wolfawaycamp

[wolfawaycamp]

i'm so hungry and starving... please... a donation, kind sir... for the bottom ryan coalition... we are so cold...

Dear Bottom Ryan Coalition,

We have seen your humble plea and hope that the enclosed donation of some power bottom Ryan will have you well fed and warmed.

Sincerely,

🐰 Bunny Lapin 🐰

President and CEO

Doing Too Much Corp 

[Available on AO3 here.]

Ryan sips a chai latte and thinks, for maybe the hundredth time today, about sex.

Outside, an aggressively pale gray sky is spitting snowflakes, which Ryan wants absolutely nothing to do with. He’s sitting cross-legged under a blanket in the coveted corner space of the sectional sofa and waiting, very impatiently, for Dylan to return from his last exam before the start of winter break. Ryan’s last final was two days ago, and he’s been feeling greatly deprived of his boyfriend’s attention in the interim. He understands Dylan has been busy, he’s not upset about that, but he has been promised some stress-relieving activities before they have to start making the rounds of holiday visits with family and friends, sleeping in various guest rooms and, in all likelihood, in separate beds.

He hears the key turn in the lock and Ryan’s on his feet and halfway to the door before deciding to be cool and sit back down, trying to look a little less eager. He rearranges his blanket and picks his half empty mug back up to take a sip. Ryan listens as Dylan drops his book bag and shoes in the entryway and hangs up his coat and scarf before rounding the corner into the living room. When he spots Ryan on the sofa, Dylan throws himself onto it face first and rests his head on Ryan’s leg, closing his eyes with a weary sigh. He looks exhausted.

“Hey, you survived,” Ryan says, not allowing an ounce of the considerable enthusiasm he feels at Dylan’s return to make it into his voice, “yay.”

This has become an ongoing bit between them, because Dylan finds it hilarious when Ryan says something like “yay” or “yippee” in the absolute flattest monotone he can manage.

Dylan laughs—it works every time—but he doesn’t open his eyes.

“Hooray for me,” he says weakly, his cheek nudging Ryan’s thigh.

“Did you get any sleep?” Ryan asks, dragging his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. He wishes Dylan wouldn’t pull all-nighters like this. He doesn’t even need to, he always seems like he’s got a good handle on the subject matter for his classes. Ryan’s pretty sure Dylan is tutoring his less gifted classmates for free at these study sessions.

“Oh yeah, got a luxurious 30 minute chair nap before the final.” Dylan makes a face and Ryan mirrors it, tsking his disapproval. 

It’s not unusual for Dylan to grab a nap somewhere random on campus. He can sleep just about anywhere, in some of the most uncomfortable-looking positions. He and Schrödinger have that in common—Ryan suspects his boyfriend might be part cat. Unlike Schrödinger, though, Dylan usually complains about his neck being stiff after.

“Dylan, you cannot be helping yourself by staying up all night before your exams,” Ryan chides gently.

It isn’t really Dylan’s grades Ryan’s worried about. He’s made the Dean’s List every semester, despite always procrastinating way more than Ryan would personally be comfortable with. He’s more concerned that Dylan will burn himself out working harder than he has to.

And Dylan likes helping out his fellow physics students, Ryan knows that, but he still thinks he’s doing too much. If he hadn’t accompanied Dylan on a few of these late library nights and seen the absolute nerd herd he studies with, and if Dylan weren’t Dylan and devoted far beyond Ryan’s capacity for doubt, he might start to get suspicious. Dylan does this library long haul shit often enough that he has an overnight bag that he keeps in his car for the occasion, with a toothbrush, deodorant, a change of clothes, dry shampoo, and god knows what else. He’s such a dork. Ryan finds him almost painfully adorable.

“I felt alright for the final,” Dylan says, yawning halfway through his sentence, “thanks to coffee and Adderall. I’m just crashing hard now.”

He nuzzles into Ryan’s lap, moving his head a little closer to his hip, and Ryan feels a warmth spread through him that’s only about half caused by affection. He can’t feel the heat of Dylan’s breath on him through the layers of sweatpants and blanket, but just the weight of his head so close to Ryan’s dick is doing something for him. He tries to ignore it and rubs the back of Dylan’s neck, but Dylan’s soft groan in response does nothing for Ryan’s flimsy resolve to keep this g-rated.

“Mm thank you that feels nice,” Dylan murmurs. Then, a bit louder, as if he’s just remembered they don’t actually live here alone: “where’s K?”

“Work. Until 7.” 

It’s Kaitlyn’s last barista shift before the shop she works at on campus closes down for the semester. Which Dylan would know, if he remembered to check their shared Google Calendar.

