing.

"Come here." he says and you pull yourself up using his thighs for support and straddle him again.

"That was so hot." he kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing the same air, enjoying being so close. You feel him wrap his hands around your thighs and he pushes off the chair standing up suddenly with you in his arms. You squeal in surprise, holding onto his neck.

"What are you doing?"

"Returning the favor. Did you think I would leave you unsatisfied?" he says and lets you both fall on the couch, managing the fall with his hands.

"Oh my god." you breathe out. "That's a lot of energy after just getting your dick sucked."

"That's what you do to me." you feel his weight on top of you so comforting. He brushes your messed up hair away from your face and kisses you deeply, you moan into his mouth, somehow you missed his lips even though it hasn't been that long. You always long for him, always need more, even being as close as right now isn't enough. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, letting him press into you more. When you have to separate for air, he sits up on his knees to take off his shirt, he feels so hot.

"You look great, did I tell you that already?"

"A few times, yeah." you giggle looking at him, as he lets his eyes eat you whole, appreciate the lingerie you put on for him.

"I mean it every time."

You spread your legs, making room for him, as he leans back down to you. He starts placing kisses along your jaw, while his hands wrap your legs around his hips. "Now you tell me about your day." he continues kissing your face, his moustache tickling you.

"I got assigned into a new project at work." you try to keep your tone controlled, but it's difficult with his ministrations. "I'm pretty excited about it-" he starts kissing along your cheek closer to your ear.

"That's good. I'm happy for you." he says into your ear. You try to squirm away, when his breath tickles you, giggling, but he is holding you close to him. "Tell me more." he urges you to continue.

"I bought that new-" you gasp when he moves to leave kisses on your neck. You realise he is mimicking what you were doing to him. "What happened? Continue." he says into your neck, leaving a trace of bites and soothing with his tongue. "I bought the new lotion I was telling you about. Ah" you moan when he kisses your sweet spot and moves his hands along your sides, feeling more of you. "Oh yeah? The one that smells of caramel you told me about?"

"Yes. That one." you manage to reply.

He moves lower, kissing along your shoulders and collarbone, taking off the straps of your bra, letting it fall down your arms. "You know I love caramel."

"Mhm" you hum approvingly.

He puts his head on your chest, kissing along the exposed skin, but he wants more, looking up at you. "Can I take it off?" you nod and he slips his hands behind your back to unclasp the bra. He kisses the newly exposed skin, circling his tongue around your nipple, making you let a loud moan. It makes him smirk with your nipple still in his mouth, he sucks harder on it, getting lost in the feeling of it and your moans, while his hand teases your other nipple.

You are writhing moaning mess underneath him. He loves having you like this, so desperate for more, desperate for him and him only.

"You are so pretty." he says, while switching to the other nipple, putting it in his mouth. You move your hands to run through his hard, scratching at his scalp, making him moan too.

"Please, Joost. More" your brain is already switching off feeling so pent up. He couldn't ever deny you, you treated him so well, he came so hard, the image of you on your knees for him still engraved in his brain.

He moves lower, kissing along your stomach, feeling the soft skin, looking up you for consent when he wants to take off your underwear. You say yes and he takes it off, throwing it somewhere on the floor.

He wastes no time licking at your folds insistently, his tongue so deep in you. "You are so wet. Dancing for me got you worked up too?" he doesn't let you reply when he licks so generously into you.

"Right there, Joost, yes." your moans encouraging him. He sucks on your clit and licks at you listening for your sounds, what makes you moan louder and repeating exactly those actions. He separates for a second, letting his finger run through your folds, collecting your slick and moving it to your hole, slipping in. Your back arches, he moves his hand to hold your hips, while the other finds your nipple, tugging on it as he dives back to suck on your clit. He feels it twitch under his lips in no time. You almost scream, orgasm washing over your body, moaning loud, as you hold his head in place to ride out the orgasm. He continues licking at you, watching your face and pumping his fingers, only lowering the speed when you push at him of overstimulation.

He moves up, his face lying on your chest again, looking up at you, but you feel his fingers still in you, clamping down on his digits. He lets you calm down, but when you open your eyes, smiling at him, he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you again.

"Fuck, Joost." you moan throwing your head back into the pillow.

"Give me one more, baby." he moves closer to you, petting your head with the other hand, making you look at him. Your mouth is opened in a continued moan, your breathing laboured. His own face matches yours, he is enjoying your pleasure as much. He is fucking you with his fingers like he would with his dick, feeling you squeeze around his fingers making him moan as much.

"Should I dance for you too? Would you like that?" he asks, his fingers moving at a faster pace, curling up.

"Do I put on the silk robe?" he says in between kisses along your jaw. "Turn on some slow sexy music?" he feels you clamp down on his fingers at those words.

"Oh you would like that." he smirks, as you let out another moan of his name.

"Fuck, that would be so hot, Joost. I am not even kidding"

You feel him get hard again humping against your leg. "I need you inside, please." you say pushing at his hand between your legs, "I want you to feel good too."

He takes out his fingers, licking them clean, moaning and putting them in your mouth too, your tongue swirling between the digits. His dick twitches at the sight, he sits up, pumping his dick a few times. You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him to hurry up.

"Please, Joost." you whine. "I need you."

He leans in, moving his length through your folds, and finally when his head catches on your hole, he slips in. You are so open and wet for him, sucking him right in, it feels so good, he almost cums on the spot, he has to close his eyes and focus. After a moment of collecting himself, he bottoms out, feeling you stretch around him, he leans closer to you to place a kiss on your lips. He starts picking up the pace, both of you still sensitive from your previous orgasms, you know this won't last long.

The sounds in the room are downright sinful, the wet sounds bouncing off the walls. Both of you clinging onto each other.

"I am so lucky to have you. I love you. Thank you so much" he starts running his mouth against your ear, he is holding himself on his elbows on each side of you, one of his arms sneaks between you to touch your clit, your face twisting in pleasure. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, wanting to feel him closer.

"I love you too. I'd do anything for you." he says through gritted teeth, you can tell he is close, know you are. After a particular sharp thrust, your back arches, with a loud moan you gush around him. With the added wetness he can move with almost no friction and it triggers his own orgasm. You watch his face contorted in pleasure, before he hides it in your neck groaning and whining. He comes so deep inside of you, continuing to rut inside you, your mixed releases spilling out.

You are not ready to separate from each other yet, you scratch his back lightly, helping him calm down. He kisses your shoulder. He pulls out of you carefully, seeing his cum spill out of you, mesmerised every time. He sits up and puts his underwear back on. You watch him stand up, while you still feel like jelly. He goes to bring a warm washcloth to clean you up, washing so carefully between your legs.

After both of you are decent, he finds the robe you wearing on the floor. He starts putting it on, the sleeves too short on his arms, barely fitting him, it covers halfway up his ass. You start laughing uncontrollably at how he looks.

"Dude, you look so funny." you sit up and reach for your phone to take a photo of him, still laughing.

"Funny? I was supposed to look sexy" he strikes a pose putting his hand on his hip, pouting his lips. Another one holding a peace sign with his fingers. For another photo he pretends to be shocked, covering up his chest, but the robe barely closes around him. You are doubled over laughing at him.

He reaches for his sweatpants on the floor, taking out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket, going up to the window to smoke, still wearing your robe.

He opens the window and takes a long drag, as your laughter can still be heard. He is so happy in this moment, truly the luckiest man on earth.

#joost klein #joost klein rpf #joost klein x reader #joost klein smut

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 22 hours ago

Note

You've written on pregnancy with a ghoul but do you have any opinions on the possibility of synth pregnancy or pregnancy with a synth as the sperm wizard

(Mild warnings for brief discussion of pregnancy loss and maternal death.)

I had to sit on this question for a while and do a bit of synth research to re-familiarize myself with how they're made (because Nick Valentine is the only synth I care all that much about). Unfortunately for y'all, all that rumination means I'm about to sound like I've thought way too much about this, which I absolutely have.

Bear with me.

I've heard stories of people passing away and their sperm that had been previously stored (typically in advance of the person having a vasectomy/consenting to something that would limit future sperm production) being used by their spouse or partner to have children afterwards. Similarly, but a little more ghoulishly (no pun intended and also this is a personal opinion), postmortem sperm retrieval IS a thing, if you didn't know. Live sperm can be harvested from the testes if the procedure is performed quickly enough after death, or on a living person who is brain dead.

For obvious reasons, the ethics of it are hotly contested, as are the ethics of using the harvested sperm for impregnation, but let's not pretend that morality ever stopped the Institute. PSR has been used in the past by the spouses of recently deceased or brain dead men in order to have biologically related children they wouldn't be able to otherwise have.

With that little bit of background, I'll say that I imagine having a baby with a "swapped" synth, someone intended to replace a person who already exists, could be much the same sort of thing...but, you know, without you really knowing about it. They yoink your partner, harvest their sperm before they disappear them, and implant the harvested sperm into the Gen 3 replacement's lab-grown body. Bang. Boom. Baby.

However, I think whether or not synths can reproduce at all is pretty up in the air. True, the most recent generation of synth is constructed entirely of tissues grown in their labs; the human body is comprised of much more complex cells than gametes (sperm and egg cells) that would have to be produced to have a functional body, so it's feasible to assume that they have the technology to lab-create those simpler cells, too.

However, I ask this: why would they bother?

We know that the Gen 3's have organic bodies and that they're literally constructed from actual muscles/bones/organs, but who's to say some of the organs they install aren't basically "for show"? Most claim the Gen 3's don't have to eat or sleep, so are the organs that manage these functions (namely the digestive organs and possibly the reproductive organs) truly "functional"?

Obviously they can be used if needed, since Gen 3 synths can eat if they choose, but your GI tract taking stuff in at one end and spitting it out at the other doesn't mean it "works". If they truly functioned as human organs do, they'd need regular access to nutrients, rest to recuperate. A synth brain, for example, can't function the exact same way a human brain does if a synth doesn't have to eat to stay alive; the human brain requires glucose, AKA sugar obtained from eating, to function. That's why low blood sugar often gives people brain fog and puts them into a bad mood, and why it can be a medical emergency if it drops low enough. You wouldn't want that vulnerability still included in the design of your synthetic human, even if you wanted your lab-grown brain to match a real one as closely as possible.

They're supposed to be indistinguishable from humans, inside and out, but if you did an autopsy of a dead person (or synth), and their organs looked normal upon inspection, there are things about their body you still wouldn't see. You wouldn't have any idea if they actually had sperm or eggs inside their reproductive organs just by looking with the naked eye, and if they didn't have those cells, it wouldn't necessarily mean anything. Failing to include those cells wouldn't expose their design any more than including the brain chip (you know, the one you have to kill the person to access) does. Not every single detail has to be covered. If you've gotta literally dissect someone to figure out if they're a synth or not, synths and humans are about as close to one another as they're gonna get.

BUT: if I'm quite honest, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that all synths are just sterile across the board, and that the Institute didn't bother including reproductive capability when they were deciding how they would craft the Gen 3 synths. Simply not allowing them to reproduce would be the simplest choice. After all, I imagine allowing your remote-controlled minions to start having their own children can make them prone to disobeying you if what you want isn't in the best interest of those children. It's a massive variable to add into the equation when you're making devious plans.

The infertility would be easy enough to write off, too, in a world filled with radiation exposure and malnutrition; sometimes people just can't have babies and that's their lot. Even if someone's had children before, that doesn't mean that their fertility will be intact forever. Say your spouse and the parent of your child was swapped with a synth, and you went on to try and have another child, but failed. Would you automatically assume it's because your partner was swapped with someone built in a lab? Or would you just write it off as bad luck/declining health/some environmental factor? Stress can also contribute to infertility, and the Fallout universe is all stress, all the time. I imagine lots of people who want children struggle to have them. Doesn't mean their partner is a synth.

But hey, it's not an entirely unrealistic idea. Who's to say that the Institute wouldn't also have considered planning something more complex and long-term, like creating a number of synth men capable of impregnating people, of starting families and helping to build communities, synth men who could still be programmed to be very useful? A plan like that could be set up to go on even in the event that the bulk of their personnel were killed, their facilities destroyed. If you program these men to do what you want them to do (and let them think it's their own idea to be the way they are), give them the ability to father children, and send them out into the world, you could still have your desired impact in the future even if you weren't around to direct or see it.

Conclusion: I would call the likelihood of penis-having synths being able to knock anyone up "scientifically possible but not probable".

In terms of synth pregnancy, I think that could be both simpler and much more complicated, depending on which angle we're approaching the situation from.

As I mentioned above, I'm not sure what the purpose would be to allowing a synth with ovaries to go off and reproduce unless you were planning to use that reproduction to control people over a great amount of time. Even then, it's kind of a questionable plan, but the Institute loves a questionable plan! However, designing a synthetic human that can grow and birth a baby while making it seem natural would be a big ask.

It also doesn't have nearly as much theoretical "use" as a concept if Gen 3's being able to reproduce was desirable (which I don't believe it is, at least from the perspective of those who created them). Even if the children of synths were susceptible to the same control their parents are under somehow, so synths having babies just means more controllable pawns you didn't have to manufacture or program yourself, one synth could still only have so many babies at a human pace if they're the one carrying them all. A single woman has the maximum capability of one full-term pregnancy per calendar year, and that pregnancy usually only results in one baby. A guy can get a different woman pregnant every day, in theory. Multiple women. If they were gonna put resources into perfecting synth reproduction, I don't think it would be on this end of the deal.

Sure, if their scientists wanted to grow a real fetus (the product of combining a sperm and an egg, not a meat sculpture you made in the lab) in a literal tube or chamber, I'm willing to bet they could. Artificial womb technology seems easier to master than "growing whole bones and organs from scratch" technology. But the point is the realism, and building a female-presenting synth who doubles as an artificial womb and building a synth who passes as a pregnant or postpartum woman are different ballgames.

The synths aren't designed to change. They don't age, they don't get sick or tired. Hell, they don't even gain weight even though they can eat, which implies they don't digest what they take in. A body that requires little to run has little to give...how does one deliver nutrients to a fetus if you don't require them yourself, if you don't actually get anything from eating?

All that is to say nothing about the pure change in physical size that can occur during gestation, how your organs are quite literally shifted around as the fetus takes up more and more room in your torso. The Mayor McDonough replacement synth was quite literally "built" fat because he wouldn't have been capable of gaining enough weight to look like the original if they'd made him smaller. If the synth body isn't intended to change, even in body mass, how would a growing fetus fit past a certain point? I don't think it would, frankly, at least not in a way that wouldn't spell disaster for all involved. A pregnancy like that either wouldn't make it to term, would be incredibly negatively impacted by the lack of room to grow, or would kill the mother. Maybe all of the above.

Overall, their type of physiology doesn't scream "capable of withstanding the immense changes caused by pregnancy". Having a baby is literally the biggest change you could ever make to your body on all fronts; even your internal chemistry changes when you become pregnant in order to support the fetus. Your body is irreparably altered when you carry a baby to term, and it has to go through a series of changes to even get to that point to begin with.

It's not like when your "sperm wizard" gives a few pumps and their work is done; moving sperm from point A to point B isn't complicated or difficult from a scientific perspective. Pregnancy is incredibly complex and involves multiple intense processes directed by the brain and reproductive organs in order to come to fruition. You have to ovulate, have proper implantation, allow for all the change that occurs in the body over the course of gestation, and account for the trauma of labor and birth, even if by cesarean. The human body is also intended to support the infant in the postpartum stage...imagine a synth capable of breastfeeding.

The hormones of it all are by far the biggest consideration. Successfully getting pregnant would involve creating synths with wombs whose bodies also follow the 28-day hormone cycle, or whose endocrine system at the very least produces all the necessary hormones that allow successful reproduction. Even the previously mentioned breastfeeding ability is a product of hormonal changes that occur in pregnancy. Frankly, endocrinology (the study of hormones and the organs that produce them) is incredibly complicated for modern scientists to even wrap their heads around, so I think the folks at the Institute would have a big order on their plates if they wanted to theoretically make something like this happen. All these complex processes would have to be nailed perfectly in order to create a synth capable of a real pregnancy, and a synth that real is just a person who cost a lot more to create.

Sounds like a lot of goddamn work just so your literal slaves can have babies who will inevitably motivate them against you.

Conclusion: synth pregnancy where the synth is the one carrying would be much, much harder to pull off (so hard it wouldn't be an endeavor worth pursuing) and would likely end very poorly for both mother and fetus.

