#wip whenever :)

[jods-tablet]

Juggling video auditions the next few weeks, so here is an upcoming excerpt, as a treat (: -> ✶⋆.˚

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP whenever

An out of the blue reblog (thank you!) of my Fathers’ Day story suddenly got me back on the Jeff train for the duration of my train journey… given I’m not sure how long this ticket is valid for I’ll post as far as I’ve got…

💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙

“Dad! Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

Jeff staggered backwards slightly - he hadn’t been expecting the door to open within less than a second of his finally summoning up the courage to knock and realised belatedly he’d been relying on a few extra moments to summon up the next bit to actually explain why he was there.

Scott caught his arm under the elbow and steadied him. Jeff murmured a jumbled mess of syllables which fell midway between “thank you, I’m fine” and “sorry to disturb you” and felt a little cold sweat prickle as he realised he was still looking intently at the doorframe, at that puzzling crack through the lock, rather than at the person he had come here to see.

Jeff lifted his gaze as far as his son’s cheekbones and hesitated. With a shiver of guilt he realised that not since that first moment… that moment time stood still as he caught his son’s wrist and saw only a lost little boy staring up at him… since then he hadn’t let himself look properly, hadn’t let himself maintain eye contact with his eldest. Not for the whole time he’d been back.

Too afraid that he’d see her.

Even more afraid that he wouldn’t.

Get a grip, Tracy. It’s just your little boy.

He steeled himself to make the infinitesimal shift to meet Scott’s eyes, for only the second time in eight years… perhaps even sixteen… and sure enough there she was, staring directly into Jeff’s soul from behind that blue tinted glass.

How was it possible to feel both elation and despair simultaneously?

Scott’s frown deepened and the bemused and concerned curiosity hardened into cobalt lasers of assessment as he took charge.

“You look a little pale, Dad. Come and sit down.”

“Can we talk?” Jeff finally managed to push the three tiny words out just as they became unnecessary. Scott startled a little and blinked rapidly.

“Um, of course whatever you need. But… sitting down. You need to sit down.”

“Alright.”

Jeff allowed himself to be led into the room and looked around with interest. It was essentially unchanged in all those years but for a new blanket, some extra cushions and a lot of extra art on the walls, all undoubtedly Virgil’s except for the collection clustered into the relatively small space between the closet and the bed which proved to be the more childish efforts of others, the cracking finger paint and fading crayon carefully preserved with clear glass frames.

He suppressed a groan as he lowered himself into the big blue armchair and let the cane fall to the floor beside. Scott picked it up and propped it against the wall behind. Accessible, but out of sight.

His eldest son perched on the edge of the bed and looked at him calmly and attentively. Jeff wasn’t fooled - he could see the tension around the jaw which betrayed the anxiety Scott was hiding and wondered if the son could recognise the same in his father’s face.

A deep breath.

“You’re not in trouble, son.”

🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Whenevers

Hellooo, it's Thursday so i'm posting some wips.

Got tagged by @firefly-factory <3

Tagging @skyrim-forever @nyarevar @snowy-weather @saltymaplesyrup @sulphuricgrin @snowy-weather and anyone else who's interested. No pressure as usual.

I've been working on a couple of things, mostly the render and the line art I did today. Both I'll post below.

Moving on to Joshi's eyes now, plan on doing this on two layers so...

There will be a glow with the mask version.

Josh circa 208 when he goes Apocrypha Splunking whilst looking for his missing wifey... and accidentally unleashes horrors in desperation.

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

wip whenever

tagged by: @philtstone - thank you! 💕

no-pressure tagging: @theawkwardterrier @forgetmenotsassenach17 @frasers-of-my-heart and anyone else who has something to share!

rules: post an excerpt from your most recent wip.

Continuing to make progress on the last chapter of Soften Every Edge because everything else in life feels insane right now:

“It’s time,” she said, trying to muster a smile, but the panic in his eyes only grew.

“I’ll send Murtagh for the midwife. I’ll—” 

“No. Jamie, listen to me. It’s too late. The baby—” She inhaled sharply with a sudden contraction and doubled over, and Jamie’s arm shot out to steady her. She breathed in slowly, steadily, as the pain abated, and looked her terrified husband in the eye. “The baby is coming fast. It’ll have to be you.” 