“Oh,” he says, seeming to intuit Ryan’s mental scolding without him needing to say it out loud, “yeah. I knew that.”

“It would be a perfect time for a non-sleep-deprived boyfriend to rail me into the mattress…” Ryan taunts, “if only I had one. Too bad the only boyfriend I have thinks he needs to live at the Science and Engineering Library.”

Dylan scoffs. “Wow, he sounds like a loser.”

“He is.”

“He sounds pretty hot though.”

Ryan laughs, kneading the back of Dylan’s neck with his fingertips.

“He is.”

Dylan smiles in his lap.

“Trust me babe, I’m gonna fuck you so good, real soon. All I need is, like, a solid six hours of sleep, and a shower, and, y’know, probably more food by then, and some caffeine to go with the food…” he pauses and yawns again, “but once I’ve had all of that, oh man, you’d better be ready. One way ticket to Pound Town.”

“Okay, well… that’s a lot of requirements standing between me and Pound Town,” Ryan says, “can we work on that? What about… three hours and a snack?”

“Four hours and a charcuterie tray,” Dylan counters.

“A whole tray? I can’t just feed you some string cheese and ham slices?”

“Ryan, I take my craft seriously. An athlete needs fuel. At least, that’s what Kaitlyn says when she eats a whole pizza by herself the night before her hockey games.”

The thought of Dylan as any kind of athlete is almost laughable, but if there was a semi-pro league for topping, maybe he would qualify. He is tall, anatomically fortunate, and very determined. Plus, Ryan definitely wants to get fucked by him sooner rather than later, so he’s not about to laugh.

“Hm. All right. What if you fucked me real quick right now and then you can sleep as long as you want and we can get food delivered later. Pho or Chinese or something? You’ll sleep better anyway.”

He knows this is true, but isn’t sure it will be enough incentive. Dylan sleeps like the dead after he comes. They both do.

Dylan turns his head so he’s face-down in Ryan’s lap and lets out another groan, this one more protracted and decidedly less sexy. Then he turns his head to the side again.

“Baaaaabe,” he whines, “I’m so fried. It’s not that I don’t want to—believe me, I do. I just don’t think it’d be very good.”

“Well… what if I did all the work? I could be on top. You know, uh, ride you and take care of myself.”

Dylan is silent for a moment, processing this suggestion.

“Damn,” he says, “you want it that bad, huh?”

“Yes,” Ryan answers, and the blunt honesty of his need seems to finally crack Dylan’s defenses.

“Fine, but I’m literally just gonna lay there. Like, total starfish mode.” He’s trying to sound put out but Ryan sees him grinning. 

“I can work with that, as long as you’re hard.”

“Oh, I’m gonna be hard,” he sighs, “I’m halfway there already.”

“I love you,” Ryan declares. 

This is true—and mostly has nothing to do with how easily his boyfriend gets erections—but Ryan’s fighting kind of dirty now. Dylan might have a filthy mind, but he’s also such a romantic sap that being straightforwardly sweet to him turns him on more than pretty much anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dylan says dismissively, clearly aware of exactly what Ryan’s doing, “I know you do. You also love getting your way.”

“Mm-hmm, that too,” Ryan admits, patting Dylan’s head affectionately before sliding out from under both him and the blanket and standing up. “Now c’mon before you pass out right here.”

He grabs Dylan’s single hand in both of his and drags him physically off the couch and toward the bedroom as Dylan laughs at his eagerness.

Ryan releases Dylan’s hand only when he’s deposited him right next to their bed and he backtracks to close the door behind them

“Bed. Now.” He commands.

“With my clothes on?”

“I’ll take ‘em off in a second.”

Dylan lies on the bed and Ryan leans down and presses a kiss to his temple. “You work too hard, boy genius,” he says, “relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I am not a—wait, everything?” Dylan raises a skeptical eyebrow but Ryan thinks he’s starting to get into the idea. It’s not like Ryan’s never taken control before, he does that fairly often. But Dylan’s got a major service top streak, he rarely lets Ryan do it all himself.

“Yeah, everything.”

“Okay,” Dylan says with a quiet, wide-eyed intensity that Ryan sees only on occasions when he’s momentarily too horny even to make jokes.

Ryan grins down at him. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Understood.” Dylan moves his shoulders a little, adjusts the pillow under his head.

Ryan begins the preparations. He digs a condom out of the bedside drawer for easier cleanup, grabs some lube, and turns on the little space heater by the bed. They’ll generate their own heat soon enough but it’s still nice to have, and it’ll kick off automatically in half an hour. He sets the package of wet wipes they keep in the drawer a couple of inches from the heater, not close enough to be a fire hazard but close enough that they’ll have the chill knocked off of them for wiping up later. There’s no way he’s getting Dylan directly into a shower after this.