#my most unhinged fallout biology rant yet #enjoy #fallout lore #synth biology #the institute #nick valentine #submission #can you tell I'm tokophobic by the way I describe pregnancy lol

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sundrop-writes · 3 days ago

Text

I am sooooo late replying to comments, but I have been feeling like crap so I am just now crawling out of my hole. And I know that Star isn't gonna mind that I'm late <3 anyway, here we go:

Star: I just LOVE these scenes of characters getting "caught" in a secret relationship (even if it's a fake relationship)

Sunny: okay but characters being 'caught' doing something that they 'shouldn't be' is SOOOO ICONIC. especially when what they're doing is not actually illegal or that immoral, they just feel like they need to hide their relationship and feel so caught out when other people find out. it is such a great trope (I really need to write it more). I especially love it when it's like "my super protective older brother can't catch us dating because he will kill you" and then the older brother catches them, attacks, and it prompts "don't hit me, okay, I love her!" and this is the first time that brooding emotionally disconnected love interested has ever said The Big L in front of his girlfriend. IT HIIIITS HARD

Star: "They belonged to him now and he didn’t want to put them back" don't be shy... put them on 🫣

Sunny: we need to see Stiles in panties at some point. we really really need to do a Pantyboy Stiles fic at some point. SECRETARY, PUT THAT ON MY SCHEDULE. oooooh IDEAAAAAAAAA - Stiles wearing panties, FORGETS HE IS WEARING THEM (would be such a Stiles thing) and goes to change after practice (maybe after a cross country running practice via S3?) and because he was late, the only other person in the locker room is Isaac, and Isaac sees the panties and will not let him live it down. teases him so badly, but because it's Horny Isaac, the mockery quickly turns into horny teasing, and when stuttering Stiles accidentally lets it slip that he was only wearing the panties because you, his girlfriend, likes it when he does, Isaac's brain goes nuts because you're a hot girl and you're kinky - and he knows immediately that he wants a threesome. (I feel like I need to write this fic now. I need to write it).

Star: “Ya know, this really isn’t your color - red would look much better on you.” Danny smirked" STOP PRETENDING YOU'RE NOT INTERESTED DANNY !!! A LITTLE TOO QUICK TO THINK OF STILES WEARING PANTIES !!!

Sunny: Danny is a gossipy bitch. He isn't super interested in Stiles, he just loves to talk shit. Also I mentioned Stiles wearing red because of that one TV show where Dylan wears a red lingerie set lmao

Star: "Seriously?” Isaac asked" hi baby !! not that I'm not happy about it but... have you .. always been here ...? hello (WAS HE HERE FOR THE DRAFT ???? every new Isaac line I'm like... "hi how long have you been here for?")

Sunny: this is hilarious to me because I know you didn't read the A/N where I was talking about the fact that I added Isaac in here just for my own fun - because when I wrote this, we were only on the early episodes of season 1 and Isaac doesn't come in until season 2 so I didn't have him in this draft. But I am very glad that I added him <3

Star: "Jesus, Scott, don’t ruin this for me,” Isaac whined, rolling his eyes" KSKSKSKS Isaac getting the spank bank ready AS WE SPEAK

Sunny: it's a lil treat for me <3 but I fucking love the idea of locker room talk perv Isaac

Star: “Ew! Why do you have them?” a hot girl cutting Jackson off with a very loud "EWWW" is very healing to me, you're so right diva...

Sunny: this reminds me of that tiktok audio EW DAVID!! EW DAVID!!!

Star: "Wait. Why were you covering for him?" now that the fear of god has settled in his heart, we must continue

Sunny: THE FEAR OF GOD. why is this one of the funniest things you have ever said lmao

Star: "running a single finger along his bare torso" i have a very vague memory of saying something that led to this... good job past Star, never change <33

Sunny: you ATE IT UUUPP with this. I am so thankful that you thought of this omg

Star: “Door.” this is still SO CUNTY !!!!!

Sunny: it is SOOOOO cunty. what are subby men if not little dogs to boss around?

Star: "Stiles was so pretty, tied up for you, ready to be devoured" love thinking about the next day in the locker room, everyone (Jackson and Isaac probably) grilling him for details and Stiles blue screening cause how does he explain it?

Sunny: I love describing Stiles's brain melt as 'blue screening' lmao. also Stiles would be so excited to brag and he would be like "there was some bondage involved" and the guys would be like "WOAH YOU TIED HER TO THE BED" and then he's like "no, she tied me to the bed" and then they're like "...oh"

Star: "Instantly, he let out a loud moan around your tit" Stiles, to me, is such a "boobs guy", it's CRAAAAAZY ! Like almost to a stereotypical degree

Sunny: he is another guy who would do anything for the promise of boobs. you could order him around with the promise of boobies and he would do anything

Star: “Dear god, what the hell is that?” I FORGOT ABOUT THIS !!!!!! INSAAAAANEEEE !!!! "His dad moved to leave the room, and then he sighed and paused in the doorway" SKSKKSKS i love that the awkward middle aged instincts were overpowered by the "responsible parent" ones

Sunny: this was one of my favourite endings to write ever!!!

I am so sorry I was late but I am so glad that you liked the fic!!! I love our little dumb subby Stiles

Stupid For You

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Hey - tell me what you want me to say. You know I’m Stupid For You.

I’ll take what I can get.

The best is hard to grip when everybody wants you, and everybody wants you.

Summary:

Stiles tried to return your panties - he really did.

But he still has the contraband in his possession, and he accidentally drops the underwear in the locker room in front of the entire lacrosse team. To cover up the fact that he stole them, he lies and says that he got them from you after a hook-up. And surprisingly - you back up his story?

Only with the promise that he helps you turn his lie into the truth.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Best Friends to Lovers. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 11,900

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Before you read this fic, be sure to read BRAINWASHED. This fic can be read as a standalone, but you get more Stiles goodness by reading both, and the context of this one will make more sense if you read the other fic first.

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; this fic DOES use Y/N; as with the previous fic - the reader is implied to be fat/plus-sized; also again - for argument's sake, even though the character's in this fic are in high school, everyone is at least 18 (and the fic was inspired by a 20 something actor, so imagine the characters to be whatever age you want); mentions of panty stealing (carried over from the previous fic - Stiles stole a pair of the reader's panties in that fic and still has them in his possession); mentions of Stiles masturbating, but not described in detail like last time; mentions of Stiles having sexual fantasies about the reader; the rest of the lacrosse team finds Stiles with the panties and mocks him for it - they mock him for potentially having the panties to wear them and call him a 'cross-dresser', so I guess the warning here is transphobia and transphobic ideas (which would be very typical of high school boys, especially around the time this show was made in 2011); mentions of other members of the lacrosse team finding the reader sexually attractive (it is implied that the reader is generally known as a hot, attractive girl); mention of the reader wearing a 'slutty' Halloween costume to a party (Stiles has a picture of it that he 'loves'); for the actual smut section - the reader is dominant and Stiles is submissive; size kink - Stiles likes being manhandled by the reader because he is thin and skinny; the reader imposes rules on Stiles as a dom and he follows them, but there is no safeword implemented or needed (as the writer, I say they don't need one because they will never be put in danger of using one) (because they are fictional characters and their hard 'nos' will never come into play and only things they want will happen); orgasm restriction - Stiles has to ask the reader in order for permission before cumming; bondage - the reader uses a scarf to tie Stiles's wrists to the bed; the reader gives Stiles a handjob; lots of dirty talk; orgasm denial/edging (towards Stiles); the reader calls Stiles: needy boy, good boy, babe, baby, sweetheart; undertones of humiliation kink; undertones of pain kink (nothing severe, but Stiles does like a bit of pain); begging (from Stiles, a lot); protected penis in vagina sex (they DO use a condom this time) (different, I know); Stiles sucks on the reader's tits; Stiles eats the reader's pussy; thigh riding - Stiles grinds against the reader's thigh to cum; praise kink - towards Stiles; the reader calls Stiles 'pretty'; undertones of dumbification kink; I believe that is finally it. I hope you all enjoy!!

A/N: So, I have some mixed feelings about releasing this fic. Currently, I am only rushing to edit and release it in order to get it off my plate, and I want to do so before the end of the year. I wrote this during the hiatus, when I was writing fics without editing them and I really enjoyed getting to write a fic and go onto the sequel without having to stop and think too much about it. But to me, the first fic feels naturally complete. And so I didn't really like people nagging and continually asking for a sequel to the other fic as if it's not a complete fic on its own. It's only recently that I found a way to put it into words. Whenever I release a fic and people only care about seeing a sequel or a second part (especially if it's a oneshot with an intentional ending and people ask for a sequel like it's something so urgent), it makes me feel like that fic is not good enough because people view that fic as incomplete on its own. I know people think it's a compliment or flattering to ask for a sequel, but to me, if you like my writing, ask for me to write more for those same characters or in that same fandom - but if you are constantly asking for a sequel to a specific fic, it makes me think that you think that fic is not good and it needs to be completed in some way. But anyway - I tried to remember why I had fun writing this fic in the first place, and if anybody starts asking for a 'part three', I will start swinging. (THERE WILL NOT BE A PART THREE.) Also, when I originally wrote this, I was watching Season 1 and I had not met Isaac yet, so for my own fun, as my own special treat, I added Isaac to the locker room scene. Because he is my baby. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!

...

A week later, Stiles still had not returned the stolen panties to you.

It was something that he kept meaning to do. Honestly, he really did.

But he just never got the chance to.

Somehow, in that entire week, he had never been left alone in your room. Not for long enough to actually figure out what to do with the stolen goods. Should he leave them in your hamper and let you find them in the laundry? Should he slip them back into your drawer like nothing had happened since, technically, they were clean? He always ended up panicking and shoving them back into his bag whenever he heard you coming back down the hall.

On other nights when the two of you had been studying together, it had been at his place instead of yours. And any time he had gone over to your house, you had been with him pretty much the whole time.

And okay - maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe you had taken bathroom breaks or left the room for a while because your mom wanted to talk to you. Or you ran downstairs to grab a pizza that you had ordered to share with him - but every time he opened his backpack to grab the panties in order to put them back, he felt some insane thing inside his head telling him that he just couldn’t do it. Part of him thought that it was fear over getting caught - the idea that you would walk back into the room just in time to see him with the evidence in hand.

But deep down, he knew it was a possessiveness. The idea that these panties were now his. They belonged to him now and he didn’t want to put them back. Those panties were his prize - his special, secret little part of you. And he couldn’t give that up. Not yet.

He hadn’t jacked off with them since that first time. Well, he hadn’t specifically put them around his cock and made a mess of them in the same way. But he held them in a clean hand and enjoyed the texture of the lace, enjoyed the thought of you wearing them - while he used his other lubed hand to make himself cum. And he had done that every single night, sometimes twice, since he had taken them. It was becoming a bit of a worrying habit.

He was wondering if you had noticed them gone yet.

Maybe, when he finally did get rid of them, he wouldn’t return them back to you - he would have to burn them or something, just to get rid of the evidence. And then he would have to go on believing that you either hadn’t noticed the specific pair gone or you went on thinking that you had simply just lost them.

But he couldn’t dwell on that for too long - because he did actually have other things to do besides viciously jerking off to thoughts about you. Even though that activity alone took up way too much of his time these days. Surprisingly, he was doing a lot better in his classes thanks to studying with you (he actually managed to retain a lot more of the material when you explained it to him), and he had just made First Line of the lacrosse team due to a horrible outbreak of pink eye. So things in his life were really looking up.

The team funneled into the locker room, sweaty and tired after their practice, but personally - Stiles was glowing.

He felt like he had done particularly well that day, and you had shown up to watch his practice. Even if Coach kept getting his name wrong and you had almost stormed into the middle of the field to scream at him about it. Overall, it was a good day. And he had a study date with you planned after this, so he had nothing but excitement brewing in his stomach at the idea of getting to spend more time with you.

But then - it happened.

He had almost completely forgotten that the contraband stolen panties were even in his bag. The item had become such a normal part of his life now that he hadn’t even considered what might happen if someone else found them on his person. So he thought nothing of putting his bag on the bench in the middle of the room and rooting through it, wide open, looking for the fresh clothes he had brought with him. (Of course, the only reason he had even brought fresh clothes was because he knew he would be hanging out with you later, and he wanted to avoid another Mustard Stain Incident.)

When he took out these fresh clothes and began dressing (fresh out of the showers, of course) - it was just a tiny blur in the corner of his eye. Just a little streak of purple falling to the floor. As he put his second foot into his jeans, he spotted them, right there, sitting in the middle of the locker room floor - and his heart stopped.

Naturally - someone else spotted them too.

And just as Stiles raced to pick them up, another hand snatched them out from under him.

“Woah, Stiles.” Danny’s voice chuckled, rising back to his full height. “Are these yours?”

Mockery was dripping in every inch of his words, and Stiles’s heart raced. He rushed to pull his pants up, not yet fastening his zipper, and he glared at Danny, entirely lost for words. He moved to snatch the purple lace panties where Danny was dangling them off one finger, partly disgusted, partly amused.

Naturally, Danny dodged the move, still looking at Stiles with mockery written all over his face.

“Ya know, this really isn’t your color - red would look much better on you.” Danny smirked.

Wait - he thought that Stiles had them because he had been wearing them?

This comment easily caught Jackson’s attention, who slammed his locker door shut and moved to see what his friend was talking about.

“Oh my god,” He chuckled, looking at the item in Danny’s hand and then back to Stiles, amusement spreading into a horrible grin across his face. “You’re a cross-dresser! This is too good. I always knew you were a freak, but this just brings it to a whole new level.”

Jackson’s loud voice caught the attention of the entire team, who all craned their necks to see what he spoke of - including Scott, who practically ran around the corner with his hair still soaking wet and some suds dripping off him, a towel hastily wrapped around his waist as he raced to see what Jackson meant.

“What?” Scott balked, looking at Stiles entirely confused.

“Look, they’re not mine!”

Stiles barked, panic setting in as he realized how fast the rumor would spread. It would be incredibly juicy gossip, if it were true (and most people didn’t care if gossip was true or not, which would make it spread even faster) - so he rushed to stamp it out before that could happen.

“They belong to Y/N!”

With this harsh declaration, he reached out and snatched them back, and Danny was too shocked by these words to move away this time.

The room fell deadly silent, save for the distant hum of the shower that Scott had left running in his haste to watch the confrontation unfold. Everyone was staring at Stiles unabashedly now, very clearly shocked by his words.

Fuck.

Stiles’s heartbeat ramped up again. He had been so quick to try and exonerate himself that he had walked into a whole new problem:

Now everyone on the team would find out that he was a panty-stealing pervert. And he wasn’t sure which reputation was worse: that, or being assumed to be a secret cross-dresser.

“Seriously?” Isaac asked, being the first one to speak up and break the silence. “Because if you of all people managed to hit that,” He let out a low whistle, let a train blowing out a hoot of steam. “I admire you. She is so fucking hot. Normally she doesn’t give guys at this school the time of day. How did you-?”

“No, no fucking way, they’re not hers.” Jackson scoffed, cutting off Isaac’s congratulatory words, immediately in disbelief. His natural instinct was to think that Stiles would never be able to get with someone as hot as you. “She’s a ten and you’re a solid three. Maybe. In the dark. With a bag on your head. That so did not happen.”

Stiles frowned at the insult, but he was relieved that nobody suspected that he had stolen the underwear. Nobody had seen through him to the much more likely truth.

“Come on, he’s like a four.” Danny added on. “He could easily be a seven if he changed his hair.”

Feeling suddenly self conscious, Stiles put a hand up to his head - and felt entirely confused about where this conversation was going.

“You’re getting off topic,” Scott piped up, looking between Danny and Stiles, his face nothing but pure confusion. “You’re telling us that you finally, actually went for it?”

He was shocked that you and Stiles had gotten together without him knowing it. And he was slightly disappointed that his best friend had gotten some action with his long-time crush without telling him about it.

“Yeah, come on - give us some details.” Isaac added on with a grin.

“Yes, yes I did! I finally went for it.” Stiles replied, mocking confidence, puffing out his chest. “Y/N and I hooked up in my Jeep last week. And these are hers,” He added on, proudly holding up the underwear as his prize.

If he was going to screw himself with a lie, he might as well make it a big one.

“Really?” Jackson posed, clearly still not believing him. “So - how did it go down? Did you get to second base? Third?”

“Uh… remind me of the bases again?” Stiles muttered.

Isaac rolled his eyes, and Scott looked as though he was making calculations in his head.

“What was it - handjob? Blowie? Did you finger her? When did you get those?” Jackson persisted. “Is she a screamer?”

Stiles’s gut twisted. So he was going to need details for his fake story.

“You are so utterly barbaric.” Danny muttered, turning back to his locker, clearly tuning out of the conversation now that it had gotten too ‘straight’ for him.

“Gross!” Scott disrupted Stiles’s internal panic with a face of twisted disgust. “Can we not talk about one of my best friends like this? Please?”

“Jesus, Scott, don’t ruin this for me,” Isaac whined, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, McCall, shut it.” Jackson grunted, dismissing him. “I just wanna know if Stiles here is lying.”