“Claire, I—” 

“I’ll be right here. I’ll talk you through everything.” 

He made a sound at the back of his throat that usually indicated irritation, but in this instance, he reminded her more of a spooked deer. His hand tightened on hers as his gaze fell to her swollen belly. If she weren’t in the throes of labor, it might’ve made her heart soften at the reminder that he wasn’t so brave when it came to her own pain.

“You’ve been in the room before,” she reminded him. “With Brianna.”

“I was sitting up behind you the whole time. Didnae see a damn thing!” 

“That’s alright. You were there, and you know everything went fine then, hmm? Jamie, look at me.” She waited until his gaze found hers again. She was intimately familiar with this fear of his; he’d been very small when he lost his mother and younger brother to childbirth. His mother had only been a few years older than Claire was now.

“I can’t—” Her breath caught in her throat. That wasn’t quite true, but… “I don’t want to do this by myself.” 

She saw the moment he realized that was the only alternative and it sobered him. 

“Together,” she rasped. He swallowed thickly and nodded, bringing her hand to his lips.

[lilas]

happy wip wednesday again y’all

It feels like it’s been forever since I last posted some for wip wednesday. I just didn’t have much I could or wanted to share. But now… :>

Tagging @lilbittymonster @roguelioness @galadae @impossible-rat-babies @coldshrugs @lavampira @hythlodaes @scionshtola @zylphiacrowley @shadowentei and YOU! IF YOU SEE THIS! Anything creative, anything at all.

Anyway, here’s a little wip about you guessed it Avi’li and Erenville, at some point between 7.0 and 7.1.

—-

The yarn slides through the smooth leather, in and out, through once then through twice in rhythmic motions. Avi’li’s deft fingers maneuver the needle around Erenville’s boot, both turning in his hands as he leverages the material surface area. It’s not the usual Turali stitch pattern, or any pattern normally seen in embroidery. Neither is it chaotic or mindless. Avi’li lays each stitch with exacting purpose. One stitch forms a right angle. The following stitch goes parallel, forming the beginning of a new shape. One shape, moving into the next. Each line contributes to the system of growing geometry stitched on the tongue of Erenville’s boot.

Erenville watches over Avi’li’s shoulder, stretched out on the rickety, threadbare bed in Iyaate’s spare room. The room is drafty and not completely free of dust (can anything in Shaaloani be?), but it beats a bedroll on the ground in a tent.

“What do the shapes mean?” Erenville asks. Avi’li’s head adjusts and the ends of his shaggy hair brush against the bed. Erenville reaches out, grasps several hairs lightly between his fingers.

“Many things.” Green eyes catch the dust mottled light as Avi’li turns his head and shoulders to look back at Erenville. “They’re all based on the same basic design principles.” He lifts the boot he‘s working on. The thick embroidery needle sits embedded in the leather, shiny and new in comparison to the scuffed steel toecaps. Avi’li points to the circle he just stitched.

[mlavier]

Wip Whenever

been sitting on this for two months now, dunno if i'll ever finish. It's based on one of my fav art pieces of all time :3

@jashonja thanks 4 the tag!

[corniart]

How many times do y’all think they have had the “you don’t actually have to say up”/ “but it’s fun” convo? I think a lot. Bc they’re losers. I love them🥺 happy wip wthursday to all the gays🫶

[jmgangel]

Stelle live reaction.

[shanaraharlyah]

Look at them! Still a WIP because I have so much else going on right now, but I love them so much I have to share.

@valyrra

[jashonja]

Wip Whenever

I started this one for Gortash week, but I didn't finish it on time and kind of gave up on it.