He strips his own clothes off in front of the heater and tosses them into the hamper before climbing onto the bed with Dylan, who is quietly watching his every move with drowsy, half-lidded eyes. Ryan grips the hem of his sweatshirt and the t-shirt underneath and Dylan sits up to allow him to pull them both off in one motion. They end up inside out and tangled together but Ryan just chucks them toward the hamper and moves on. He then quickly relieves Dylan of his pants, socks, and underwear. He’s a little glad that Dylan hasn’t bothered with his prosthetic hand today—he has yet to perfect a method for taking that off of him in a sexy way, but he’s working on it.

“Ah, shit,” Dylan says, “I might actually fall asleep just lying here. If I do, you have my full consent to keep going until you finish.”

He’s joking, there’s no way he’d actually fall asleep, but something about it, about Dylan doing nothing while Ryan gets himself off, being so passive that he could actually fall asleep… it’s not unappealing.

“That’s… kind of hot, actually. See how little you can do. Play dead.”

“Done,” Dylan says, settling back into the sheets, draping his left arm over his eyes to block out the light.

Ryan takes a moment just to look at him stretched out on their unmade bed, his reclining form long, pale, and perfect. He’s not quite fully hard yet, but he’s getting there. Ryan lays his head on Dylan’s chest and rubs slow circles low on his abdomen, in the sensitive space between his navel and his cock, watching him swell and lengthen in response. He avoids touching Dylan’s cock directly for the moment, trailing soft touches over his hip and then lightly dragging his blunt nails up and down his inner thigh, trying to build anticipation.

Dylan draws a shivery breath and Ryan thinks he looks ready. He finally gives him a few lazy strokes with his hand just to be sure before dripping a little lube onto Dylan’s cock and rolling on the condom. Then he generously drizzles more on the outside.

Ryan hovers over Dylan, unsure if he wants to be squatting with his feet on the bed or kneeling on his knees. He decides to start with kneeling and move to squatting if he needs more of a bouncing motion later. He straddles Dylan and scoots down a little to line them up. Dylan’s breathing slow and deep, eyes still obscured in the crook of his arm. He only hums softly when Ryan takes him in hand and positions him just right.

He takes a deep breath and tries to consciously relax his body, remind his muscles to be loose and pliant. It hasn’t been so long that Ryan needs fingers or a toy inside him first, but a few days is long enough for him to feel a little tight. He presses the lubed head of Dylan’s cock to his hole and sinks down slow, feeling the slight pop of his flared crown passing through the ring of muscle at his entrance.

It doesn’t hurt, in fact it feels really goddamn good, but there’s an intensity to the sensation for sure. He can feel every inch gradually pressing into him, spreading him open. Dylan’s shaft glides in smoothly, and his slight upward curve puts him at the ideal angle to rub against Ryan’s prostate, the swollen, sensitive spot on his front wall, but he doesn’t move to make that happen just yet. He takes a moment to adjust and appreciate the stretch, the warmth, the breathtaking sensation of being completely connected and filled so full.

Ryan can tell being inside him is having an effect on Dylan too—he hears him suck in air through his teeth as he bottoms out and Ryan’s weight comes to rest on his hips. Ryan shudders a little and Dylan’s body jerks in response, almost like he’s having that dream everyone has sometimes when they’re just on the edge of sleep, the one about falling.

“God,” he breathes, “you feel so fucking good.”

Ryan’s face is alight with heat at the praise but he tries not to let on that he likes it so much. Normally, he’d tell Dylan he feels good too—and he definitely does—but he decides to keep up the bit instead.

“Shut up,” he says, giving Dylan’s side a playful swat with his open palm, “you’re supposed to be asleep.”

Dylan laughs out loud and it might be the best sound in the world.

“This roleplay sucks.”

Ryan clenches a little around his boyfriend’s cock, and Dylan curses under his breath.

“You love it.”

Dylan’s lifted his arm from his face to peek at him and he watches as pre-cum drips from Ryan’s tip down onto his abdomen, connecting the two points for a moment in a thin, shimmering line.

“It, uh, has its charms,” Dylan says with a smile, eyes lifting to Ryan’s face. “Should I pretend to snore?”

“No. You should do nothing and say nothing.” Ryan’s immediately afraid this has come out harsher than intended, so he runs his hands up Dylan’s stomach and over his chest and, in a much softer tone, he says, “just relax, babe. I’ve got this. I’ll take care of us both, promise.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says, “okay.”