Scott simply rolled his eyes and retreated back to the shower. He was someone who truly believed Stiles at his word. Even if he had never smelled the pheromones of sex on him, he guessed that ‘hooked up’ meant something else to Stiles.

Stiles hated that this left him alone with several pairs of eyes dissecting him - the guys on the team who were perverted and gossipy enough to want to know the details of his hook-up with you.

“Well - I’m not lying.” Stiles hissed through his teeth. “She - we. Well - we made-out in the backseat. And then - she - she rode my dick. Hard.” He said, knowing that his tone didn’t sound the most confident. But he supposedly had proof right there in the form of your underwear.

“Hmm, really?” Jackson replied, still not convinced. “You know what? Why don’t we just go and ask Y/N about this whole thing? She and Lydia are waiting outside, aren’t they?”

Oh fuck.

Stiles was screwed. So, so screwed.

His stomach rose up into his throat and he couldn’t get words out, couldn’t scream out ‘no’, couldn’t do anything to stop Jackson (who was fully dressed and ready) as he snatched the underwear out of Stiles’s hand and marched out into the hallway. All Stiles could do was rush out into the hallway in pursuit, following Jackson and the group of gawking looky-loos that had followed who now seemed very interested in this piece of drama.

Stiles didn’t even have time to pay attention to the fact that he wasn’t yet dressed himself - he didn’t have a shirt or shoes on and his pants weren’t even fastened. He couldn’t bring himself to mind because he was about to be outed as a thief and a pervert, and likely about to be violently jumped by the entire team for it.

He wished that he still had his lacrosse pads on.

You and Lydia were standing against a couple of random lockers, chatting idly, and you both looked utterly confused by the mob approaching. Lydia looked even more confused (with a hint of disgust) when she saw that Stiles was still half naked, and if Stiles wasn’t flooded with panic, he might have noticed you raking your eyes over his torso with a certain hunger and then licking your lips.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jackson smiled at you trying to be charming. “These fell out of-” He held up the underwear to show you, and you immediately frowned.

“Ew! Why do you have them?” You cut him off, snatching them back before he could finish his sentence.

“Are those your underwear?” Lydia asked, looking between you and Jackson with anger brewing. “Jackson, why do you have another girl’s underwear?” She ground out sharply.

“Well, as I was saying,” He said, clearly annoyed. “Those fell out of Stiles’s backpack. And he claims that he only has them because he hooked up with you, Y/N,”

You and Lydia both looked at Stiles - you, with a certain content glow in your eyes, and Lydia, glaring at him while her lips curled in unhidden disgust. Jackson stood there with a smirk, as though waiting to be right, and there was a moment where nobody spoke that Stiles swore his heart swelled up and climbed out of his throat.

Then, you let out a soft laugh and said:

“Yeah. We did. Why is this such big news?”

Jackson glared at you and Lydia’s expression of disgust became even more prominent. Stiles became dizzy with shock and he hoped that nobody noticed the way his chest flexed as he let out a breath of relief.

Thank God - you were covering for him.

Wait. Why were you covering for him?

“He and I have been hooking up for months now. We didn’t want to parade it around the school as gossip and I made him promise that I wouldn’t become locker room talk,” You stressed these words, giving him a small glare.

Behind Jackson, Isaac’s face became painted with guilt.

“But it’s true.” You said, giving Stiles an oddly sultry look. He knew he was standing there with his mouth stupidly agape, but he just couldn’t find it in him to close his mouth. “The last time we hooked up, I gave him these panties in case he got lonely on nights I can’t visit.”

You reached out, running a single finger along his bare torso from sternum right to the waistband of his underwear where they were sticking out of his jeans - and yup, his dick was definitely ballooning to life now.

“I didn’t intend for everybody on the lacrosse team to put their grubby hands all over them.” You said this sharply, glaring at Jackson now.

He simply rolled his eyes in reply. Clearly, he hated the idea that he had been wrong, and he was pouting in silence now.

“Okay, this has been sufficiently gross.” Lydia announced, effectively ending the conversation. “Jackson, can you go get your stuff so we can leave? We have dinner with my mom at five, and-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jackson sighed, rolling his eyes again.

“Stiles, you better hurry up too.” You told him. “I need to get that bra I left in the back of your Jeep.”

And then - much to his shock, you leaned in and laid a kiss right on his lips. Firm, but fast. Laying a claim on him right in front of everyone. Owning up to the story materially as much as you had with your words.

If it hadn’t been for Jackson slapping him on the shoulder, Stiles would have been frozen with shock long after you pulled away. But then, he was on autopilot, walking back to the locker room with Jackson and the other onlookers who were whispering in hushed tones about him ‘banging such a hot girl’.

“I gotta tell you, Stilinski, I did not think that you had it in you.” Jackson told him, this being a compliment coming from him. “But I guess somehow, you ended up with a ten.”

“I definitely want more details later.” Isaac told him in a low whisper before he returned back to his own locker.

Somehow - Stiles had come out on top in this situation.

In the hallway behind them, Lydia sighed and locked you in a judgemental gaze.

“Really? Stiles?” She asked, harshness seeping through her voice.

“What?” You shrugged. “He’s cute.”

Lydia waited for further explanation, and you folded.

“...And he’s easy to boss around. I like it when he gets flustered from simple instructions, but then does it anyway.”

“Oh.” Lydia nodded. “So it’s a kink thing.”

You laughed, shaking your head. You couldn’t entirely disagree with her.

…

It wasn’t until Stiles was nearly finished dressing, sitting on the bench tying his shoes that it truly hit him:

He was still utterly screwed.

Even if the guys on the team thought he was some high school hero for somehow managing to get into your pants (some of them high-fiving him and patting him on the shoulder in congratulations before they left the locker room). And even if, for some bizarre reason, you had chosen to cover for him in front of everyone (he put that on you being a loyal best friend and quite literally not wanting to air your dirty laundry in front of everyone) - you still knew the truth. You and Stiles might be the only people who knew, but both of you still knew the truth.

For a minute there, he had been deluded enough to start believing his own bullshit story. But it was still complete bullshit.

There hadn’t been some heat of the moment romp in the back of his Jeep that resulted in you naked for him, losing your underwear or giving them to him as a reward. He was still a pathetic virgin who had stolen them and had no right to have them in the first place. He still had to face you, likely knowing that this was the end of your friendship, because you were the only person who knew about the horrible thing that he had done.

Stiles dreaded facing you, but he knew that he couldn’t hide out in the locker room forever. So he grabbed his gear and he braved his way into the parking lot, where you were now waiting by the Jeep since Lydia had left with Jackson. You were distracted, looking at something on your phone, and Stiles savored the few moments he had left to admire your beauty before you would declare that you hated him forever and never speak to him again.

In all honesty, Stiles expected you to slap him, yell at him, and then leave. He expected you to, at the very least, tell him that the friendship was over and that he should never talk to you again.

He was entirely surprised when he approached you and nothing of that nature happened.

Instead, you gave him a cold, uninterested look before you said:

“Door.”

In the most deadpan voice ever, while motioning to the passenger’s side door - oh, of course. Obviously meaning for him to open the door for you.

It was something he usually did upon instinct anyway (always bending over backwards to impress you) but today, the intense dread hanging over his head had caused him to forget.

He rushed to get the door for you and you climbed into the passenger’s seat as you usually did, still not yet speaking to him. So then he busied himself with putting his gear in the back, still feeling anxiety curl in his gut at the conversation that would inevitably take place during the ride home. At least you still felt okay with riding with him. Perhaps the friendship wasn’t entirely ruined after all.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and began fumbling with his keys in nervous, shaky hands, not yet ready to look you in the eye. You were staring at yourself in the flip-down mirror, fixing your hair, wiping off some lip gloss that had smeared. Usually this would be a moment he would absolutely drink in, loving to stare at you while you did such menial tasks. But today, after being caught doing such a horrible thing, he was absolutely drenched in guilt and he just couldn’t bring himself to face you.

The two of you simmered in the silence for a few moments. He was waiting for you to bring it up - for you to scream, yell, hit him, do something.

He was surprised by what came next.

“You said your dad isn’t gonna be home tonight, right?” You posed, still looking in the mirror rather than at him.

It was what he had told you at lunch, inviting you over to watch some horror movies that you had been bugging him to see.

He had guessed those plans would be canceled, hinging on what had just happened.

“Uh, yeah.” He said, confirming it once again. “He’s working the night shift.”

“Good. We’ll go to your place then.”

You thought he would start to drive at this confirmation, but he was still unsettled by anxiety. He was still waiting for you to acknowledge it, at least.

“Ugh, okay… are you gonna yell at me?” He burst out, knowing that it was incredibly stupid, asking to be yelled at, but he truly didn’t know what else to do at this point. You gave him a strange look, almost confused, and ran his hands over his face in frustration. “Come on! We both know what happened!”

“Stiles, my, my… what are you talking about?”

Your voice was dripping with sarcasm and your eyes were filled with determined mischief, and he knew then and there - you wanted him to say it. You wanted him to blatantly confirm in his own words what he had done.

Stiles let out a harsh sigh, leaning his head down and accidentally bumping his forehead against the steering wheel in a way that made the horn dully beep, the knot growing larger and tighter in his gut.

“Come on, you know…”

He trailed off, hoping that you wouldn’t actually force him to say it. He sat upright again, and you continued to look at him expectantly, patiently, and he swallowed around the terrible dryness in his throat before he forced himself to say it.

“I - I stole your underwear and kept them in my bag.”

You both knew that he was leaving out the part where he had masturbated with them. Even if you had no proof of that, it was starkly obvious to you.

But you decided not to push him about that detail. (For now.)

“Oh. That.” You said, continuing to sound utterly sarcastic in your cluelessness.

Then your tone switched to something oddly genuine as you said something he never would have expected.

“I’ve been waiting for like a week to see if you even had them. I kind of thought I was going crazy. I thought maybe my cat stole them because you weren’t fessing up and you didn’t try to bring them back,” You sighed. “I was worried my whole plan failed.”

Something inside of Stiles snapped, and he thought it was the last branch on his tree of his sanity. He chose not to worry about it for now.

“Y - your plan?” He stuttered out, barely grasping at the reality of what you had meant.

You had wanted him to find your underwear? You wanted him to take them? You wanted him to-?

You let out a bright, amused laugh.

“Yes, dummy!” You said, reaching up and poking the side of his head while he stared at you in utter shock. “I left the panties there for you to take. You’re cute, but god - you’re really dense sometimes.” You let out a sigh. “Now drive, please. As long as the blood currently trapped in your dick isn’t gonna distract you too much.”

He hated that he got a sick thrill from you mocking him and calling him ‘cute, but dense’. But he was glad that he was used to driving with boners that you had given him, because it didn’t distract him too horribly. Thoughts of what would happen when the two of you got there had him running a few stops signs, though.

…

Stiles still wasn’t entirely sure how the heinous crime of stealing your panties had gotten him into this glorious position, but with the way things were going, he no longer cared to question it.

The minute that the two of you got through his bedroom door, you grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him into a bruising kiss. He struggled to keep up, clumsy but entirely excited against the movement of your mouth, wondering if he had somehow gotten sucked into another heated daydream.

But no, that couldn’t be true - because this was so much fucking better.

The smell of your perfume in his nose, the little puffing breaths you let out against his cheek, the little moans that emanated from your throat. And holy hell, the feeling of your tongue shoving past his lips that caused him to let out a pathetic moan of his own as you seemed determined to filthily fuck his mouth with it.

You were a lot more aggressive in real life than you were in his dreams.

But he fucking loved it. He loved it so much.

His cock was already throbbing in his pants, likely staining his boxers with copious amounts of precum as you walked him back toward the bed. You then used the hand you had in the middle of his chest to shove him roughly back onto it.

“Oh my god.”

He squeaked out the words at the feeling of being manhandled by you - given, he knew he didn’t weigh that much and he had made no effort to put up a fight, but it was still hot to know that you could shove him around so easily. Which was something he would have to mentally unpack with himself later. But for now, he would simply just enjoy it.

While his dick continued to ache harder, he looked up at you in awe. You were standing at the foot of the bed with your lip gloss smeared, your chest heaving slightly with a wicked grin on your face. Stiles had never seen a more beautiful predator in all his life. The look in your eyes told him that he was about to be absolutely devoured by you - and he couldn’t fucking wait.

“Y/N, please-” He was about to begin begging, but you cut him off sharply.

“Shut up.” You barked, and he felt a beautiful wave of hormones crash over his body at this. You were much more aggressive than in his dreams. It was so perfect. “No more talking now.”

You put a knee on the bed between where his thighs had naturally draped open and you leaned over his body, crowding tightly into his personal space. He hoped that the needy whine he couldn’t contain as you raked your nails across his scalp wouldn’t count as ‘talking’. He was desperate to follow your rules - so desperate to be a good boy for you.

“You will do everything I tell you to.” You whispered against his lips, and he nearly began shaking as he resisted the urge to close the gap and kiss you again. “Unless you want me to tell all the boys on the team that you’re actually a filthy perv who stole my panties?”

“Y-” He nearly gave a verbal confirmation of this, but then he remembered what you had said.

No more talking.

Instead, quickly picking up on following the rules, Stiles nodded his head aggressively.

“From now on, you do not look at any other girl, you do not touch any other girl, you belong to me - do you understand?”

He had no clue what ‘other girls’ you thought he might possibly be touching, or even talking to in a non-platonic way, but he got another tight thrill at being claimed as yours. He wanted so badly to be yours - to be your good boy.

He nodded aggressively again - his tongue lolling out of his mouth, slick with want, practically drooling down his chin like a dog at this point, his eyes staring at you with a hypnotized kind of need.

“When we are having sex, you do not speak unless prompted, you do not cum unless I give you permission, and from now on - you do not touch yourself unless I tell you to.”

His cock throbbed weakly in protest at this. He swallowed thickly, his throat straining with complaints about your words. He knew it would be difficult to go from jerking off every morning and every night to likely not at all, but fuck - you, on top of him, you wanting to have sex with him - it was more than a fair price to pay.

If someone had told him a week ago that he would be in this position, he would have given up anything for it.

So naturally, he nodded again.

“Do you understand?”

He stayed silent, believing that he was following your rules.

“Tell me that you understand.”

“I understand.” Stiles breathed out in a rush, nodding again.

“Good. Now take off your clothes.”

You got off the bed again and he was momentarily distracted by watching you shuffle through your bag for something, but then he remembered the instruction. You wanted him to take off his clothes. You actually wanted to touch him.

Stiles rushed to strip and he didn’t have time to be self conscious before you were kissing him again, drowning him in hot, open-mouthed kisses as he stepped out of his underwear and jeans where they were pooled around his ankles. You pushed him onto the bed again and this time followed him, straddling his waist while still fully clothed yourself. Wearing the shirt, skirt, and tights you had worn to school that day, making for an odd sensation as the fabric covering your hot cunt rubbed against his now bare, very hard dick.

He didn’t think anything of it when you grabbed his hands and brought them above his head - but then there was fabric encircling his wrists, and he pulled himself away from your mouth to blink up dumbly, wondering what you were doing.

You had gotten a scarf out of your bag, and you were tying him to the bedpost.

“Remember what I said?” You grinned at him, tying a knot that was surprisingly secure. “Good boys get rewards, and bad boys get spanked.”

He tugged experimentally on the hold, and it was pretty firm. Not tight enough to cut off his circulation - but he definitely didn’t see himself getting out of it without help.

His stomach jumped as he wondered which you had deemed him as - good or bad. Especially because he was now tied up, completely at your mercy. He was splayed out on his back, so this wouldn’t be an optimal position to spank him in. But theoretically, you would do whatever else you wanted to him. And that thought sent an odd tingle through his body, causing a wonderful jolt through his cock.

“I’m gonna give you a chance to earn a reward, Stiles.” You told him, delivering another messy kiss. “You gonna be a good boy for me?”

“Yes.” He answered eagerly. “Fuck, yes - I wanna be good for you.”

You grinned at this.

He was more than eager to see what you were gonna do next.

A sharp jolt of anxiety hit him when you sat up (leaning more of your weight on his cock, causing him to let out a pathetic moan) - he hated being separated from you already. He churned in anticipation as you took a moment to sit there and just admire him.

Stiles was so pretty, tied up for you, ready to be devoured - his honey eyes glossed over with need and anticipation, his lips bitten pink and slightly swollen, parted in that beautifully dumb way as he heaved out shallow, desperate breaths. Yes, he was skinny - even playing lacrosse hadn’t managed to put much muscle tone on his body, but you did find a certain appeal in his lithe, thin form. You gained a certain thrill from knowing that you could so easily man-handle him, toss him down, and he really wasn’t strong enough to put up much of a fight in return.

His cock, leaking frantically between your legs - was beautiful in its own way. A healthy six inches and nicely thick, his pubes dark, thick and untrimmed. Unkept because he definitely hadn’t been expecting anyone to see him without clothes anytime soon. Charming, in a sense.