@quacaserous thank you for tagging me, it was unexpected but I am glad you did! Passing on to @mlavier, @kibermonakh, @daemon-in-my-head if it's ok

[kibermonakh]

thanks for tagging me @jashonja

dunno who to pass on so whoever sees this and would like to participate - do it! Back in the pre-lobotomy days Durge already liked to cook, but instead of usual meat he butchered his own victims: dwarves went for various steaks and minced meats, gnomes and halflings were dry-cured whole, elves was steamed with mushrooms and various sauces, half-orcs and humans combined nicely in spicy sausages, and tieflings were brewed into gelatine, especially their tails and horns. Durge used to be local Bhaal cult's Gordon Ramsay х) Durge doesn’t remember this specifically, but he obviously has his own guesses, and his hands still somehow cope with preparing meat dishes, so in retirement Durge decided to go deeper into baking and sweets - it’s more difficult, he doesn’t succeed as he wants, but he still likes it.

[sailing-on-a-puddle]

We also know Virgil cannot drink with Gordon and Scott from Inebriated Tracys 😁

WIP Whenever

🍸🍹🍸🍹🍸🍹🍸🍹🍸🍹🍸🍹🍸🍹🍸

Gordon materialised bearing a broad grin and a tray precariously loaded with a wide range of comfort foods and brightly coloured cocktails.

Scott accepted and took a tentative sip of the blue one. Then screwed up his face and spluttered:

“Fie, Squid! What treachery is this?”

“Sherbet! Some fruit purées. Rums. A smidge of chilli, that blue stuff. Standard summer cocktail fare Scotty boy.”

“Rums PLURAL?”

“It’ll put hairs on your chest! Relax you a bit.” Gordon added something under his breath but Virgil was distracted from asking him to repeat it by the more pressing matter of observing his elder brother’s attempts to scrape the fizzy residue off his tongue with a cocktail umbrella.

Virgil eyed his green-containing glass with some trepidation.

“Yours is virgin, Virgie-boy. I’m not stupid. Last time you painted a portrait whilst drinking, John had a giant eye on his cheek.”

“It was a cubist piece! You’re even more of a heathen than he is!” The tiny head jerk towards Scott was unnecessary.

“Hey! I get art!”

Virgil conveyed his skepticism through the medium of eyebrows.

“Well… once you’ve explained that it’s meant to be art… then I get it.”

[heylittleriotact]

⚰ＷＩＰ ＷＨＥＮＥＶＥＲ⚰

I've been tagged by @xxnashiraxx and love seeing their work pop up on my dash - thank you <3

The Soup du Jour is... smut! Plotless, pointless, porntacular, horny Emmrook smut.

We've got praise kinks, we've got flashing, we've got grinding, we've got trying-to-distract-this-poor-man-from-his-work, we've got Rook biting off more than she can chew when Emmrich calls her bluff. It is in this piece that I am (ultimately) going to make good on my threat of Emmrich reciting erotic poetry intimately into Rook's ear while he makes deeply passionate love to her, because that idea has lived rent-free in my head for days now and I need to manifest it. But first I need Rook to be a brat, and for Emmrich to... deal with that.

I was having doubts about this one because I am forever afraid of writing OOC, but honestly I'm just trying to chuck it in the fuck it bucket and have fun.

Tagging: @preciouslittlebhaalbae (you have TIME now MWAHAHAHA), @allofthebarks (don't hold out on me), @emmg (I know you're cooking 👀)

Under the cut because it is ✨EXPLICIT✨

𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃:

A funeral event where the prepared body of the deceased is reposed in the casket (open or closed) so that mourners may pay their respects, say their goodbyes, and grieve communally prior to the formal funeral service.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she pulled on the flimsy little camisole. She had very specific plans in mind when she slipped into the thin leggings that she knew were just a little too tight. There was a distinct reason she had chosen to completely forgo underthings. 

She tied her thick hair into a low bun at the base of her skull so her neck was clearly visible… as was the somewhat faded love bite from their previous encounter - the one that made Lace turn beetroot when she laid eyes on it at breakfast. The one that prompted Taash to reach over the table with a congratulatory high five. Emmrich had coughed awkwardly and subtly adjusted his own collar, clearly hoping the marks Amina had left on his neck in return were concealed.

She padded barefoot down the hallway to the laboratory, stomach fluttering and turning on itself in a not unpleasant way with the sheer anticipation of being in his proximity again. She couldn’t help but be drawn to him - his immense gravity could not be ignored; her need to be near him was insistent. She put little stock in the novelty of fate before Emmrich, but there was no doubt in her mind that there must have been some sort of cosmic ruling in which they were unwittingly sentenced by the stars to find one another. Her belly smouldered at the thought of such a thing… of such belonging.