Ryan drags his hands back down Dylan’s torso and then rests them on his own thighs. He rocks his body forward and back a few times, feeling the press of that curve against his front wall, the deep, tingling pleasure it sends outward through his own shaft. And he’s so hard—Ryan’s always so hard when they do this—even though he has no particular need to be when he bottoms. Dylan likes it though, likes to see how hard Ryan gets when he’s inside him. He likes the feeling of Ryan’s cock, rigid and needy and wet at the tip, rubbing against his belly with every stroke when Dylan fucks him in missionary.

He gyrates on top of Dylan, grinding the length inside him very slowly, feeling himself open up. Sure, maybe he said “fuck me real quick” earlier, but now that Ryan’s fucking himself on Dylan’s cock he doesn’t see much need to be in a hurry.

Ryan’s ridden Dylan in this exact position before but never with him just lazily pancaked out beneath him. Usually, his boyfriend would be touching him all over, squeezing Ryan’s ass and nipples, holding onto his hips and urging him on, running his single hand and the flat, soft plane of his inner wrist over Ryan’s abs and breathlessly telling him how gorgeous he is. In a softer moment, he might sit up and tenderly stroke Ryan’s face, kiss his forehead and cheeks and chin before passionately bringing their lips together. Either of those options would drive Ryan absolutely crazy, but something about this is working too—Dylan looking dazedly up at him, his hushed demeanor a product of both fatigue and awe, as Ryan takes exactly what he wants from him.

He’s working Dylan’s cock in precise circles inside him now, like a toy, focusing the pressure and the friction right where he needs it, pleasure rippling outward with each movement. This may not be enough stimulation to get Dylan off, but he’s got to be enjoying the visual and Ryan doesn’t mind finishing him off with his hands after if he needs to. Since they’re using a condom this time, he would even consider putting Dylan’s cock in his mouth if he’s feeling generous—which he often is after he comes. The plasticky latex flavor condoms leave behind is not his favorite, but it’s at least a possibility, unlike when they’re doing it bare. For now, he puts Dylan’s pleasure out of his mind completely, relegates his sighs and moans to enjoyable background noise. Ryan’s looking for what feels the best for him and him alone.

Ryan leans back and puts his hands out behind him, gripping Dylan’s legs for leverage just above his knees as he rides. His movements stroke Dylan firmly inside him in quick, decisive movements. He knows he’s getting close, but doesn’t realize just how close until it’s too late. Before he can even touch his own cock directly, Ryan’s orgasm barrels through him like a freight train, so hard he finds his eyes are watering. The onslaught of sensation has him bucking uncontrollably on Dylan’s cock, moaning with abandon, his head tipped back toward the ceiling. He imagines he probably looks like he’s howling at the—nope! He cuts himself off. That’s too loaded a metaphor for him to be thinking of, even now.

His immediate desire is to let himself fall forward into Dylan’s arms, but Ryan holds himself back, realizing he’s spattered his boyfriend’s stomach and chest with cum, and belly flopping onto that doesn’t seem like such a good idea. Instead he rests where he is for a few seconds, his chin falling toward his own chest, and Dylan bends his legs behind him, plants his feet on the bed with his knees up to give Ryan something to lean back against.

Only when he comes back to his senses does Ryan realize that Dylan’s beginning to go soft inside him. He’s somehow completely missed him coming too. The contractions that squeezed his insides so tight when he climaxed must have dragged Dylan along with him, wringing his release out of him as a welcome—if unintended—side effect. 

Ryan pushes up on his knees, lets Dylan’s flagging cock slide slickly out of him, and then flops down beside him on the bed. He takes Dylan’s face in his hands and kisses him softly, sweetly, a little thank you for humoring him—not that Dylan seemed to mind.

“Hey—babe,” Dylan murmurs between kisses, “—baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Little help here?”

Ryan lifts his head and sees Dylan is gesturing at his stomach, realizes he can’t move onto his side to take off the condom without risking Ryan’s cum, which is pooling on his abdomen, dribbling over onto the bed.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Ryan says, “lemme get that.”

He jumps up and grabs the wet wipes, which feel warm from sitting in front of the heater, uses several of them to mop up his own cum and then dabs at a smear of Dylan’s that’s leaked out of the condom and down onto his balls while he’s been immobilized.

Dylan snorts softly. “Thanks.”

“I did say I’d take care of everything.”

“That’s true,” Dylan nods, “I’ll get this though.” 

He shifts to the side and takes off the condom, tying it off and dropping it into the trash by the bed. Ryan hands Dylan a wipe for his dick, deciding it’s probably best to let him handle that cleanup job in case he’s still sensitive. 