Just as Stiles was feeling smothered by the anticipation, by the heated gaze of your eyes running up and down his body, you then leaned to look in his bedside drawer. He wanted to scream for you not to do it, but he had a feeling that it would be breaking your rules; that it would be a ‘bad boy’ thing to do. And that would run the risk of you not touching him at all.

You let out a laugh when you saw what was in the drawer.

“You know, somehow I’m not surprised that this is almost empty.” You told him, bringing out the dwindling bottle of lube and placing it beside him. “You must like it really wet, huh?”

The words were absolutely filthy coming off your lips, intentionally so on your part, but it sounded like a rhetorical question. He swallowed a whimper, but said nothing.

“And this,” You picked up one of the many pictures he had of you in the drawer - one of you in your Halloween costume from last year. Lydia had dared you to wear something ‘slutty’, and you had shown up to her Halloween party in a black leather bra, a leather mini skirt, leather boots, and a pair of cat ears. Stiles had spent most of that night in the bathroom. “I have to say, I’m flattered.”

You have another bright giggle before you put the picture back and then closed the drawer.

“So - you think about me a lot, do you, Stiles?” You asked, scooting back on his thighs until you were sitting on his knees.

Not a rhetorical question.

He swallowed thickly, gathering himself to answer.

“Yes.” He answered, his voice far too weak for his liking. “All the time.”

You hummed thoughtfully at this.

You reached to your waist, untucking your shirt from your skirt before you lifted it off completely over your head, revealing your blue lace bra to him. Dear god, you were so perfect. As you tossed your shirt off to the side, the bra strap slumped down your shoulder and he mourned over not having his hands free, wanting to gently lift it back up, or rip the whole thing off you, wanting to kiss along your shoulder-

“How often do you think about me?” You asked, reaching for the bottle of lube.

Stiles felt a wave of shyness splash up inside of his gut. But he knew that it was useless to deny the truth now. He had already been caught, over and over again. You wouldn’t mock him now if he just admitted it.

You cracked the top on the bottle, and the sound shook his insides - his dog-like mind so well trained to associate the sound with having his dick touched. He licked his lips, viciously trying to get his mouth to work in tandem with his brain. You had asked him to speak. He needed to speak. But that was growing more and more difficult while he stared down the ample cleavage coming out of your bra and shook with the anticipation of you about to touch his cock.

“Every day.” He whimpered out. “All the time, I-”

He let off a choked sound when you poured some lube into your hand and then finally, after years of him dreaming about it, you wrapped a loose, cool, wet grip around the base of his hard, leaking cock. His hips jumped up into your touch and he let out a choked sound from the back of his throat while you continued to look at him with an absolutely wicked grin.

“Stiles,” You said his name in a firm tone, reminding him that he was supposed to be giving you an answer.

“I can’t stop thinking about you!” He shouted, much louder than he had intended to. “All the time, I - I feel like I’m going insane. You’re too perfect, you’re too hot, I-I-I-”

“Hey, shh, baby.” You told him, running the other hand up his thigh in a way that made him gasp.

You used that loose grip on his dick and began jerking him off, spreading the lube across him in the most leisurely way possible. It was a dull pleasure, but one so perfect because it was delivered by you.

He had no clue how absolutely deliberate it was. But of course - everything you did with him was so deliberate, so well planned out to drive him entirely insane.

“How often do you jerk off?”

You asked, curiosity ripe within you as you imagined it: Stiles splayed out on this exact bed, pants around his ankles, his hand wet with lube and creating a sloppy blur on his cock as he jerked off as fast as possible, absolutely desperate to cum - his face twisted with pleasure, his thighs tensing, your name hot on his lips.

You really wanted to know the kind of things he imagined, what made his kinky little mind tick. You wanted to know just how desperate he was to steal your panties in the first place. Did he think that he could get away without you noticing them gone or was he just too horny to care?

You tightened your grip slightly, continuing to drag your hand up and down his dick in long, slow, deliberate strokes. You wanted him hard, throbbing, and desperate - even more so than he already was. You wanted him blinded with pleasure and begging.

“A lot.” He breathed back, bucking his hips up to meet your touch, clearly already needy for more.

You put a firm hand on his hip, pinning him to the bed. You tutted your tongue, scolding him.

“Come on, Stiles.” You said, your tone somewhere between mocking and scolding. “You can be more specific than that.”

You tightened your grip again, your hand now acting like a firm vice around his cock - something that made him moan deeply and close his eyes. You let him enjoy it for a few moments as you stroked him deeply, slowly - spreading the wetness over his cock in deep, pleasurably strokes. For the first time ever, delivering the pleasure of having a hand on his cock that wasn’t his own.

Already, intense pleasure was knotting up in his stomach. Already - he was getting close to cumming.

You could tell that from the way his breathing shallowed out, the way his stomach tensed.

You pulled your hand back completely, leaving him to let out a confused sound and pop his eyes open at top speed, craning his neck up to look at you with utter disappointment while you continued to grin at him.

“Tell me.” You instructed firmly. “How many times a week do you make yourself cum?” You continued your interrogation. When his face flashed with a streak of guilt, you changed the question. “How many times a day?”

Stiles took a sharp breath.

Again, he felt caught.

“Twice.” He said it quietly, before gathering his courage. “Twice - twice a day. Usually… once in the morning and once at night.”

You giggled. “Needy boy.”

He was rewarded with your touch back on his cock. He let out a deep, satisfied moan as you started jerking him off again, wet and smooth, a bit faster this time. It created a lovely wet noise and he let out another moan when he heard it.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself, Stiles?” You asked, your voice low and sultry - warm, inviting him to the possibilities.

Perhaps, if he told you about the things he thought about, his most private and guarded thoughts, then you might make them come true.

“You.” He moaned back almost instantly - trying to buck up into your touch again but being held down by you again. “I - I only think about you. I swear.”

You licked your lips.

It was something you loved to hear. But you yearned for more details.

“Cute.” You sighed. “As flattering as that is, babe, I want specifics.” You pressed. “Specific fantasies. Come on, you must have kinks,”

If he had to summarize it - his kink was you.

And it was growing increasingly difficult to think with your hand pumping on his cock.

“Your - your thighs!” Stiles blurted out frantically, saying the first thing that he thought of.

Even now, feeling the heavy, warm fat of your thighs spread across his knees, had his cock jumping in your hand - had him buzzing and dizzy all over. It was one of his favourite parts about you, something that made him hard if your thighs brushed against him when the two of you sat too close together on the couch during a movie night.

“Your thighs are so - so thick, and beautiful, and big, and-” He choked off into a moan when you moved your other hand to his balls, spreading some of the lube there and gently massaging them in a way that sent a jolt through his whole body, practically making him seize off the bed.

You let out a giggle.

“What else, baby?”

His cock was hot and pulsing in your hand, and you knew he was close again. But you wanted him to get right to the edge before you cut him off this time.

“I - I think about - about having your thighs wrapped around my head,”

He choked out, stuttering as he began humping into your touch, so desperate to cum. He had pretty much forgotten about your earlier rules by now, had forgotten about asking for permission, and he just needed to cum into your touch. He needed it so badly.

“I wanna eat you out so badly. I wanna taste you. I wanna eat your pussy. Please, please, please, please-!”

This visceral begging tipped you off to the orgasmic delirium he was tipping into, and you squeezed your touch sharply around the base of his cock to keep him from cumming, even going so far as to give his balls a light tap in punishment. He let out a bitter gasp as his orgasm was sharply cut off, the feeling drowned bitterly in his stomach. It left his muscles so tight and left him flailing against his binds for a moment, squirming chaotically underneath you.

“Bad boy.” You scolded him, your voice wicked and causing his dick to throb woefully in your unforgiving touch. “You didn’t ask if you could cum.”

You leaned down and bit one of his nipples - pure teeth, unforgiving, and it made him cry out in a gargle of his own spit as his head became even dizzier. He didn’t even have the mental capacity to question why he liked the sharp spike of pain so much, especially not when his balls were throbbing so terribly, and he needed to cum so fucking badly.

“Please?!” He cried out. “Please? Can I cum? I need it, I need-”

“Shh, baby.”

You hushed him again, taking your hand off his dick and leaving it to rest leaking against his stomach, running both your hands up his torso in a soothing touch as you leaned in and pressed a few sweet kisses on his open, whining mouth.

“I’ll give you a chance to be good. Is that what you want?”

“Please.” He replied, so desperate that he was on the verge of tears now. “I wanna be good for you, please.”

“I’m gonna ride your pretty cock now. And if you wait to cum until I tell you,” You pressed these words hard, making sure he paid attention to this part. “Then I’ll let you eat my pussy. Does that sound like a good reward?”

“Yes.” He replied, entirely breathy and excited. “Please, please. I’ll be good.”

“Oh, baby. I know you will.”

This spilled from your lips as an overly syrupy coo, and he couldn’t help but to yearn for more of that sound.

You got off him, then, and he let out an utterly disappointed sound - instantly missing your weight and the heat of you above him.

Stiles looked on with curiosity as you went back to your bag. His heart thumped with anticipation when you came back with a condom, and didn’t hesitate to open it and then roll it onto his still very stiff cock. (Just the few touches of you doing this had him warming with even more pleasure, and he worried that the touch of your pussy around him would cause him to cum instantly, disappointing you.)

Then, he watched in awe as you stripped off. Your skirt, tights, and underwear, giving him a pang of disappointment that you left your bra on. You did this with intention, though, slightly worried that the sight of your bare tits would cause him to blow it too early.

“Oh my god.” Stiles let out another whimper as you straddled him once again, putting a hand on his cock to line it up with your pussy.

Fuck, holy fuck - this was really happening. He was really about to fuck you. He was about to fuck your perfect pussy.

It was just as beautiful as he had imagined - covered in trimmed hair, which was glossy with your wetness. Fuck - he yearned to see that pussy spread out underneath him. He yearned to taste you. Even just feeling the heat coming off you as you lined up the tip, even through the condom - it was deadly.

He was not going to survive this.

He squeezed his eyes tight and held his breath, and you didn’t like that. You used your free hand to give him a light tap on the cheek - some small semblance of a slap, a grounding reminder that you were there, controlling him.

“Hey, come on. Look at me.”

Your words forced him to open his eyes, and he easily fell into a streak of obedience, eager to please you. His eyes snapped open and he looked right at you - absolutely enamored by your pretty face.

“Good boy.”

He let out another whimper at the praise.

Then, you finally lowered yourself down onto his cock, sinking down in one smooth movement until you were fully seated - tightly wrapped around his dick and resting against his bony pelvis.

He felt like the air had been punched out of him. That perfect, tight heat being wrapped around him - the wetness leaking out around his skin at the base of his dick, everything squeezing his cock like a vice, like you were made to fit him. It made him so dizzy, stole the air out of his lungs. It was all too perfect.

“Oh. Oh. Oh god-” He gasped out, squirming underneath you, already intensely overwhelmed by the pleasure.

You grabbed his jaw in one hand and held him still for another kiss, and he moaned hotly into your mouth, desperation growing inside of him.

You started slowly grinding your hips into his pelvis, wanting to warm him up gently. As you pulled away from the kiss, he was panting frantically against your mouth, already overwhelmed.

“Hey, shh.” You told him, smoothing your hands over his torso once again. “You gonna be good for me?”

“Yes.” He quickly moaned in return, nodding his head eagerly.

This was a side of Stiles that you had so quickly grown to love. You knew that you weren’t going to get enough of this - this beautiful soft obedience. Especially compared to usual sarcastic abrasiveness.

This was your good boy. And you were going to have such a good time training him, having him learn the rules. You were heavily looking forward to shutting down his future quips on a dime with a simple threat of keeping future orgasms from him.

You positioned your weight on your knees, then, and began lifting yourself off his cock halfway before you slammed your hips back down. You put your hands on either side of his head, between where his arms were stationed above him, still tangled up in the scarf and unable to move. After a moment, you built up a good, even pace - not quite gentle, but not entirely rough either.

You were taking it easy on him for his first time.

Stiles continued letting out shocked pants, sounding like a man drowning on dry land, hurriedly gasping for air. Soon, he began moaning as more wild pleasure was driven through his body from the feeling of your wet pussy gripping around his cock; from the feeling of you bouncing against his balls, from the sound of that perfect wet slap every single time you landed down on him.

It caused a terrible need to brew in his stomach, and he knew it wouldn’t be long now.

All too soon, he was going to cum.

“Please!” He moaned out, trying to buck his hips up to meet yours - his muscles shaking so terribly that he couldn’t keep up with your pace and ended up just jostling wildly underneath you. “Please, please!”

You grinned.

You knew that you wouldn’t cum from this, but you were deeply enjoying yourself anyway. Stiles looked so pretty - so pathetic and pretty - gritting his teeth to try and hold back his sounds (which wasn’t working at all), tears rimming his eyes, a few even slipping out, his face tinging a lovely shade of pink from the exertion and the pure arousal.

“Please ‘what’, baby?”

You pressed, a slight edge of mocking on your voice that punched another harsh wave of arousal through his gut. It took everything he had in those moments not to cum - to hold it back. To be good for you.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can say it. Just say the words-”

“Please lemme cum,” He whined out, the words practically turning into a slur on his lips - mirroring exactly the way he had been begging to a fictional you as he had pumped his cock while sitting on this very bed not too long ago. “Please, please, please Y/N, please-”

You leaned down to his ear then, whispering the words he so badly wanted to hear.

“Cum for me, Stiles.”

But this time it was so very real.

With your permission given, his brain fired off, finally allowing himself to let it go. He let out a guttural, almost non-human sound as he humped his hips off the bed in harsh, fast strokes while you fucked down onto him tightly, roughly grinding into him to allow him to get the most out of it. Wanting him to have the most pressure from your hot cunt in those moments while his eyes rolled back into his head and he released a thick load into the condom.

He was even pretty like this - his mouth wide open, his long lashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks, his chest heaving as he released a concert of beautiful, whorish sounds.

When his hips stopped and his noises dissolved off into a more gentle panting, you leaned down to kiss him again. He most definitely deserved it.

“Good boy.” You mumbled against his mouth, eager to praise him. “Such a good boy for me. You did so good.”

This caused another sound from him, and you simply smiled as he began to kiss you back, eager and sloppy, smearing spit across your cheek while you reached up and began untying the knot in the scarf you had secured him with.

“You want your reward now?” You asked him.

You couldn’t lie, your cunt was thrumming at the idea of him getting between your thighs. You wondered if he would be able to make you cum. He seemed eager to please and so far, he was good at following instructions, so you could probably tell him exactly what to do to get you off. Even if he couldn’t, you would certainly enjoy the view.

“Yes, yes, please.” He moaned against your cheek, that desperation thrashing back up inside of him. “Please, I’ve been good, please-”

“Yes, you have been.” You soothed him again. “Good boy.”

You released him from the binds and then finally got off him, allowing his softening cock to pop free from your pussy - something that caused him to loudly moan.

You took off the condom and tossed it into the waste basket that he had by his desk, the lube and cum seeping into the crumbled up, forgotten papers that he had there. When you came back to the bed, he was looking at you with wide, eager eyes, waiting for his next instruction. Such a good boy. You really loved how this was turning out.

“I’m gonna lay down, and then you can get between my legs. Okay, baby?”

He nodded eagerly again, and hopped off the bed to give you room, nearly tripping over his own feet in doing so.

You fluffed up his pillow and then laid down, spreading your legs wide, and when you looked back to him, he was tracing every single inch of your body with a wide-eyed gaze. His mouth was agape once again, absolutely not hiding the fact that he was absolutely lustful for you, becoming utterly distracted by the sight of you (almost completely) naked in his bed, laid out just for him.

“Stiles.” You called his name, garnering his attention once again. “Come on, baby.”

You held out an arm, signaling for him to come over, and he eagerly climbed into the bed between your thighs.

You thought for sure that he would make himself comfortable down between your thighs and get right to tasting you, as eagerly as he had begged for it before, but it was his turn to surprise you now.

“Please, can you-?” He cut himself off shyly, tracing a single finger along the cup of the bra that you still wore, the last scrap of clothing hiding your body from him. “Can you take it off?”

That sent a thrill through you. Rather than being demanding, he was still so trepidatious - wondering if he had tread too far by asking you to remove clothing, even after you had ridden his cock.

Still, you couldn’t help but to want to tease him - just a little bit more.

“You wanna see my tits?” You asked, running your hands up your body, teasing your fingers along the edges of the bra cups as if threatening to pull them down. “You wanna… play with my tits, Stiles?”

“Yes.” Stiles breathed out, entirely eager.

You could see his cock swelling back to life between his thighs already.

“Do you think you’ve been a good enough boy for that?” You questioned, lustful eagerness in your voice.

His answer would entirely dictate whether or not you took the bra off.