She knocked gently on the door. “It’s me - may I come in?” 

She didn’t have to wait for an answer, nor did she have to turn the knob herself: she heard a chair scuff over the flagstone, the muffled jingle of gold - a sound that set her heart racing more often than not these days - and the door was flung open. Emmrich stood in the threshold, beaming affectionately down at her. 

“Of course, darling.” He took her hand and pulled her into the room, reaching over her shoulder to shut the door once she was inside. She might have been embarrassed that the sound of the lock clicking behind her made her breath catch solely due to its implication, but she was having a hard time feeling much of anything but barely restrained lust for the man in front of her. 

He drew her in close with an arm around her waist, still holding her hand between them, massaging her palm with his thumb as he bowed his head to kiss her sweetly. Her knees went weak when his lips met hers and his familiar scent filled her nose, rendering her brain incapable of anything other than inwardly chanting the same base sentiment over and over for as long as the kiss lasted: Home! Home! Home! Home! You’re home!

He straightened and looked at her, smiling as though he hadn’t heard the hungry little moan that had slipped from her, nor perceived the way she’d pressed as much of her body against him as she could during their embrace. “How are you today?” He asked, genuinely interested - as always. He knew. Surely he knew that she was positively bursting with need for him.

“Fine,” she breathed, returning the smile, watching as he started back towards the desk that was covered with books, inkpots, and parchment. “I’m well, thank you. Just thought I’d come say hello, see what you’re up to.”  

He pulled a chair over to the opposite side of the desk for her to sit on. She opted to remain standing instead, her eyes flitted over the pages of drying ink spread over the desk. 

“More letters home?” She waited until he was settled in his chair again, the quill back in his hand, and she bent at the waist to take a closer look at a recent anatomical drawing he’d completed. She could feel the cozy heat of the laboratory caress the exposed peaks of her breasts as the insubstantial shirt draped downward, offering a generous eyeful to anyone who might be sitting directly across from her. 

Her eyes flicked up from the drawing when Emmrich didn’t answer right away, a clever smile pulling at the corners of her mouth when she caught him red-handed; his eyes locked on the dainty swell of her breasts. 

He came to his senses when he felt her eyes on him and he comprehended the coquettish smirk on her face. “Yes.” He licked his lips. “Yes. Maintaining alliships and channels of communication is vital as we draw closer to our confrontation with the gods.” He swallowed and smiled again as Amina straightened and rounded the desk, settling against the wood on his side now.

“A fine plan,” she concurred, leaning back on her hands, her very visible nipples more or less eye level for the handsome academic to admire. “I hope I’m not distracting you: it’s so rare that I get a few hours to just relax these days.” She made a bit of a show of tilting her chin up and slowly rolling her head from side to side, stretching out the muscles of her neck and making sure Emmrich could see the soft plum-tinted bloom of colour he’d imparted on her skin as he sent her over the edge with his name on her lips, buried to the hilt between her legs as she clenched hard around him, her fingers curled tightly in his soft, thick hair. ‘You are incredible, darling,’ he had sighed against her tingling skin afterwards when they were little more than a tangled, panting heap of limbs. It had taken a good hour after that before she could walk again…

Amina squirmed against the desk a little at the thought, aware of the burgeoning wetness that was accumulating at the juncture of her thighs. 

Somehow Emmrich managed to maintain the discipline required to look back at the letter he was working on, his lips curling quaintly. “Not at all, my dear - quite the contrary in fact: I’m so glad that you’re finally taking some time to look after yourself.” He dipped the quill, tapped it once, twice, and then brought it to the paper.

She observed him in silence until he seemingly made peace with the fact that she was not going to sit on the chair he’d brought over for her, and instead pushed his own back slightly, pulling her down onto his lap where she perched gleefully, having gotten what she wanted. 

“I must concede that you are somewhat distracting, so I will need your assistance in proofreading these before they’re sent out - I do have an academic reputation to maintain, regardless of the beautiful woman on my knee.” 