Ryan does the same for himself, wiping away the excess lube between his cheeks, feeling just a hint of tenderness inside when he moves in a certain way. He doesn’t mind that, it makes him feel well-fucked, and he knows it won’t be enough to leave him sore later. He goes to the dresser and grabs some clean underwear and t-shirts for them both, pulling his on and tossing Dylan’s at him. He even remembers to crack the bedroom door so the cat won’t wake them up complaining if she rouses from her heated bed in the living room and decides she really needs to come in. Then he lies back down on the bed next to Dylan, snuggling into his arms, warm and content.

“Well, it looks like you stayed awake after all,” Ryan teases. 

“Jesus, you think?!” Dylan laughs, “watching you get yourself off like that was… so fucking hot. Pretty sure that ass of yours could wake the dead.”

“Thank you… I think? I don’t entirely get the implication there… not sure I want to…”

“Yeah, neither do I. Maybe ask Eight Hours of Sleep Dylan about it when you see him. He should be around approximately…” Dylan pretends to look at his watch, which he isn’t wearing, “eight hours from now. Are you gonna take a nap with me?”

“Yep.” Now Ryan yawns and Dylan does the same just after, as a reflex. “I think I earned it.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says fondly, almost like he’s proud, “you really did.”

Ryan pulls the blankets up over them both and sleep overtakes them without another word.

[wolfawaycamp]

Me again with another rylan smut 😆

Ryan and dylan have quickies around camp just taking out the essentials 😋

🐼 omg smut debut that's craaaazyyyyy

“What excuse did you give him this time, big guy?” Dylan questions as he welcomes Ryan into his lair — A.K.A. the esteemed radio hut.

“You know the myth about not swimming thirty minutes after eating?” Ryan places his backpack by the door and grabs a towel from inside. “Turns out Jacob still believes that, so it wasn’t hard to convince him to switch with me this time.”

It was always easier for Ryan to get away from his responsibilities when he had to bargain with Jacob, but it still surprises Dylan just how gullible the guy is. “I hate to say it, but I think that man may be a bit of a dumbass.”

“Did you remember to bring everything this time?” Ryan gives him a pointed look, one that says ‘I’d rather not have to get off with my own spit again.’ Dylan doesn’t mind it, but it’s one of Ryan’s personal icks, so they’ve tried to be vigilant about bringing proper lubricant when they can.

“Yeah, yeah, I have ‘the goods’ squared away.” It isn’t Dylan’s fault that they keep picking inopportune times to meet up. There are kids crawling around everywhere, for Pete’s sake. He has to strategize working around a dozen other schedules, and sometimes the best he can do is ten minutes in the lodge’s broom closet with none of the luxuries. Sue him.

Ryan eyes the window nervously before placing the towel on the ground near the wall and pulling Dylan toward him. At this angle, it’s unlikely they’ll be seen unless someone’s looking for them — which won’t happen. Probably. “Let’s get this show on the road, then,” he mutters in what Dylan knows is an attempt to sound flirty but comes off like Mr. H impatiently urging the counselors to speed up their meal prep. Real mood killer, thinking about your camp leader when you’re about to fuck his favorite counselor.

“Aye, aye, captain,” Dylan replies with a smirk, hands pressing Ryan’s shoulders flat against the wall. He leans in, and Ryan quickly closes the gap between their lips, his own arms curling around Dylan’s back. Dylan begins to trail his fingers down Ryan’s sides, stopping at the hips before venturing under the hem of his oversized band tee and tracing patterns on the warm skin of his torso. The soft shudder Dylan receives in response intensifies the warmth growing in his own body.

“You sure you’re ready?” Dylan teases when they break apart, reaching a hand downward and stroking the denim fabric of Ryan’s shorts. The poor guy is rock-fucking-hard. Yeah, he’s ready.

“Please, Dylan,” Ryan whispers, eyes closed and brow furrowed as if in concentration. Or perhaps he just doesn’t want to take too long and risk getting caught.

If only they were really, truly alone, Dylan would take his time touching and kissing and exploring every inch of Ryan’s body, as the man deserves. He wishes he could go all out with music and candles and mood lighting…but he hopes his hands can make up for it.

Dylan obliges Ryan’s request, sneaking his fingers beneath the waistband of Ryan’s underwear. Ryan’s breathing heavily, already instinctively thrusting himself into Dylan’s palm when he stops abruptly.

“Hold on.” He shimmies unceremoniously out of his shorts and underwear, and Dylan takes this opportunity to produce a bottle from his back pocket and pour lube into his hand. It also gives him time to — well, to put it bluntly, to admire Ryan’s cock. It’s certainly nothing to scoff at — not that Dylan would, anyway — and he plans to show that admiration as best he can in the few minutes they have together.