He swallowed thickly, still nervous, his eyes flickering between your cleavage and your own eyes, as if looking for a hint at the answer. He waited a careful moment, and then finally spoke.

“Yes.” He said, pausing for a moment as if waiting for you to argue the point before he continued. “Yes, please, I’ve been good.”

“Hmm…” You said, pretending to think. “Alright.”

You reached up behind you, unhooking your bra and tossing it away. When your naked breasts were finally revealed to him, his tongue lolled out of his mouth in an almost puppy-like way, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he stared hungrily at the roundness of your perfect flesh.

This time, he didn’t even ask you before he made his next move - entirely fueled by his own eagerness and desire, he swept down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. Instantly, he let out a loud moan around your tit that told you just how much he was enjoying this, something that had your pussy getting wetter as you saw the way his eyes drifted closed with bliss while he sloppily laved his tongue over your skin.

He was so fucking cute, so fucking pretty - so fucking perfect like this.

He continued like this for a few moments before he trailed a line of sloppy kisses to the other tit and began sucking on that one, feeling the need to give both beautiful girls equal attention. He licked his tongue across the skin in a fat trail that had you tingling, that had your cunt clenching. You were glad he was enjoying himself, but it was making the space between your thighs feel rather neglected.

“Stiles, baby,” You called out, starting to sound a bit breathy from need yourself. You raked your nails gently across his scalp again, causing him to let out another moan. “You said you were gonna eat my pussy, right? You don’t wanna disappoint me - do you, baby?”

He popped off your tit immediately.

“Not gonna disappoint you.” He said in a hurried tone, shaking his head.

You pulled him in for another kiss, and when you released him, he rushed down to get comfortable between your legs, which you spread even more, dropping your foot off the bed on one side to give him more room.

Your pussy was so gorgeous.

So much better than he had dreamed of - wet, gleaming, smeared in your own juices and slightly gaped from his cock. A sight that absolutely thrilled him - seeing exactly where he had been, knowing that he had fucked you, he had been inside of you.

The smell of your pretty cunt was something more unique than your sweat or perfume like he had originally thought. He leaned in eagerly and licked a fat, wide stripe from where you were fluttering and open all the way up to your mound, getting his first real taste of you - he let out a loud moan as it fully penetrated his senses, as everything that was you spread across his tongue for the first time.

You were so fucking perfect. You tasted so fucking perfect.

You let out a moan of your own when Stiles moaned against you again, the vibrations radiating through your sensitive core. This time, he latched into your clit, seemingly knowing that swollen bead was his ticket to success without you even having to tell him. He sucked harshly on it for a moment that made your thighs twitch and threaten to close around his head before he began digging his tongue against it, lapping at your cunt, trying to suck all the taste off it that he could.

“Good boy,” You moaned, reaching out and cradling the back of his head (not having much hair to grab onto with the short buzzcut that he had) - keeping him tight against your pussy, not that he seemed intent to pull away any time soon. “Such a good boy. Good boy for me!”

He wasn’t particularly skilled - it was obvious from a mile away that he didn’t have any experience, but fuck, he more than made up for it with his pure eagerness. He was eating your pussy like it was his last meal, moaning against you like he was getting more pleasure from this than you were - and hell, maybe he was.

He didn’t back off or complain when you instinctively bucked your hips against his face. In fact, he seemed to take it in stride, downright enjoying the way your warm juices were smeared across his cheeks and chin, his eyes shut in bliss as he tongued openly across your cunt, his drool mixing with your wetness while he moaned against you.

“Oh, fuck! Stiles!”

He moaned harder at the sound of his own name on your lips, so beautifully pornographic, better than he had dreamed it would be - even when he had imagined it so many times over and over again. Somehow, even when you thought he might not get you there at all, his eager performance and the vibrations from his moans against your clit had you so close already.

“Got me so close, baby,” You moaned, scratching the back of his head. “Such a good boy, so close-”

He moaned in response and tongued more vigorously at your clit, and you worked your hips against him, practically riding his face in order to bring yourself over the edge.

“Fuck! Stiles!”

You let out a throaty moan as you came, beautiful pleasure surging through your body while your back arched against the bed. Inadvertently shoving your hips even closer to his face, making him even more beautifully messy while he sucked and licked you. He loved the feeling of your body twitching and seizing underneath him, he loved hearing your gorgeous moans, he loved knowing that he had made you cum.

He lowered his face down and shoved his tongue inside you, determined to drink right from the source then, his nose bumping against your now orgasm-sensitive clit unintentionally, making you shout loudly. This further smothered him in your essence in a way that he loved, while he shoved his tongue inside of you as far as he possibly could, absolutely loving the way your pussy fluttered around him, the way your taste overwhelmed his senses, the pure heat smothering his face.

“Baby, baby-”

You gasped and struggled for air, knowing that he wasn’t overstimulating you on purpose - he was just eager. And that thought alone was so overwhelmingly hot to you that you almost let him continue. But your clit thrummed with an ache of protest, and you knew that you couldn’t spoil him this much, this soon. You couldn’t handle having a spoiled brat on your hands.

“Baby, you have to come up now!” You ordered sharply, digging your nails into his shoulder as a warning, adding a tiny bite of pain to fully get his attention.

Stiles let out a tiny whine of disappointment, but did as he was told, finally unlatching himself from your cunt. This move made a sinfully wet sound as he pushed himself up with his hands to sit between your thighs on his knees. Your eyes were immediately drawn to his once again hard, throbbing pink cock smearing precum against his stomach.

You had a passing thought about telling him to grab another condom, but again - you didn’t need to spoil him so soon.

You had another idea instead.

“Oh baby,” You cooed, reaching out and loosely gripping his cock, causing him to let out a shuddering moan and buck into your hand furiously - which didn’t give him much sensation, only teased him more. “You got really excited from that, didn’t you?”

He nodded vigorously, his mind completely mush at this point, too weak to form words.

“Do you wanna get off against my thigh?” You purred, gently stroking your knuckles across his temple - feeling a wicked kind of joy in seeing his face smeared in your wetness, especially when paired with the dumb, glossy look in his eyes.

He almost dared to ask for more - wanting to fuck you again, to put his cock between your tits and fuck them - but he had a feeling that you wouldn’t let him get away with it. And he wanted to be your good boy so badly. So he was willing to take whatever you had to give him.

“Yes.” He croaked out, his voice slightly hoarse now from all the moaning. “Yes, please.”

“Good boy.” You grinned at him. “Come on.”

You moved your leg - already slightly stiff from how long he had been between them, stretched around his shoulders - and slotted your thigh between his. You raised it up slightly, gently propping the broadness of your flesh against his aching balls and his hard, leaking cock.

“Wait, I want-”

He looked around for a moment, and then grabbed up the bottle of lube where it had falling on the floor from the vigor of your fucking. He poured a good deal of it (almost emptying it) over his cock, letting it leak down over your thigh, before he capped it and threw it away again.

You smiled.

“You really do like it wet, don’t you?”

He simply nodded, and began moving his hips. Instinctively, you reached out and grabbed him, taking a commanding hold on those narrow hips to guide him. He easily fell under your control, letting you guide his pace - which meant he moved in slow, languid, sloppy, wet (thanks to the lube) movements across your thigh - his cock dragging against your skin in a way that was delicious, but almost not enough at the same time.

He began letting out whimpers, his face twisting with pleasure and the need for something more as his gut curled with a distinctive ache. As if sensing this, even unconsciously, you couldn’t help your mouth.

“You look so pretty like this,” You told him, hot and breathy.

Turns out - that was the something ‘more’ he so desperately needed. Hearing you call him ‘pretty’ would have been an insult on any other day, but today, it was downright delicious. Your voice curling around the word, directed at him - it felt like something he had been waiting to hear his whole life.

“I love seeing you get off against my thigh, rubbing your pretty cock against me,”

Stiles let out a moan and you felt him fighting to move faster, so you encouraged it, pushing and pulling his hips faster, causing more delicious friction on his cock.

“Please, please-” He gasped.

You knew it wouldn’t take much more.

“You know, I’ve probably been waiting for this just as long as you have,” You whispered lowly in his ear, finally confessing your secret. “I’ve been watching you every single day, seeing how wonderful and dumb you are when you stare at me for hours, thinking I don’t notice. And I’ve just been waiting to pin you up against something and fuck your pretty little brains out-”

Your words were cut off by him crying out, a wet splash against your thigh that had alerted you to him cumming. This was almost pathetic, just a few spurts of cum before it was over (you guessed that with how often he jerked off and from the fucking earlier, you had practically drained his balls). It made you curious if forcing him to abstain from masturbation for a few days would yield more impressive results.

An experiment for later, you guessed.

“Good boy.”

You pulled him into another kiss, ultimately satisfied by the end result of your plan - leaving your panties on your bed as bait for Stiles to find as a way to gently tip him off to your attraction to him. It had worked out in the very best way. Even if you had to wait more than a week for the wheels to truly set in motion.

…

After a joint shower (which was filled with Stiles grinning at you, clearly soaking up the beauty of his luck in landing someone as gorgeous as you) - you changed the sheets on the bed while he made something to eat, and after the two of you ate together, you tucked him in to go to sleep.

He was disappointed that you couldn’t stay the night, just as excited to do other non sexual things with you like wake up in your arms and hold your hand in the hallways at school - but you did have to get home before your curfew. Just as he was dosing off, you kissed him on the forehead, and you thought of something delightfully naughty for him to wake up to, even if you couldn’t be there.

You took off the underwear that you were wearing - a pair of lacy blue ones, to match your bra - and you pinned them up on his corkboard for him to find in the morning.

A perfect little present for your good boy.

…

The next morning, Stiles woke up to a knock on his bedroom door.

“Okay, rise n shine, kid, time for-”

His father’s voice cut off abruptly, and Stiles didn’t have time to ponder why before-

“Dear god, what the hell is that?”

Stiles shot up out of bed, practically falling on the floor, wondering what it could be - monster, werewolf, hunter, someone with a gun-

His eyes landed exactly where his dad was looking, and he was relieved not to find danger, and then terribly embarrassed to see your underwear from the day before pinned to his corkboard, spread out in plain view. Stiles immediately went into damage control mode.

“Look, Dad, I can explain-”

“You know what? I don’t wanna know.” His dad said firmly, making a motion with his hand that said he was brushing away the subject. “Just - get ready for school.”

His dad moved to leave the room, and then he sighed and paused in the doorway, turning back to Stiles in a way that made his gut churn.

“Just - did you use protection?”

Stiles almost offered to show his father the used condom that was still sitting in the trash can - even if only as proof that the night before he had a real, living girl in his room. But he figured that would be going too far.

“Yes.” He answered, calm and short.

His dad nodded, and moved to leave again. He made it a bit further down the hallway this time before he turned around and appeared in the doorway again.

“Son - you know, women aren’t objects, you can’t claim them like sexual conquests, and they deserve respect-”

“Dad.” Stiles sharply cut off whatever speech his father was about to give, wanting his father to know that he hadn’t pinned the underwear to the corkboard himself. He wasn’t some fratboy who celebrated getting laid with a fucking trophy.

“She - she gave them to me.” He said. “She did that.” He motioned to the underwear, and his father’s face shifted from anger to deep discomfort.

“Oh.” He said simply. “Well - I - okay. I don’t wanna know any more.” He said firmly. “And for god’s sake, son, take them down.”

Stiles nodded, rushing to do so.

He was going to take them down - but he wasn’t rushing to give them back to you anytime soon.

...

Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and this has a distinct, intentional ending. There will NOT be a continuation or a 'Part 3'. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging it to show your appreciation, or commenting on this fic, or you can take a look at my Teen Wolf Masterlist for more of my fics from this fandom.

However, please do not comment on this fic asking for another sequel or asking for more - I generally consider that stressful and impolite. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written.

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider checking out my other fics about the criminally underrated character Isaac. Fics similar to this one are: Eager Little Puppy and Why Am I The One?

Or if you want more fics about subby boys, consider checking out Tongue Twister, Stop? (Baby, Don't Stop), or Lessons For A Genius.

Happy reading!! -Sunny <3

#interactions #sundrop speaks #fic comments #star squared #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf fanfiction

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sissylittlefeather · 1 day ago

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If I Can Dream: Chapter 5

A/N: The next few chapters of this one are going to come fast and furious. We're halfway to the end and the last one will be on Christmas Day. Please keep reading! Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Summary: It's 1975 and Jo Bellamy has been in love with Elvis for 20 years. She doesn't even care that they haven't met yet. All she needs is a chance and she's determined to get one

But Elvis doesn't feel much like Elvis anymore. What happened to the man he used to be? He's pretty sure he's long gone.

Can a chance encounter with Jo change the ill-fated trajectory of his life?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, no smut in this one but Jo does get into some pretty heavy topics. She describes her trauma history and lightly (and I mean lightly) touches on a history of verbal abuse from her dad, sexual abuse from an ex-boyfriend, and feeling suicidal as a teenager. Some of these things are real for me, so I tried to handle them delicately in a way that wouldn't be triggering, but I need to mention them anyway.

Word count: ~2.4k

Forever, then. It's right on the tip of his tongue, but he holds it back for some reason. He'll think about that tomorrow. For now, he drifts off to sleep with her in his arms again, perfectly content.

******

On Sunday around 1 in the afternoon, Elvis wakes up to the sound of the shower going. He looks around in the bed for Jo and then puts two and two together. The steam pours out of the bathroom when he pushes the door open.

“You want some company?”

“Shit!” Jo pokes her head out of the shower curtain. “You scared me!”

“I'm sorry, honey. I just missed ya in the bed.”

“Oh, I was trying to shower and be back before you woke up.” He gestures again to the shower.

“Can I join you?” She smiles and opens the curtain, her naked body glistening with the water running down it.

“Absolutely. C’mon, babe.” He smiles as his eyes drift down her body and he whistles.

“You sure you really want this old man?” As he removes his pajamas and drops them on the floor, Jo nods. He steps into the shower and groans when the hot water hits his back. She wraps herself around him and sighs.

“I love this old man.” He kisses the top of her head and holds her tightly.

“He loves you.” They spend the next twenty minutes or so in the shower. He washes her hair and she runs a wet sponge around on his body.

The time together is a blissful escape, but there's something floating around in Elvis's brain that he just can't ignore. Eventually, as they wrap themselves in towels first and then fluffy robes, he has to say something.

“Hey honey?”

“Yeah?”

“Last night in the car, why did you move my hand?” She looks at him strangely.

“When?”

“When you were… suckin’ me… I put my hand on your head and you said 'don't do that.’ Why?” A look of realization crosses Jo's face and she nods. She bites her cuticle for a bit, trying to figure out how to say what she needs to say.

“It's kind of a long story.”

“Well, if you want to tell it, I'm here to listen.” Jo continues to bite her cuticle and then plops down on the bed. She lays down so she doesn't have to look at him while she talks.

“I have to start with my dad. My father was not a nice man, especially when he drank. He never hurt us physically, but his words hurt almost as much. And he yelled. All the time, at me and my mom. I was an only child, so I got the full force of his anger every time.”

“Did he…?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. But it set me up to think that's what love looked like. As soon as I started dating, the men I chose were trash. They were always older, mean, angry men who didn't treat me very well.” He takes her hand gently and she squeezes her eyes shut to try to keep the tears from sliding down the sides of her face.

“One of them… well, he liked to be in control, completely.” Elvis nods, thinking of how he used to always be dominant and in charge in the bedroom. “He would… make me go down on him and when I did… well… there's a reason your hand on my head was bad.”

She looks over at him as the tears slide down into her hair. This wasn't a secret she wanted to share, but here it is, on the table for him to see and do with it as he pleases. He holds his arms out for her to crawl into his lap. She does, curling up and leaning into him. He strokes her back affectionately and sits quietly with this information for a bit. Finally, he speaks, but the words feel empty.

“I'm so sorry, honey.”

“It's okay, I'm mostly over it. But that particular thing brings it all back. I can't think I'm losing control of my own body or it gets to me like this.” He holds her face in his hands and kisses her cheek.

“Tink, I promise I'll never do that again. Thank you for tellin’ me.” She nods and kisses his nose. “While we're on the subject of your past, you told me last night that I saved you too.”

She shifts uncomfortably in his lap.

“Yeah?”

“Will you tell me that story?” She looks into his eyes contemplating how it might impact them. But he's going to find out sooner or later. Might as well be now.

“I can't believe I'm about to tell you this. In 1953, my parents split up. Even though my dad was cruel, I was still forced to stay with him sometimes. By the time I was 16, I desperately wanted to make it end. I didn't know how to get out of seeing my dad, but I was desperate. You know how big everything seems when you're 16.”

“Yeah, honey, I remember.” She takes another deep breath and continues.

“Well, Evelyn could tell I was really down. Just when I'd hit the edge of my ability to take what my life was, she forced me to go see this kid play on the back of a truck in a parking lot.”