“Is that so?” Amina purred, nuzzling into his neck, her lips barely ghosting over his skin that smelled organic and clean - crisp soap and freshly cut sage… a lingering hint of pipe tobacco and expensive brandy. 

Oh yes, she was going to be one hell of a distraction…

“She sounds like a real piece of work, this woman. It’s a marvel that you get anything done at all with her around.” She tilted her hips ever so slightly. Not enough for it to be claimed that she was trying to get a rise out of him, but enough so that the fingernails of his left hand dug into her side a little where he gripped her. A pleased smile took her lips at the feeling of him against her, already half hard: he could pretend to be aloof and composed all he liked, but she knew that there was only one possible outcome for this encounter. 

“I was just having a similar thought, as it turns out,” he murmured, breath catching slightly when Amina ground against him more deliberately this time. “She’s cornered me in my laboratory no fewer than three times this week, you see: my productivity has utterly plummeted.”

The way he whispered those words, his voice so sinful and cunning…

“Oh dear…” Amina tutted. “Well we can’t have that now, can we?” She moved to slide from his lap, fully prepared to at least pretend that she cared a whit about Emmrich’s ‘productivity’ of late. 

He held her fast though, keeping her on his lap with his hands and arms, and the sheer fact of his existence alone. She rewarded him with a satisfied hum and another agonizingly slow roll of her hips, suspecting that she was probably beginning to soak through her thin pants.

His hand dropped from her waist to her thigh and he palmed the expanse of hard muscle there, dragging his fingers towards her hip as he leaned forward and his hot breath washed over the sensitive shell of her ear, driving a small gasp from her as she flinched in his grasp: he had not been idly boasting during that dinner date about his anatomical prowess.

“I fear I wouldn’t have it any other way…” he confided, those artful, nimble fingers of his straying to her waistband and slipping beneath it. He sharply inhaled through his teeth and uttered a soft ‘oh’ when he found her waiting for him, slick and needy. There was a slight tremor in his voice when he said, “She is intoxicating, you see…”

She moaned encouragingly as he swirled a finger through her, clearly enjoying the experience of her arousal alone: she could distinctly feel his hardness against her rear now.

Oh how she longed to ravish him - ride him to completion on this very chair, or on the floor perhaps. Maybe against one of the many bookshelves that lined the room - they had dallied against one the week before, her leg hitched up around his thin waist, pulling him deeper as he set a pace that stole her breath from her lungs and hit angles that caused her to see stars. 

Or she could bend over the railing of the balcony upstairs and feign interest in the curious nature of their environs while he slammed into her over and over again, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips… 

Of course there had been the rather awkward instance a few days earlier where Manfred had wandered in on them both in a state of partial undress: Emmrich’s waistcoat hanging open, Amina dragging her hands through his hair, her own shirt piled in a careless heap on the floor nearby and Emmrich’s hand down her pants as she tried to kick off her high-heeled lilac slippers without removing her lips from his skin. Manfred had launched himself between the two of them with a consternated hiss, clearly interpreting their entanglement to mean they were fighting instead of well… the other thing. The following day, Emmrich gave his first in a series of many lectures to Manfred about the birds and the bees - and reiterated the invaluable virtue of always knocking before entering a room that might have someone else in it.

She was snapped from her musing at the sublime sensation of Emmrich’s finger dragging along the ridges of her walls as he slid the digit inside of her. She let out a small gasp at the intrusion and reflexively clenched around it, hips rocking against his once more. 

“... but I really must finish these letters.” There was a playful, coy edge to his voice as he slowly withdrew his finger and slowly pushed it back in. “This striking woman of mine will need to exercise patience today, it seems…”

Something about being his striking woman in particular sent a jolt of arousal straight through her very soul. She could feel the cool metal of his rings against her feverish skin as he cupped her sex, his thumb brushing almost tauntingly over her aching clit. 

“Please, Emmrich…” she whined, arching up into his touch, making her need plain. 

The demonstration of manners earned her a second finger, but her lover did not deviate from his task as he leaned forward, dipped the quill, and began to write once more. “In good time, my precious love,” he soothed. “Try to relax for the time being - I shan’t take long.” 