They waste no time picking back up where they left off, Dylan’s now slick hand firmly around Ryan’s length and slowly working its way down to the tip. The moment he reaches the head, it elicits a soft ‘fuck’ from Ryan, and Dylan thinks it may be the hottest sound he’s ever heard.

God, Ryan is hot. How cruel the world is that they can’t just run off into the woods and have a proper hookup, uninterrupted. Well, maybe without all the dirt and bugs.

On second thought, the radio hut isn’t looking half bad, especially considering the view he has of the man of his dreams coming apart right in front of him. “Tell me if you think I’m moving too fast, yeah?”

“That’s kind of the idea here, right?” Ryan asks as he grinds into Dylan’s hand.

Sadly. “I mean, sure, but I’d be failing you as a romantic partner if I received anything less than a five-star review on my incredibly efficient handjobs.”

“Your track record’s pretty good so fa—ahhh, holy shit,” Ryan cuts himself off, as Dylan has taken this exact moment to stop in his tracks; he focuses his thumb on the tip, circling it delicately until Ryan’s thighs spasm from the overstimulation. It’s a huge turn-on for him, catching Ryan off guard like that. “That’s… that feels…a lot,” Ryan manages to string together between breaths.

“Too much?” He already knows the answer. Ryan simply nods a bit sheepishly, almost as if afraid to admit weakness.

“‘Kay.” He lets the man squirm for a bit longer before backing off. Like he said, pleasure over punctuality.

Dylan resumes his steady rhythm, every pass sending small shocks of what he can safely assume is so much fucking pleasure through Ryan’s cock as it twitches in his grasp. His free hand is still resting on Ryan’s side, fingers caressing aimlessly. He moves them toward the inside of Ryan’s thigh, and Ryan lets out a small gasp. God, he’s so sensitive to every touch; each little sound makes Dylan even more aware of his own growing erection.

“I think we’ve spent too long away from each other,” he laments. Not that the pent-up horniness isn’t good for getting off, but the frequency at which they’ve been doing this leaves much to be desired.

Upon hearing that, Ryan responds with another kiss, his tongue meshing together with Dylan’s. Sensing the growing tension in Ryan’s body, Dylan quickens the motion of his hand, not wanting to lose any momentum. His lips are still locked with Ryan’s, both of them suppressing moans now. He doesn’t want to let go, but he comes up for air to check on his partner. “How are we doing, sailor?”

“Close,” Ryan replies breathlessly, eyes still closed. His own arms are holding fast around Dylan, as if hanging on for dear life. His hips rock eagerly into the hand wrapped around his dick, desperately chasing climax. Dylan helps him along as best he can, pumping fervently but not so aggressively as to ruin the sensation. He keeps his face close to Ryan’s, planting little kisses all over.

“You’re cute when you’re all hot and bothered, you know that?” He ventures, suddenly feeling the urge to fill the space between Ryan’s panting with that weak attempt at dirty talk.

Ryan seems turned on by that, too, surprisingly. “So are you when you—fuck—” He’s really struggling to finish his sentences now.

Dylan’s hand freezes. “Yeah? You think I’m cute when I fuck?”

“Not when you don’t let me finish,” Ryan exhales, frustration at his delayed orgasm overtaking him.

Dylan brushes his lips along Ryan’s jawline, and he nips right below the ear. “Let’s get you finished, then,” he purrs, and he’s back to stroking Ryan, intent on giving the man what he’s oh-so-patiently waited for. He pays extra special attention to the spots where he knows Ryan’s really going to enjoy it, and this time, he doesn’t let up.

Within seconds, Ryan finally lets go, spilling out into Dylan’s cupped hand, and immediately lifts an arm to stifle the sounds escaping his mouth. He leans his head back against the wall, legs shaking uncontrollably as Dylan works him through the orgasm. Dylan pulls Ryan in slightly closer with his free hand to stabilize him; he doesn’t mind soiling his t-shirt if it means keeping the man from falling on his ass.

He can’t help but grin at Ryan’s attempt to conceal his pleasure. The chances of anyone hearing them all the way out here at this time of day are slim to none. Still, it’s endearing — at least, as endearing as one can be while you’re surreptitiously jerking them off in a dusty old cabin full of power tools.

“Fuck me,” Ryan mumbles as he comes down from it, panting. He lazily drops his forehead against Dylan’s.

“Dangerous words to say to a man whose hand is still on your dick. Unless you’re saying you fell asleep and missed it? It was like thirty seconds ago. We can try for another if you really want.”