“No…”

“I fell in love with you that night. And my love for you kept me going even when the worst things were happening to me. Your music was my lifeline. Your movies gave me an escape from my miserable existence. When I had no one else, I knew I had you.” He looks at her incredulously. “I sound insane. God, you probably think I'm crazy.”

“How many shows?”

“Six. Well seven if you count the one where I ran on stage. Three in the fifties, two in Vegas, and one when you were on tour in ‘72.”

“Why didn't you ever try to come talk to me?” He picks up her hand and kisses her knuckles gently.

“I did! I even got kicked out once. But I could never get to you. Fuck, you're probably thinking I'm crazy and trying to figure out how to get away from me-”

“Tink, the only thing I'm thinkin’ right now is that I wish I'd found you in 1955.” She looks up at him, her eyes wide.

“You mean that?”

“With my whole heart. I've needed you for 20 years and didn't even know it.” He moves his fingers up and down her back soothingly.

“You don't think I'm insane?”

“Oh you absolutely are, but not for the reasons you think. I'm glad my music and those terrible movies were a comfort to you. It makes me feel better about making them, honestly. But I wish we'd found each other back then and saved ourselves all the pain.” She shakes her head as he leans in to kiss her cheek.

“No, there's a reason it didn't happen until now. We had to be ready. Think about it, I was so unstable then and you were young and wild. We would've been a recipe for disaster. This is better.” He pulls back and looks at her.

“Honey, you are somethin’ else. I'm so glad I found you.” He holds the side of her face with his hand and presses his forehead against hers. “I love you, Tink. And I don't think I'm ever gonna stop.”

“I love you too, Elvis. So, so much.”

******

After their serious conversation, Jo is ready for an easy day with Elvis and he knows it. They lay in the bed in robes, tangled in each other kissing and tickling and generally acting like young people in love until Jo's stomach growls.

“Oh, Tink, honey are you hungry? I am.” She giggles and her stomach rumbles. He leans over and acts like he's taking bites of her belly, tickling her instead.

“Ah! Yes! I'm hungry!” They both put on fresh pajamas and he takes her downstairs to get something to eat. After that, they lounge in the TV room for a while, not really watching what's on the screens. They spend more time making out like teenagers than anything else. Elvis thinks to himself that he should be embarrassed by their behavior, he is 40 years old after all, but he can't find it in himself to do so. He's so happy with Jo that he's practically giddy. And she's living her literal dream life, so she's not going to stop them from doing what feels natural. Still, as midnight approaches, Jo knows what has to happen. She crawls over into his lap, straddling his thighs again and he wraps his arms around her waist, kissing her neck.

“Elvis, I have to go home.” He pulls back and looks up at her in shock.

“What? Why?” The thought enters his mind that this might be a good thing and give him space to think about what the future of their relationship could possibly be, but his heart feels like it's in a vice.

“I have to work in the morning and I have no clothes here.”

“Honey, we can give Jerry your key and he'll go get some stuff for you.” She smiles and kisses his cheek gently.

“As nice as that sounds, I don't really want Jerry touching my panties. Do you?” He darkens a bit.

“No. I don't.”

“Exactly. I need to go home. I also need to sleep tonight and something tells me if I stay, that won't happen.” He nods and looks down, holding both of her hands in his. The thought of being without her makes his chest hurt. “I'll come back, though, if that's what you want.”

He puts his hand on the side of her face and his eyes search hers for a second.

“Are we kidding ourselves, honey?”

“What do you mean?” Her heart beats faster and it feels like she can hear her pulse in her ears.

“Maybe we should just see this for what it was. I have a career and a daughter and an ex wife and you… I just don't think you'd enjoy the fucking wild ride that my life is. You deserve someone stable, who'll marry you and give you children. I'm never gonna not be Elvis Presley.” She stares at him with her eyes wide and wet.

“I know that. I love you-”

“I love you too, Jo, but maybe this was just a beautiful weekend that we'll never forget.” His voice catches on the last part.

“You don't call me Jo. Elvis, what's happening?!”

“I'm just trying to save us both from the inevitable pain of how this ends.” She stands up off his lap and shakes her head.

“No, you're ending it before it starts. I want to know why.” He sighs deeply. How can he tell her that he's afraid? “You said things to me, Elvis.”

“I know, honey, and I'm sorry but I'm just not-”

“Not what?!”

“Not who you think I am.” The tears that have been threatening to spill out of her eyes finally do and slide down her cheeks.

“Then who are you, Elvis?” He shakes his head and looks at the floor.

“I dunno. But not the kind of man you need.”

“Elvis, look at me.” He reluctantly lifts his chin. “You're the man I want.”

He sits there silently staring up at her. He's torn between pulling her back down into his lap and asking her to marry him and telling her she should leave and never come back.

“Elvis… Do you not want this? Do you not want me?” More silence. He wants her so badly that it hurts, but something makes him hold back and leave everything unsaid. “How can you do this?”

“Jo, I don't know. You make me crazy. And I-I said a bunch of stuff that I shouldn't have. But now that I'm thinking clearly-”

“This is thinking clearly?! Elvis, why don't you just admit that I scare the shit out of you because what we have is real? Why can't you just say that?” His mouth pops open for a bit and then he closes it. How did she know?

“I’m not scared.”

“Bullshit.” She turns and runs up the stairs. He tries to follow her, but she's too fast. When he finally catches up to her, he's winded and she's gathering all of her stuff in the bedroom, which isn't much. He stands in the doorway watching and trying to catch his breath as she pulls off the pajamas and puts her dress back on.

“Jo, please.” She stops and turns to face him with one shoe on.

“I'm not doing this back and forth thing with you, Elvis. I'm too old. I have loved you for twenty years. Either you want me, or you don't-”

“Why do you get 20 years to decide and I get 5 days?!” Her mouth drops and she stares at him in disbelief. But he's right.

“Has it really only been 5 days?”

“Yes!” Her mouth curls into a tiny smile.

“Well that's just ridiculous.” He tries to suppress a grin.

“Yes! It is ridiculous!” She erupts in a giggle and he tries not to laugh. “I'm trying to be serious here, woman.”

Jo flops on the bed and howls with laughter, tears squeezing out of her eyes.

“5 days!” She croaks out between giggles. He sits next to her on the bed.

“Yes.” He looks down at her, his eyes sparkling as her laughter is finally slowing down. “You're not helping me love you any less.”

“You really love me?”

“Yes, goddamnit, I really do. I'm just not sure how we make this work.” She sits up and kisses his cheek.

“Let me go home tonight and go to work tomorrow. We can talk about it when I come over, if that’s still what you want.”

“Yeah, I think that's good.” He pulls her into his lap and buries his face in her neck. “I just need some time to think, Tink. It don't mean I don't love you.”

“I understand.” She lets him continue to nuzzle her.

“And you're right.” He mumbles into her neck. “But I'm not just scared; I'm fuckin’ terrified.”

“I know. It's okay.” She turns and puts her arms around him, kissing his forehead gently.

******

What happens now?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x oc #Elvis x Jo #elvis presley x oc #Elvis Presley x Jo Bellamy

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satureja13 · 1 day ago

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Winter Solstice Since Summer Solstice in June, the Night has stolen a few minutes of light every day - until today. Therefore today is the longest night of the year - and the beginning of the long, cold winter. But - just like a miracle - from tomorrow on, the days are getting longer. Leading us through the darkness until summer starts again. This is my favourite festival throughout the whole year. Because even when you hit rock bottom and you think you will never see the light again - there is still hope. And the sureness the light will come back. And the best thing: You don't even have to do anything to get the light back - it just happens! A happy Winter Solstice, y'all - may the light come back into your life <3

At Batuu, the light comes back even three times stronger with it's three suns. Saiwa, Jeb and Jeb went back to the woodlands, where they'd left the stolen borrowed shuttle. Lt. Agnon and Kylo Ren already arrived for the handover.

Lt. Agnon: "B.D will be here soon and we'll make a short briefing. Then we start the broadcast and tell the folks how we solved this diplomatically and peaceful." Saiwa nodded: "Sure." It's hard for all of them to remain professional to not endanger their mission. How hard must it have been for Albaleyh!

And finally the shuttle from Belsavis, the prison planet, landed - with B.D on board! Lt. Agnon had kept his promise.

And Saiwa is glad they'd left Vlad, Ji Ho and Jack at the cantina. They are still a bit dazzled. But Vlad would have made a huge fuzz for sure if he'd been here...

But they sat quietly at their table, trying to process everything. They don't remember much. Vlad had been shocked by the Stormtrooper after throwing a tantrum, Jack had collapsed because he can't stand being locked up and Ji Ho shut down completely, overwhelmed by their feelings that had hit him through the Bond... Ji Ho: "Why are these people staring at us?" Jack: "I don't know!"

But then the broadcast started. Jack, still a bit out of it, dreamily sighed: "Look how hot Kiyoshi looks..." Vlad was having a hard time looking at the man who had tried to take Ji Ho from them - him - and avoided to look at the screen...

None of them has an idea how it had happened that all of them and B.D are free now. Cantina Guest: "They are friends of Lenny, the Legendary, you know? He made all this possible! Lenny finally brought peace to Batuu." Cantina Guest 2: "You sure? They look a bit - drably..." Cantina Guest: "Pshhhhh! If Lenny hears you!" Vlad: "Tch."

Vlad, Ji Ho and Jack left the cantina. Too much commotion for their still dazzled brains. The fresh air will do them good. And Jack was still hungry, so they sat at a food stand. Vlad and Jack are still utterly amazed of how stunning it is here. They don't want to leave Batuu - ever.

Jack: "I mean, we're drinking Bantha Milk while looking at a TIE Echelon in a Galaxy far far away!"

And that was when Kylo Ren and Lt. Agnon returned from the broadcast... Master Ren looked longingly over to Jino... Of course he'd seen them.

Whether Vlad didn't understand how fragile this new peace was - or he just couldn't contain his anger. He never can when it comes to Ji Ho... "Hey, you!" he yelled in Kylo Ren's direction.

Before Jack could stop him, Vlad ran over, still a bit wonky on his legs, but he has to make a point. Master Ren and Vlad produced their lightsabers. Vlad: "This is for what you did to Jino - and Ji Ho!"

Master Ren: "You should have left him with me - you have nothing to offer him! He should belong to someone who loves and cherishes him."

Ji Ho: "Vlad is so hot..." Jack: "I know, right?! Damn - even I think he's hot!" Ji Ho: "Eh - did I say that out loud?" Jack: "What do you mean?"

Vlad: "Ji Ho belongs to no one! He's free to make his own choices!"

They kept on fighting for a while until Lt. Agnon cleared his throat. Lt. Agnon: "Master, it's time to end this if we don't want to taint our new found peace."

But before they ended this, Vlad took one last strike. Vlad: "And this is for Han!"

Spoiler: Kylo Ren killed his father Han Solo in 'The Force Awakens'. And neither I nor Jack and Vlad will ever forgive him! (I didn't even watch those movies ^^' They didn't happen ö.ö')

Kylo Ren and Lt. Agnon went back to the First Order Building and Vlad back to Ji Ho. Ji Ho: "I wouldn't mind belonging..." Vlad: "To him?! Fine! If that's what you want!"

Ji Ho: "I want to belong to you." Vlad: "Oh..." Jack: "Aouwwwww!"

Let's cherish this as long as it lasts and they're still dazzled ^^'

Vlad, Ji Ho and Jack eventually arrived at the campsite by the shuttle where they are supposed to spend the night. B.D will leave early tomorrow morning to meet his kids, he'd already called them. And as soon as the Boys found a hike to the orbit, where Great A'Tuin is waiting for them, they will leave Batuu too.

'Later on, we'll conspire, As we dream by the fire To face unafraid, The plans that we've made, Walking in a winter wonderland.'

Macy Gray - Winter Wonderland (This is my favourite version of this song)

Jack and Vlad wanted to know everything about B.D's adventures and they chatted excitedly - when B.D suddenly looked up: "Now these are some weird meteorites!" Jack: "Meteorites? Where?" B.D: "Over there, above the trees!"

Jack: "The meteorites! They are back! And they're leading us the way!"

Meanwhile at the First Order Building - at Kylo Ren's apartment. After the fight with Val, the Master felt the need to use Lt. Agnon again. To help him to forget about Jino. The Master even left his mask on! A secret little kink of Lt. Agnon :3 Lt. Agnon: "Master... the shaft of your lightsaber is poking me. You should set it aside." Master Ren: "This isn't my lightsaber..." Lt. Agnon sucked in a breath: "Oh, Master! *Lt. Agnon's hand wandered down beneath the blanket* Is this - all - for me?" Master Ren: "It is, Tarek. You did well today, bringing peace to Batuu - and for me." The Master also never called Lt. Agnon by his first name before - Tarek.

The Master usually took Lt. Agnon in the closet when he needed to use him to forget about Jino. This was the first time he took him to his bed. Hope is the last to die. The Master has a lot to forget about this Boy and Lt. Agnon has a lot of hope...

(The meaning of the name Tarek is: Quote: 'Tarek is a masculine name of Arabic origin. A variant of Tariq, this name translates to “night visitor” or “knocker at the door,” referring to visitors travelling at night. In the Qur'an, it also means “bright star,” which leads the way through the darkness.') (Lt. Agnon has no confirmed first name. Tarek is non-canon only for us ^^' I think it matches him, and for this Winter Solstice episode that wouldn't have went so well without his help.)

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

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didnt-hear-idsb-live-again · 1 day ago

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it's the 21st of December, and now they really are ringing the last bells.

December 22, 2018, the first day of what seems like Act II of my life, feels like a world and a daydream away.

it was the morning I woke up next to you for the first time, and hangover aside, I had a thousand things jumbling around in my brain - which would, very quickly, morph into a thousand more: will I ever see you again? what could things be if I do? is everyone outside of my emotionally abusive ex as wonderful as you? was it this simple all along? was I just lucky to find you? how can I just never see you again? what if I did? what if what country I lived in didn't render this all moot? If I come back, how am I supposed to leave? what hope exists for me in the world if not a fantasy about a man and a country I can't have? when can I go back? what would a life look like if I lived there? why isn't it that simple? do you ever think about me? do I matter to you at all? you changed my life but do you even care I'm alive, after all you are to me? what would happen if I ever saw you again?

will I ever in my life return to find out?

It is December 21, 2024, and, I am pleased to say, I have answered every single one of those questions. I have found every answer, and found all the new questions that stem out of them. I have answered them all, and I have pulled threads and spun webs from them into oblivion. I don't have all the answers in life, and I have a lot of new problems and questions that stemmed out of living in Australia for a year and then leaving. But I do have all the answers to all of the questions you could ever, and will ever, exist at the center of.

This year, I lived a long-forgotten dream; one thats floated around my heart since 2007, that was half-heartedly tried and abandoned in 2016, that I brushed with in 2018. One that you had been re-sparking and lighting the fire of ever since. It's a dream I would've never come any closer to than an uneventful 2 month vacation, if not for the kindness you showed me, and the emotions you lit under me as a result, 6 years ago.

This year, I walked by the steps of the Victoria State Library more times than I can count. I traced back the walk to your house, your old address burned into my mind forever, and I stared at your yard, paved over and with all the love and life it once contained from your friend group and your housemates, extinguished with cold pavement. I sat across from you in a coffee shop and fumbled over my words, a complete fool who is not good enough written over my every misstep, whether you noticed or not (I don't think you did). I walked the laneways you unknowingly changed my life on, a few steps behind you, as you recounted some of my favorite memories to a group of tourists who were seeing my favorite city for the first time, knowing smiles exchanged between us.

I saw everything flash before me, like it was a lifetime ago and like it was all happening again at 10000x speed within each of those moments.

I cradled the broken, scared, December 21, 2018 version of me as I did all of them, and I kept the December 21, 2019 version of me, who wrote the first post of many like this in a cold Brooklyn apartment - devoid of absolutely all hope in the world - fresh in my mind as I did all of those things. I cared for them both the way you would something you could crumble in the palm of your hand. Those versions of me never left, and I lived almost every precious moment I breathed in Melbourne in 2024 in service of them.

But I, and those versions of me, did more than that in Melbourne this year.

The city of you became my city, instead. I did walk 'Cornelia Street' again. A lot. And it stopped screaming your name. Now it screams Jack. Emily. Aya. Emma. Katie. Ruby. Jack. Logan. Taylah. Tim. Hannah. Juliana. Emelia. Rain. Maggie. Katie. Laura. Johnny. It screams Jungle Boy and skinny dipping in St Kilda Beach in the winter and it screams watching Disney movies with Emma and Josh and it screams walking barefoot down Flinders Street after the Eras Tour, and skipping down Fed Square in the moonlight after seeing Maisie Peters. It screams for dumplings in Emelia's very dirty apartment, going up to the roof and looking at the skyline. It screams the lyrics to Espresso and Karma and Too Sweet while we close up the bar. It screams of the coffee shop I frequented, and its white brick walls and the barista who knew me and the wildflowers in vases on each table. It screams of the taste of daiquiris and aged rum, of British accents and mornings with Jack in the South Yarra market. It screams of Aya's friendship and sitting on her couch, and The Eras Tour Movie and wine at Katie's house, in the same exact living room she hugged me while I cried over you 5 years prior.