“It feels so good though…” 

“That’s wonderful, darling - I want you to feel good.” 

She fell silent, the wind in the sails of her desire to argue stilling as she let her head fall against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, allowing herself to exist in the moment - holding on tight to every emphatic response of her nervous system as Emmrich touched her with a capable familiarity that suggested he’d touched her a thousand times before; the erotic symphony of the quill scratching over the parchment mingled with the sound of his fingers moving within her… her breathy moans… his many bangles shifting gently with each purposeful gesture…

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured eventually - she had lost track of time - kissing her shoulder before returning to the letter. He had to be nearly done, hadn’t he? “So good for me… my sweet Amina…”

She whimpered at his words - the reverent praise tolling something deep within her that was starved and lonely. She writhed on his thigh as he placed tender kisses all over her cheek and crooked his fingers, stroking that euphoric place inside of her that made cognizant thought impossible and made her thighs tremble like she’d been in the training hall all day. He took her apart slowly, casually… effortlessly, and before long she was fluttering around him, cheeks and lips flushed a delicate pink, staring down an orgasm that was about to be everyone in the building’s business - she could feel it: the deep fire in her belly roiling and twisting on itself, going taut, so tense and eager that one more touch could snap it, yielding the most decadent release…

And then he was gone, the absence of his touch keenly felt as her walls flexed and tensed around the sudden nothingness. 

She glowered at him, though her stomach flip-flopped enthusiastically as she watched him taste her on his slender fingers with a dignified poise she should have expected. “That was cruel.”

“Is it cruel to strive to linger in a garden of untold majesty forever, even knowing forever is unobtainable?” He stroked those same fingers gently over her lips and she caught the tip of one between her teeth, flicking the very tip of her tongue over the fleshy pad of it. “I want to savour you, my dear.” He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her scent. “Let me take my time.”

[kittenshift-17]

WIP WHENEVER

Tagged by the wonderful @demonicfaerie

“Oomph,” Stiles groaned three nights later when he was scrubbing a towel in his damp hair, shirtless and only in flannel PJ bottoms.

The breath huffed from his lungs and his back twinged a bit when he was slammed into the wall just inside the door by a pair of strong but familiar hands. Even with a towel over his head and obscuring his vision, Stiles knew it was Derek. The wolf had a thing about shoving Stiles into hard surfaces to threaten him about stuff.

“Derek,” he sighed, scraping the towel off his head so he could see the guy. “Always a pleasure. Please do break into my bedroom and manhandle me whenever it suits you. Totally not creepy and weird. Woah… hey, easy there, big guy.”

Derek was in full wolf-face, all missing eyebrows, crazy muttonchops, and fangs, his eyes glowing the crimson of the alpha spark inside him instead of their previously gleaming neon blue. He was also leaning into Stiles’s space and sniffing him powerfully.

“Shit, dude,” Stiles muttered when Derek buried his neck in Stiles’s neck, huffing his scent like it was crack cocaine. “What the hell? Are you okay? Is this another weird reaction to Wolfsbane or something? Oh, Jesus….”

Stiles gulped audibly when Derek forced his knees between Stiles’s thighs, pressing into him firmly, still sniffing him like a bloodhound.

“Why do you smell like that?” Derek rumbled into his skin, leaning in even closer and practically hugging Stiles; they were pressed so close.

“Like soap? It’s called showering, dude. Soap and shampoo and deodorant, they’re your friends, and you should use them,” Stiles babbled. “Uh, you wanna let me go there, sourwolf? This is pushing past the PG rating…”

Derek ignored him and kept sniffing, almost wilting into him a little bit when he nosed along Stiles’s bare collarbone and down the length of his sternum, bending at the knees to keep sniffing.

“Oh, God,” Stiles muttered, tipping his head back because he was only human, okay.

Stiles was human and a horny teenage boy, and the guy solely responsible for his sexuality crisis was pushing all up on him, and Stiles couldn’t be held accountable for what was happening in his pants, okay? It wasn’t his fault Derek happened to be incredibly hot. He was a complete asshole, possibly a murdering psychopath – actually, scratch that; he was definitely a murderous psychopath; see Exhibit A, the slashed open throat of his own uncle. But an incredibly hot murdering psychopathic asshole, nonetheless.