Ignoring Dylan’s snark-tinged rambling, Ryan opens his eyes. “What time is it?”

Rather than answering his question, Dylan presses his lips against Ryan’s one last time, savoring what’s left of the precious few minutes they’ve stolen away. The end of summer can’t come soon enough. But Ryan sure did, he jokes to himself.

“My watch is on the desk,” Dylan quietly replies, noting the mess coating his forearm and thanking his past self for having the foresight to remove the watch beforehand. He guides Ryan down onto his knees, helping clean both of them off.

When he’s done, Dylan retrieves his watch. He turns around and Ryan’s right behind him, all dressed and everything. You’d have a hard time believing this man was losing his mind at Dylan’s touch minutes ago. The only indicator he’s been touched at all is the residual flush in his cheeks, plus the state of Dylan’s shirt.

“Two-fifty-two,” Dylan reads. Not bad.

Ryan eyes him up and down. “You might wanna change.”

“Oh, shit. Good thing I have spare clothing in here then, huh?” Dylan walks over to the corner shelf and strips off his shirt. Rather than finding a replacement, he spins around, hands on his hips.

“Babe, I don’t think we have time for both of us to—”

“That’s fine,” Dylan interrupts, feeling a bit self-conscious about Ryan thinking he needs to return the favor. It’s not like Dylan never gets a turn. Sometimes it’s good for one guy to have all the attention. “Just thought you’d enjoy a little eye candy.” He swings his hips seductively, certain he looks like a complete fool but not caring in the slightest.

Ryan rolls his eyes and shakes his head, a hint of a smile on his face.

Something in Ryan’s previous statement has just registered to Dylan, and it distracts him from his antics. “Babe, huh?”

“Uh…yeah. Is it okay if I call you that? Not around the others. Obviously.”

“Sure.” Dylan grins. “Whatever you want, babe.”

“Cool.” Ryan hesitates before walking over to a still shirtless Dylan and cupping his face in one hand. “I’ll see you later, then…babe.”

They embrace, and wouldn’t you know it, they manage to sneak in another impassioned kiss.

Too soon after, Ryan’s gone, and Dylan’s left alone with a painfully evident need of his own.

He slides down the wall and unzips his pants, finally releasing some of the built-up pressure surrounding his erection. As he touches himself, he replays the sounds of Ryan’s own pleasure over and over again in his mind.

The end of summer cannot come soon enough.

[wolfawaycamp]

Kaitlyn and Emma starting a friends with benefits relationship post game 👀

Teeth nip into the side of her neck, making her jolt at the sudden sting— but it’s replaced by aggravation at the pain of that stupid fucking necklace that Emma never takes off thwapping her hard right in the nose, while the blonde looms above her at conveniently just the right angle for such a thing to occur— almost as if it was a premeditated choice rather than an accident. Given the frequency with which it happened: a solid possibility.

“Bitch,” Kaitlyn huffs, in a way anyone else would think was genuine hostility, if not for how well they knew each other— and if not for the way her body only curls into the sensation rather than away.

The other girl smirks.

“You know it,” Emma simpers. “You like it.”

“I like it a little less when that fucking lock tries to break my nose,” Kaitlyn bites back; yet, it goes unspoken that she doesn’t hate it enough to quit their newfound little… fling, or whatever it is they’ve had going on lately.

🐦‍⬛

[wolfawaycamp]

I do deserve this. To hurt, and to talk to myself like this. It's me. I deserve this.

Easy.

[wolfawaycamp]

The Quarry Month - November 2024 Week 1 Pre canon | Bonfire | Movie Night | Suspicion

Week 2 Canon Divergence | Role swap | Shotgun | Lake

Week 3 Aftermath | Sirens | Interrogation | Sole Survivor

Week 4 Post canon | Reconnecting | Grief | Podcast

FAQs || More Information

[wolfawaycamp]

Celebrating October with prompts for 31 days of The Quarry!

Low energy, purely for fun... pick your fave word for the day or work them all into a new or existing work, whatever appeals to you. Just have fun and hopefully get inspired to create more for this world!

Thanks @ghostradiodylan for being my sounding board after I got possessed by this idea tonight <3

1. claw / cabin / cards 2. stab / shoot / safe 3. hag / hunger / Hackett 4. lake / lodge / leader 5. gun / gift / ghost 6. bruise / bear / bargain 7. rot / rabid / regret 8. puncture / promise / protect 9. choke / chainsaw / cage 10. radio / rage / red 11. motel / memory / morgue 12. haunt / heart / haven 13. casualty / choice / chase 14. fury / fall / flames 15. teeth / taken / torn 16. shock / selfish / scar 17. bandage / bury / bullet 18. monster / mistake / murder 19. curse / challenge / campfire 20. bitter / balance / bone 21. heavy / hostile / hurt 22. punch / prey / pursue 23. infect / interfere / instinct 24. animal / admire / attack 25. spirit / survive / saint 26. flight / fool / favor 27. predator / plead / party 28. witness / witch / wager 29. hunt / hand / harm 30. worry / wolf / wind 31. bite / bleed / break

Tag with #31 days of the quarry if you feel like sharing!