I once, 5 years ago, cursed at the sky for the fact that I was a spec of dust on the windshield of your magnificent life; for the way I felt myself growing smaller and smaller on your horizon. I could feel it every second that passed, and it hurt. And alas, seeing you face to face again last October felt like the universe coming together to give me a gift, the kind of full-circle perfection I never even dared dream about, and shot down from anons on this blog for 5 straight years. A scene from a movie I never thought I might live to see. But that wasn't the end of the story. The end of the story was you, too, fading back on my horizon, and me filling the road up with light and life and color all my own. It shines like a type of gold that 2018 me never could have even imagined existed.

Your story is not the greatest story I will ever tell. It is not my favorite. The story I carved for myself in Melbourne in the past 365 days is my greatest. That is my favorite. And it's mine. Yours is just the origin story, and it exists to me like something out of Greek Mythology.

It is magnificent. And everything that will ever come after stems from you. But it has nothing to do with you anymore. You gave me the gift of a second chapter of my life; one where I wasn’t afraid of sex or men in general, and one where I fell in love with and yearned for your city. The rest is now on me to write and carry, and I’ve done it.

For those who have read these posts, every year, for the last 6 years, I thank you so deeply for being on this journey with me and for caring about me; for caring about this and my absurd emotions and the storybook of it that I have written myself into.

There's lots of analysis to be had and lots of essays and discussions of unpacking Australia itself for me, that I may well still do for the rest of my life.

But I do know that this is the post where we close his book. I once cried while driving across Brooklyn asking, "if the story's over, why am I still writing pages?" I see and hear it vividly in my mind still. I remember waiting at the same set traffic lights in Bed Stuy with tears streaming down my face like it was yesterday.

But now all the dots are connected, all the stones are unturned.

It’s funny and it’s ironic that How To Make Gravy by Paul Kelly, the song that mentions the date and was the soundtrack to December 21, 2018, lyrics of which had been the headlines of all these posts, is a tune about a phone call from a prison, where the narrator gets incredibly nostalgic (and a bit chaotic) about holidays past and future - I found myself embedded in this song, subconsciously or not: for many of these 6 years, America served as a prison for me, and I longed for Australia and the unwritten future I could have in it the way the narrator speaks about the future in the song; the gravy he swore to someday make again being my long fantasized return and the memories I left unhad. I didn’t think about it this literally, but I felt the rush of the correct emotions whenever I listened to it, and that was the reason why.

Well: I did it. I got outta there by July, and I made gravy. I made plenty.

Of December 21, 2018, there are no more pages to write. Only the folkloric legend of a man who gave a lost girl the hope and light and tools to, 6 years down the line, not only be well past the emotionally abusive relationship he healed her from, but to write and create something completely for herself, too.

I owe you to the end of everything for that, and I always will.

#see me in hindsight #this hits harder if last nights random spiral didn’t happen so if you saw that no you didn’t

22 notes · View notes

zepskies · 3 days ago

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@lamentationsofalonelypotato

LOLL girl I totally get it, but I don't think you have to be scared on this one. It's a nice little slow burn fic with cozy winter vibes. 😘 And like you, I LOVE soulmate/true mate/fates mate AUs too. It's definitely a mix of forced proximity and grumpy/sunshine, which you know I can't stop writing that dynamic for some reason. 😂😂

But here we go!! Diving into the rest of your lovely comments...

The physical description of Dean is SO good. The use of "stern" and "stubborn" as descriptors fits well for Dean.

Hahaaa thank you, lovely!! Stern brows and a stubborn chin felt inherently Dean to me.

Oh suuuurrrreeee keep telling yourself that Dean.

Lmfao right? Denial of the purest form. 🙄

So what you're saying is... she's trapped in a cabin, she's got a broken ankle, in the middle of a snowstorm with no way out and no communications, with a ruggedly hot mountain man with gorgeous green eyes, a gruff exterior, and a mysterious past... Sign👏🏻 Me👏🏻 Up

That is EXACTLY what I'm saying. 😏

(Also that How to Train Your Dragon gif made me smile -- I love that movie!!)

So ready for Dean to just obliterate all her other experiences with total jerks.

Oh he already is! You def know where I'm going with this. 😏

I live for the after a nightmare comfort trope (if it is a trope? 🧐) and I am SO happy you put this in. Oh my goodness it was so sweet of him to come check on her, and for you to give us a little bit of insight inside of Dean's POV during those moments where she was terrified. This part stuck out to me, because the man is already hook, line, and sinker. He literally tried to go to a cabin in the middle of the woods to get away from it all, but fate really has an odd way of catching up to you. Can't exactly run from it Dean.

Aww me too!! I love hurt/comfort moments almost as much as pure fluff moments. Dean really is fighting for his life emotionally in this loll. His instincts as an alpha (and her mate) are warring with his brain, and it was really fun to write that aspect of Dean's angst post-season 15.

OOooooooOOOooooo shots fired. SHOTS FIRED... But did she stutter??

She, in fact, did NOT stutter.

I'm losing it over the fact that Sam named his son DEAN Jr. 😂🥰 And also the bit about "running full speed into glass doors" is making me cackle lol.

Ahaha idk if that was actually canon or if that's something we in the fandom started writing and I just rolled with it. 😂 I'm pretty sure it's canon that Sam named his son after his uncle? But oh yeah, the running full speed into glass doors was taken straight out of my childhood. 🤣🤣

This line is so Dean, it's PERFECT, and I really love that it was what made the reader try to snort her diet Pepsi.

LOL thank you!! I think I grabbed part of it from season 12 where they go to Hollywood/L.A., but I thought it was quintessential Dean. 🤣

And I just want to say thank you for giving Dean the kinda "homemaker" role in this fic. The fact that he's making food for the reader (I'm obsessed with men who can cook) and taking care of her is just:

Omg yeesss, I love malewife Dean lmao. He's just such a caretaker at heart, and an awesome cook! I can so picture him making big breakfasts for his kids on weekends and packing their lunches for school. 🥹

Oh no Dean, you're not like the Cabin in that way. The cabin is made of strong aged wood that keeps out the chill and is full of warmth! The cabin withstands the elements and doesn't fall no matter how hard the howling wind blows! Dang it, I have way too many emotions over that line. Alex, why did you have to do this to me 😭 It's SO GOOD!!

Dean's self-deprecating angst is like a necessary evil for his character. I'm so glad the cabin metaphor resonated with you the way I intended, even if it breaks my heart too!! 😭😭💙💙

And I'm not sure if you were trying to say that the reader was also a little skeptical about the true mates and if it is a real thing that happens, but I can't wait for part 2 to see if they actually admit it to each other or if they try to keep it a secret as long as they can! Also the song choice perfectly fits the vibes in this fic 👌🏻

Oh yeah, there's some of that too! She's more open to it now than Dean, but I thought we needed some realism where she's also skeptical true mates are even real -- until she met Dean. How strongly they both are reacting to each other physically, but not wanting to admit it yet, and the reader just wanting to know more about Dean before she begins to trust him, all of that is going to continue playing out in Part 2. 💓💓

Oh thank you on the song choice!! Of course Bob Seger has featured on the show in a big way with "Night Moves," so I thought "Against the Wind" felt very Dean, especially in a post-S15 AU.

My lovely friend, this was so good and I can't wait for part 2!!!

Thank you sooooo very much, my friend!! 🥹🥹 Part 2 is dropping later today!! 🥳💕💕

Against the Wind - Part 1

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: This is a canon ending-divergent AU, but still an Omegaverse story within the canon world. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, scenting, injuries, hints of angst, fluff and feels.

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: In His Hands

Your body is mostly numb when he pulls you out of the snow.

You utter a sharp cry when something in your side twinges, waking up your entire body like a white-hot shiv. Your ankle begins to throb as well.

“Hold on. I’ve got you.”

You only half hear the voice, a deep, coarse rumble. His form is broad and dark and blurry, but his male scent is the only thing you register with perfect clarity.

Alpha.

A small treble of alarm runs through you. It’s an instinct you’ve had to learn, as an omega traveling alone in rural Montana. However, something else disrupts that anxiety.

It’s his scent. His scent is like the crackle and smoke of a warm hearth.

Safe. Your body is heavy and stiff and doesn’t respond to your commands, and yet, you feel a measure of calm when he maneuvers you into his arms. It’s a baser instinct, rooted deep in your chest. He begins to carry you down the slope of the mountain, and your vision blurs white…

Like the flurry of snow falling heavy on his jacket.

You wake up freezing and shivering in pain. A sensation of small sharp needles begins to travel all across your skin. Slowly, as you're able to blink, your view of the dark wood cabin clears and focuses. You realize that you’re bundled in blankets, and laying on a chaise in front of a large fireplace. Still, you’re too cold. A keening whimper escapes you as you try to burrow in.

Alpha. Your body instinctively recognizes his presence, as he’s suddenly there, hovering close above you with a divot between his brows and a frown marring his face, where thick stubble threatens to become a beard. Stern, dark brows are furrowed over his concerned eyes. His plush frown is framed by a stubborn-looking chin. Your gaze wearily travels over his handsome features, his short brown hair, the flickers of firelight that splash across the side of his face.

He places a warm, calloused hand on your forehead, and he mutters a curse. Your body trembles further with cold. You part your lips, but you can't yet force your voice to escape them.

Again, he quite literally takes the problem into his own hands. He peels away the thick blankets just to slide himself in behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, and you feel their tempered strength when they cage you in against him. You manage to turn your head and rest your cheek against his chest, covered by red plaid. Thank you...

Almost on reflex, you breathe in his scent deeply. The earthiness of it calms you, warms you from the inside. Your shivering eventually calms and turns to purring in your chest.

“What’s your name, Omega?” he asks. His voice is deep and gruff, and it threatens to make you shiver for a different reason as the timbre of it washes over you.

It’s difficult, but you manage to speak, clearing past your parched throat to give him your name. He nods, as if rolling the sound of it back and forth across his mind.

“Was somebody out there with you?” he asks.

You shake your head, even though the thought elicits a painful twinge in your heart.

“Who…” you try to speak again, even though it hurts a little. “Who are you?”

You feel him take a deep breath. He hesitates, like he’s reluctant to give it to you.

“Dean,” he says.

You roll the name around in your head, over and over. Dean, Dean, Dean…

You smile slightly. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“What?” he says. You hear the raised brow in his tone.

“You sound like a Dean,” you say, perhaps a little delirious.

Anyway, that’s when your eyes close on you again. You fall back into the warm lull of sleep, to the sound of a crackling fire, and a feeling that permeates throughout your body.

Safe.

Can’t fucking believe this, Dean thinks, as he holds you. Just when he thought his life was done throwing him curveballs.

He tips his head back against the sofa cushion with a tired exhale. It would just be his luck to find a stray omega wandering his stretch of Big Sky. Montana can be gnarly in the winter, but for the past couple of years, Dean has learned to survive here in this rental cabin for a couple of months at a time, when wandering an empty bunker gets to be too much. At least here the quiet’s peaceful, if still a little unnerving sometimes.

He glances down at you. Now that you’re warm and sleeping again, he should find something to wrap your ankle and ice it down. It’s swollen, and he wants to take an inventory of your other injuries, so he can determine how to get you back down the mountain and through the woods, back to civilization.

The sooner he gets you medical attention and back to your life, the sooner he can get back to his—even though the thought of leaving you in anyone else’s hands almost stirs a growl in his throat.

And that last part unnerves him, makes him anxious. He begins to untangle himself from you, but his movements falter when your sweet scent filters through his nose again. Cinnamon apples, with a hint of something floral.

Fuck me.

It’s almost too sweet to be true, but Dean does his best to ignore it…and what that alluring sweetness probably means.

Dean leaves you in the morning to revisit the site where you fell. He digs through the snow and manages to find your backpack, filled with your clothes, supplies, and your phone and wallet. He returns just in time.

The falling snow becomes even more intense, until it becomes a quiet roar outside. You watch the snowstorm through the impact windows in the kitchen, and you know what this means. You’re snowed in with a stranger—an alpha, no less.

You also have a bum ankle, which he wrapped for you. Doesn’t feel broken, he’d said, but it could be fractured, or at the very least sprained. You also likely have a couple of cracked ribs.

“What were you doing out there, anyway?” he asks, while pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “This ain’t exactly hiking season.”

While you drink some hot chocolate he made you with a bit of whiskey splashed in (for extra warmth), you explain.

“Well, I guess it wasn’t my best idea in hindsight,” you say with a weak chuckle. “I was trying to find my way back, and I…well, I was a bit lost.”

He raises his brows wryly, still sipping.

“And to make a great situation even better, I thought I heard a wolf howl nearby,” you say. “I know most of them would rather run from us than attack us, but you can’t be sure, you know? I had my rifle on me, so I was turning around, trying to pinpoint what direction it was in…and of course, my foot slipped on something.”

You fell down that hill. You think you even hit a tree on the way down, which would explain your ribs. Everything gets a bit swirly, cold, and dark in your memory after that.

Dean shakes his head. “Gotta say, going out there alone wasn’t a great idea either, especially now. This time of year, there’s no telling when a blizzard like this is going to come through.”

He waves haphazardly toward the storm raging outside. Your gaze falls to the mug in your hands. You don’t really want to talk about your reasons for taking that risk, but maybe giving him a little honesty will get him off your back.

“My dad and I used to hike up here every year,” you confess. “A few months ago…I lost him. So I guess this was just something I needed to do.”

You blow on your hot chocolate before you take another sip. This time when you glance up, Dean’s judgy expression has evened out into something more sympathetic. He lowers his glass.

“Well, hate to break it to you, but there’s no cell service up here,” he says.

You give a humorless huff. “Believe me, I know.”

“Which means no one can come up here and get you,” he continues, “and even when this storm breaks, I can’t carry you all the way down the mountain back to civilization. Not with the snow as deep as it’s gonna get. Now…maybe I can go down by myself and bring help back with me.”

“But another storm could snow me in,” you realize, with growing apprehension at the thought.

Dean nods. “It’s either I take that chance, leave you by yourself. Or we wait for you to heal up.”

He leaves the choice up to you with a gesture of his hand, the one still wrapped around his glass. You weigh those options with a tilt of your head. On one hand, you don't want to impose on him longer than you had to, but on the other, you really don't want to be left alone in this cabin for God knows how long while he scales the mountain by himself, for your sake.

“I think it would be better if we go down together, right? It can be dangerous, even when the storm breaks,” you reply.

Dean nods slowly, like that was what he was going to suggest too. “All right. Well, until you’ve got two working legs, you’re stuck here with me.”

“I figured as much,” you say. Your head tilts as you consider him. He has a gruff exterior, but all his actions so far have been kind, and far more than you’d expect from a stranger. And an alpha at that.

Not to say that all alpha's are assholes, but you've had far too many experiences with the stereotype: arrogant, entitled, and handsy. Can't forget handsy.

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, meeting his gaze, “and for…well, being a decent guy.”

Dean’s lips twitch. He nearly chuckles. Instead, he sits back on his side of the couch.

“Yeah, well, there’s a spare room in this place for you, one bathroom. The kitchen is stocked. I’m a half-decent cook, if I say so myself, but help yourself.”

He gets up from the couch without preamble, to go to his room, you assume. It leaves you feeling at a loss, like he’s trying to get away from you. You know you’re a guest in his space, so you try to respect the way he wants to be alone for a while. He definitely gives off loner vibes.

You look around and find a collection of vinyl records, and smaller collection of books on a shelf next to the fireplace. You find Gulliver’s Travels, Dune, The Odyssey, The Wizard of Oz—books you didn’t think a guy like Dean would be into.

You take up The Wizard of Oz, reclaim your spot on the chaise, and start reading.

That night, your dreams are plagued by the crunch of dead leaves, your father shouting at you to run, and to keep running.

The coarse roar of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short.

You wake with a start, your body both cold and flush at the same time.

Dean is there once again. It confuses you at first, but then it all returns to you in a rush—the where and the why you’re here, once again with the alpha standing over you in concern. He grasps your shoulder and asks if you’re all right. Your breathing is too erratic for you to answer him, your eyes too wide, your body trembling.

Had you been making noise in your sleep? You blush in embarrassment at the thought. You also feel bad for waking him, and all those things get trapped in your throat.

Seeing that you’re most definitely not fine, he sits on the edge of the bed, squeezes your arm, and reminds you.