“Shouldn’t be possible,” Derek mumbled into Stiles’s chest before lifting his head and peering into Stiles’s face.

The alpha looked a little dazed, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the crimson alpha glow.

“What shouldn’t be?” Stiles asked hoarsely, hoping Derek wasn’t about to kill Stiles for getting an awkward boner right now.

“You smell like…”

“Apple pie?” Stiles guessed. “Scott says I smell like apple pie.”

Derek shook his head, leaning in closer and dragging his nose along Stiles’s hairline across his forehead. Dude, unsanitary.

“Pack,” Derek murmured. “You smell like pack.”

“Like Isaac, you mean?” Stiles guessed. “Because your little beta has been pretty much surgically attached to my hip since the full moon. I’m still pretty sure it’s because he wants to eat me and is just waiting for the opportune moment.”

“Not like Isaac,” Derek muttered, and Stiles was pretty sure Derek might’ve just kissed his forehead as he took another slow, deep breath in through his nose.

His grip on Stiles softened, easing into something gentler, and Stiles blinked in confusion.

“Dude, are you okay?” Stiles asked quietly.

Derek didn’t move for a few more minutes, holding him captive quite gently and just breathing in the scent of him. He didn’t answer any of Stiles’s questions either, which, rude.

“Can we at least sit down or something?” Stiles asked, his feet beginning to itch from standing like he was.

Derek pulled away. His pupils were still blown, but his usual scowly aggression was missing from his face. Stiles searched his expression in confusion. Was this what it looked like before an alpha werewolf snapped their bolt and went on a killing spree? Was Derek going to eat him?

“Um… you wanna watch a movie or something?” Stiles offered. “Wait, were you here for a reason? Do you need me to research something?”

Derek just crossed to Stiles’s bed in silence, shrugging out of his leather jacket, boots, and jeans, much to Stiles’s growing mortification. Stiles looked on, slack-jawed, when Derek – now in just a grey t-shirt and a pair of black briefs – peeled open the covers on Stiles’s bed and climbed between the sheets.

“Oh my god, is this a dream?” Stiles muttered. “Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming.”

He started counting his fingers as he trailed, bewildered, to the edge of the bed where Derek had buried his face in Stiles’s pillow and had begun to….

Stiles’s eyes slowly widened when the werewolf began to nuzzle all around, rubbing his cheeks into the fabric, his nose, his forehead, and then dropping to…

“Are you… rolling in my scent?” Stiles breathed softly. “Like a dog does when they find something they think smells good?”

Derek didn’t answer, but he didn’t really have to. He was literally rolling around in Stiles’s scent, stopping only long enough to yank his shirt off over his head so he was rubbing bare skin into the scent of Stiles clinging to the sheets and pillows. He was even making little canine noises of contentment, and Stiles was completely freaked out. Didn’t dogs roll in the scents of creatures they were planning to hunt? He was sure he’d read that canines rolled in the scents of their prey to mask their own predatory scent to better hunt down and devour innocent prey.

Oh, God. That meant Stiles was prey.

Derek was going to eat him.

[amentet-draws]

WIP Wednesday

(or whenever)

The reach is saddening these days, so let's shake some notes, support each other and have fun! Share your WIPs (art, writing or whatever).

Here are my st. Trina and Miquella (more adult version). Based on pre DLC and my AU designs, also female head by Gaetano Cellini that I used for studies earlier. Gonna make them in color (also struggling with Miquella. Braided a doll for reference. Want to make a young male face, sorta typical Tolkien's elf, and not to turn him into a girl... But I've not much experience with males. I love that unfinished sketch aesthetic tho, want to save a copy before I continue).

Tagging @catcas22 @bardcambion @bimbomcgee @sillovn @sheirukitriesfandom @cinderflower @evilwriter37 @ashildr-arts @miseryscrowned @katastronoot @solarchaotica-art and everyone else who wants to show something.

[jellisdraws]

Year of the Snake

[WIP] Frisk ready for a whole new year of adventure