“It’s okay. You’re safe here,” he tells you. His tone is deep and even, reassuring.

You meet his steady gaze and manage to nod, trying to catch your breath.

“I’m okay,” you say, with a shaky nod. He gives you a measuring look, both a question and a confirmation. You give it to him with a firmer nod. “Thanks, I…I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He exhales through his nose, accepting. “‘S all right. Don’t worry about it.”

You feel the loss of his touch when his hand eventually slip away from your shoulder. As soon as he came into your room, he’s gone.

Dean leaves swiftly, trying to brush off how the scent of your fear had tugged sharply at his gut even in his sleep. It not only woke him up, but compelled him to kick his blankets off and get out of bed to go to you.

You were having a nightmare, reliving your fall, if he had to guess. You came out of it pretty quick when he carefully grabbed your shoulder. Every instinct in his body told him to gather you into his arms and cover you with his own scent and protective embrace to calm you down.

Through sheer willpower, he managed to ignore every single one of those instincts.

Two days pass, in which you and Dean say very little to one another, besides when he asks you what you want to eat, and how you’re feeling. The alpha seems genuine, but guarded any time you ask him about him; anything that’ll give you a clue into who this guy is, and why he’s here.

You try again to strike up some kind of conversation over dinner one night.

“Do you live here year-round?” you ask, around a mouthful of burger that’s absolutely delicious. He wasn’t lying when he claimed to be a good cook. He even made the fries himself.

“No,” he replies. “No Netflix, no internet? Think I’d die of boredom. I just come up here to uh…take a beat, I guess.”

You smile. “I don’t blame you. Sometimes you just need a break,” you say, even though your tone is heavier than you meant it to be. Your gaze, a bit distant in that moment, sharpens and focuses back on Dean. “Where are you from, then?”

“Kansas,” he offers.

“Oh really?” You brighten with that scrap of information. “My older sister lives in Topeka. She moved there for a job, initially, but then she met her guy. He’s some kind of day trader. Which is just code for sits on his ass playing Call of Duty while she busts hers.”

Dean huffs, then crams more burger into his mouth. He hasn’t been giving you a lot to go on while you two have been talking. Unfortunately, you have the tendency to ramble and fill the silence before it becomes even more stifled.

“She works at a bank. Smart, driven, always knows what she wants. Meanwhile, I’ve had about seven jobs in the last three years, none of which were even remotely related to my almost useless degree in Communications.”

“Yeah, doubt you need a degree in communicating,” Dean remarks, popping another fry into his mouth.

You purse your lips at him, but the glint of teasing in his eyes makes you fight not to smile.

“All right, smart guy. So, what about you?” you ask.

Predictably, the man’s walls firm back up. “What about me?”

“Well…why’re you up here alone? Do you have family?” you ask.

Dean quirks a half smile. “I’ve got a brother.”

“Okay. Younger, I’m guessing?”

He tilts his head at you, a bit amused at your guess. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I can’t imagine you with a brother who’s older than you.”

His lips twitch. “You callin’ me old, sweetheart?”

You begin to blush with embarrassment. But also, sweetheart?

You shake your head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean like…”

Dean saves you with the return of his smile.

“Yeah, he’s younger,” he says. “But he’s the one with the quasi-wife and the apple pie life.”

“Quasi-wife?”

“They’re mated. Just haven’t gotten around to the whole getting hitched thing,” he explains. “But they’re happy. Dean Jr.’s growing up fast, already running full speed into glass doors.”

His smile is genuine when he talks about his brother, just tinged with a bit of melancholy, you think.

“Dean Jr.?” you ask in amusement. Dean Sr. laughs a little, and you enjoy the sound, the way it lightens up his face and pulls at the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah, can’t say I wasn’t surprised myself to get that honor, but…hey, it works for the kid. He’s got my chin,” he remarks.

He digs into his pocket to show you a picture from his cell phone. Even though it doesn’t have service, you can still view the many pictures of the adorable infant in his camera roll, courtesy of Sam and his mate, Eileen. You coo at the chubby cheeks, the bright little eyes, and the swirled tuft of dark hair on his head.

“Where do they live?” you ask.

“Out west, a stone’s throw from the City of Angels.” Dean’s smile dims. “He just had to go back to California.”

“What’s wrong with California?” you ask.

“It’s full of pretentious douchebags, that’s what,” he says, his voice a dry whip. “Waxed up to the fucking eyeballs, smelling like Botox, Adderall, and sweaty desperation.”

You splutter laughing so bad that your diet coke escapes you in a spit take. It partially goes up into your nose, burning, stinging your eyes, but it’s made worse by the way Dean waves a hand up incredulously. You’ve just gotten half his sleeve wet.

He meets your gaze, and you can’t help but laugh even harder.

“Wow,” he says.

“God, I’m sorry,” you say, still giggling. You get up, hobble over to the kitchen counter, and rip off a paper towel to try and pat his arm dry. He takes it from you and helps you back into your seat.

“I got it, Spit Take. Just finish your food,” he says, if with a dancing gleam in his eyes.

From then on, it becomes easier for you to pull the alpha into conversation. Besides reading, napping, and staring out the window while it snows, you don’t have much by way of entertainment. Not to mention the pain of trying to get around without crutches, as it also jostles your ribs. Dean often has to help you from one room to another, which of course, you get embarrassed by.

“I’m sorry!” you yelp, when he saves you from another crash landing in the hallway. You’re fresh out of a shower, and it had taken you twenty minutes just to figure out how to wash your hair on one leg, let alone dry yourself off and get your shirt and borrowed sweatpants on. The main problem in getting back to your room happened to be the pants themselves. Their length and bagginess made you slip.

At least Dean’s learned to ignore your apologies. He now holds you by the waist, having pulled you against his chest on reflex. With furrowed brows, he notices your pained hiss when you grab onto his arms for balance.

“You okay?” he asks with a note of alarm.

“Ribs,” you gasp. They’re throbbing sharply with his hold, especially after being rattled by the near fall.

He immediately adjusts his hold lower, holding your arm and hip to support you. His hands are strong, but gentle. The warmth and pressure of his touch rattles you more than almost falling into a heap. Cliché as it might be, your heart is beating faster, what seems like in and out of rhythm. A feeling you can’t name stirs and tugs at your lower belly when you hazard looking up into his eyes. They’re a nice shade of green, like a forest floor in the spring.

“You just go ass over tea kettle at any moment, huh?” he quips, his lips tugging upward. “Come on. Where were you headed?”

“To my room, wise guy,” you say wryly, even as your blush heats your face and neck. “But this is a great taxi service.”

He snorts. “Yeah, call it the Winchestermobile.”

“Winchester. That your last name? Like the rifle?” you ask, while he helps you carefully down the hall. He nods in confirmation.

“That’s interesting. You don’t meet many Winchesters,” you remark.

“Yeah, well, ain’t that many left,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, easing you down onto the edge of the bed. His hands go to his hips as he scrutinizes your form for further injury. “You good? I was about to get cracking on some lunch.”

You offer him a grateful smile. “Yeah, I’m good. What’s on the menu?”

“Nothing fancy. I’m thinking grilled cheese. Maybe some tomato soup, assuming I can find a can in the pantry,” he says.

“Honestly, that sounds awesome,” you say. “Haven’t had a grilled since…God, probably since I was a kid.”

At that, Dean smiles. “Well, I happen to make an awesome one. No less than three kinds of cheese.”

“If they’re as good as your burgers, then I don’t doubt it,” you reply. He seems pleased at that, and maybe a little bashful as his gaze falls away.

Cute, you think. Your smile grows.

“All right, well, stay tuned,” he says. He winks, tossing you a “gun for hand” gesture that makes you laugh. Dean wears a rugged exterior as easily as his winter jacket, but he’s also kind of a dork.

After lunch (delicious, as you predicted), you take the afternoon just to sort through Dean’s records and alphabetize them for him. You hunker down on the floor in front of the shelf, close to the record player.

“I don’t need all that. I know where all my stuff is…more or less,” he says, with a lazy wave of the beer he has in hand.

“Oh really?” you raise a brow. “Okay, let’s test that theory. Where’s Boston.”

“Right next to the White Album, there on the left.”

Sure enough, you find Boston, as well as the White Album by the Beatles.

“Oh my God, you actually have the White Album?” You open up the double-sided case in excitement to read the list of songs printed on the inside. “This thing is so expensive.”

“Beatles fan, huh?” Dean says as he takes a seat on the couch. You turn your smile on him, and he stills in his seat.

“Uh, yeah. Who isn’t?” you say.

Dean shrugs with a smile of his own. “Put it on if you want.”

You bounce a little with excitement before you figure out how to turn on his record player. You put the vinyl album on Side B, moving the needle until you find “Blackbird.”

“Of course,” Dean says, slightly teasing. You turn to him with crunched brows.

“What? ‘Blackbird’s’ a classic.”

“Eh. Everyone likes ‘Blackbird.’”

“That’s what a classic means,” you argue.

“More like a mainstream copout,” he says. You think it’s just to needle you, but you still purse your lips.

“Fine, Mr. Music Snob. Then what’s your favorite?”

“On the White Album?”

“Any Beatles song.”

“‘Hey, Jude,’” he says, after a moment. There’s some kind of weight in his eyes, a note of melancholy. You don’t miss it, even though you don’t know why it’s there.

“Everyone likes ‘Hey, Jude,’” you quip, trying to lighten him.

He smiles a little. “Yeah. Fair enough.”

Finally, the snowstorm breaks. Dean ventures outside and brings you back a long, sturdy stick to lean your weight on when you want to move around, though he claims he’s working on a better solution. Now that the snow has let up, he’ll be able to go out to the shed and do some work.

Whatever that means, you think.

You watch him from the living room when he goes outside to chop some more firewood.

He should really wear a hat. His brown hair is getting dusted white with snow flurries as he continues to swing down the ax. You notice the power in his tall frame, even covered by layers of his jacket, pants, and boots. You almost feel each chop of the wood resonate in your chest.

Heat rises in your cheeks when he looks up, as if he senses he’s being watched. You bow your head and pretend to read your book.

His boots continue to crunch in the snow as he makes trips back and forth from the surrounding forest. Aside from the firewood, he brings back a few long, thinner logs that he takes to the shed. Soon you begin to hear the steady back-and-forth cutting of a saw. You wish you could go out there and take a look, but you can’t even get around the house that easily, let alone venture outside.

Your curiosity about this man knows no bounds, and you decide to use the walking stick he found for you in the meantime to get around without putting pressure on your injured ankle. You know it’s wrong, but you end up traversing the long, dark hallway, pushing open the door to the right, and venturing into Dean’s room.

It smells like him, earthy and tinged with smoke. His scent is seeped into every part of it—the bed, the dresser and nightstands, the dark blue bedsheets, the desk and chair, and even the drapes. It makes you almost lightheaded at the pleasurable feeling of it washing over you.

A shudder suddenly runs down your spine and tugs at your core in arousal. With a sharp intake of breath, you have to shift on your feet, pressing your legs together against the slick already forming down below.

You’re shocked and embarrassed at first. You aim to bolt out of his room, but you stop short in the doorway as it dawns on you.

Your sister is a beta, and so is her husband. She’s never completely understood you as an omega. She never understood your parents either, or the bond they had. She always scoffed at the idea of “true mates.”

Soulmates. It was fantasy and myth, the stuff of cheesy Harlequin novels.

Growing up, you’d agreed with her, even though a part of you deep down always protested. It wanted to tell her not to open her mouth about something she knew nothing about, and would never know.

The day you met Dean, you knew she was wrong.

Your more logical mind tries again to reassert itself though. You remind yourself that you barely know anything about this man, no matter how attractive, kind, funny, enigmatic…

And yet, you can’t shake that part of you that doesn’t rest until you see his face in the morning; until you make him coffee and eat breakfast together, and take any opportunity to pull more threads from him. It’s more than passing attraction. It’s more than just being stuck together in this cabin, unable to escape each other. You know, because the feeling scares you, and it electrifies your blood at the same time.

All these thoughts go through your mind when you turn back around. Slowly, you continue to look around his room, your whole body tingling. The room is neat, more or less, with everything in its proper place. It’s pretty bare though, décor wise. There’s a desk with a few scattered books and a journal sandwiched in between. A smile of surprise forms across your face.

No. Don’t tell me this guy is Mr. Dear Diary? you think in amusement. Though you wonder if it’s another way he passes his time here, especially when he’s holed up in his room.

You know you shouldn’t be snooping, let alone contemplating what you’re about to do…but you can’t help yourself. Biting your lip, you slide out the journal and begin to flip through it.

You frown at the strange drawings and odd entries—dates, narratives, scraps of information on different types of mythological creatures, and even more strange, on how to kill them.

What the hell is this?

That’s when you hear the front door swing open. You bolt from his room as quick as you can, not realizing you took the journal with you in your haste. You stuff it up your sweater and pretend like you’ve just come out of the bathroom on the way back to your room. There you slide the journal under your pillow. You jump when Dean knocks on your door.

“Hey,” he greets.

The jolting pains your ribs, and your hand goes to your left side in a hiss.

“You okay?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern. He takes a step into your room, but you turn to him with a nod and a placating hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You just scared me,” you say, with a bit of nervous laughter.

He gives a half smile. “Sorry. Just come ‘ere a sec. I wanna show you something.”

He reaches out a hand to help guide you to the living room.

There he presents you with two rudimentary crutches. Your eyes widen as your free hand passes over the smooth chestnut color of the wood. Dean keeps a light hold on your elbow, just in case.

“You made these?” you ask.

“Yeah, just a bit of woodworking. Picked it up over the last couple of years,” he says.

He’s downplaying it, but you’re nothing short of marveling. You set aside the walking stick in favor of picking up the crutches, and they’re even the right size to position them under your arms.

“Now you don’t have to hobble around like Long John Silver,” Dean quips. You meet the sight of his grin with a raised brow, but you soon begin to smile. When you get close enough to him, you lean the crutches against the couch and give him a warm hug, resting your head on his chest.

“Thank you,” you say. It’s something he was wholly unprepared for, but he hugs you back with a chuckle.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

Just then, he tries not to inhale your scent. He tries not to focus on the feeling of your body pressed soft and warm against his. You fit just right.

After a beat, you have mercy on him and pull away. You take your crutches back up and continue to walk around the living room experimentally.

“You think I’d be okay trying to go outside?” you ask on your way to the door. Dean tenses.

“Uh, I don’t think—”

But you’re already halfway out the door. He shakes his head and follows you with swift strides. He watches you step out carefully onto the porch like a baby deer. He cleared the snow this morning from the deck and the steps, but he’s more concerned when he sees you considering how you might step out onto the snow.

“Stay on the porch, all right, Bambi,” he warns. “You’re not wearing snow boots and it’s still pretty deep. Not to mention, I’ve been keeping an eye out for a bear that wandered through here last week—”

You turn to look at him over your shoulder in amusement.

“Okay, Alpha. Calm down,” you say playfully. “I’m not gonna go ass over tea kettle.”

His brow twitches as he frowns. Alpha. He fights not to show his reaction to the way you said it; it calls to his baser instincts, almost stirring a rumble in his chest.

Cheeky little omega.

You keep to the porch, but regardless, you’re happy. You don’t even mind the cold. You see your breath on the air, and you tip your head back, closing your eyes with a smile as the sunshine warms your face. You inhale through your nose and let it out slowly in contentment.

“It’s a good day, Dean,” you say quietly.

You don’t realize that he’s watching you with a more reserved smile on his face. When he realizes it, he shakes his head at himself. He’s only been here a week with you, and it’ll probably take a couple more for your ankle to heal up well enough for you to walk again, let alone get down the mountain.

He doesn’t want to leave you alone up here, so he’ll have to somehow keep fending off your probing questions into his past and personal life. There's a lifetime of blood, nightmares, and death that he just can't let you see behind his eyes.

Hell, he's been trying to shove it all down for the past year—in booze and odd jobs and trips to nowhere, always coming back to an empty bunker. He still wonders how Sam's managed to do it, to move on, and build a new life for himself.

If Dean's honest (and he's not), he feels a bit like this cabin; old, falling apart, and forgotten.

But he’ll have to keep taking in your brightness and warmth, continue arguing with you about music and other inane shit, and pretend that every small touch of yours doesn’t ignite his skin. That it doesn’t make him have to beat down every instinct he has to pull you into his body and blanket you with his scent, ravage you, claim you, and make you his.

He never thought this would happen to him. He never thought someone like you was out there…for someone like him.

He knows it though, deep in his gut. You’re meant for him. You’re meant to be his mate.

Which means he’s already screwed.

AN: And we're off! Special thanks again to Michelle (@luci-in-trenchcoats) for being my sounding board when I was first writing this series. Let me know what you think of Part 1! 💜

Next Time:

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed…

When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

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