[wolfawaycamp]

Rylan +

"You make me so happy it turns back to sad, there's nothing I hate more than what I can't have, you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad"

🐼 So I'd originally intended for this to be cute but instead it's angsty. Oops tee hee

Dylan is happy. No, really. It turns out being down a hand not only doesn’t affect your ability to kick ass at quantum physics, but it also makes you the most interesting man in the room at nearly every social gathering. Scholarship programs also love a good sob story, so he’s pretty much got a full ride through his master’s degree if he decides to stick with it.

As far as the others, Laura and Max had secretly gotten married and are now planning on opening a refuge for exotic animals.

Abi and Emma had started dating immediately after the charges were cleared, to everyone’s surprise, and now they’re living together in California while Abi finishes her art degree and Emma’s influencer career flourishes.

Nick is back in Australia working at some catering company with his high school sweetheart, whom he’d reconnected with after months of isolation from pretty much everyone.

Jacob and Kaitlyn are living together, not quite dating, but definitely showing signs of something happening. They’ll never admit it, but Dylan knows Kaitlyn’s secretly-has-feelings-for-someone face, and she wears it often when Jacob is around.

And Ryan…well, he’s doing pretty well, too. In fact, judging by his latest social media update, which happens about three times a year, he’s gearing up to move in with his boyfriend, Felix, whom he’s been with for six months. The post is a picture of Ryan sitting on his couch surrounded by cardboard boxes, having a very serious staring contest with Poe, a stray tuxedo cat the couple had found hanging around Ryan’s college dorm one night. Dylan smiles at the cat’s familiar face, as he’s seen it often in the pictures Ryan sends him. He and Ryan have semi-regularly been texting ever since Ryan had scribbled his number on a piece of scrap paper for Dylan two years ago. After their last night at Hackett’s Quarry.

Dylan remembers well their first conversation from right after they’d been released.

-

“That was a crazy first date, huh?” Dylan was doing what Dylan did best, which was flirting inappropriately with his crush to distract both of them from their trauma. Or whatever it was his therapist had told him.

Ryan snorted. “Ha, yeah. I guess you could say that.”

“This is yours, by the way.” He handed Dylan a crumpled, folded up piece of paper.

“Don’t tell me…your number?” Dylan couldn’t help himself.

“Ding ding ding,” Ryan deadpanned.

Dylan’s face grew hot. “Oh. Thanks, man. I’ll keep in touch.”

“You better. I went through a lot of trouble to get that for you.” Ryan’s grin was the most gorgeous thing Dylan had seen in these past months — maybe ever.

-

They had kept in touch, and things looked hopeful for a while — but when the group had their first get-together around New Year’s, something had changed. Dylan couldn’t look at Ryan, much less talk to him at first. He didn’t know if it was nerves, or guilt about making Ryan cut off his hand, or the feeling that he was coming on too strong; whatever it was, he had gotten way too drunk that night and spent most of it stuck in Emma’s bathroom and subsequently sleeping it off in her guest room while the rest of the group had their fun.

He’d woken up the next morning to Emma informing him that Ryan had offered to drive him home — and he’d declined, stating that he already had a boyfriend. Stupid Drunk Dylan. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Not too long after that, Ryan had finally been convinced — mostly by his sister — to accept a generous offer to attend a prestigious animation school in Denver. Then he moved on campus, and he met Felix, and now they’re cohabiting happily with a cat and everything.

Dylan is happy for them.

Before he can comment on Ryan’s post, the image is covered by a text notification. It’s that cute boy from the library asking if Dylan can meet for coffee on the weekend.

He accepts.

Staring back at the picture of Ryan, Dylan’s smile fades. He momentarily entertains countless scenarios where he’d said something, or not said something, or just fucking kissed the guy. Then, he pushes those thoughts away.

Ryan is happy, so Dylan is too.

[wolfawaycamp]

I just posted a director's cut of this on ao3!!

LauraMax roleswap as in, she’s the one who gets bitten and he’s the one playing support.

this part’s prob too broad for a drabble but I’m fascinated by imagining how that would even play out bc I just can’t picture him going on a werewolf hunt?! the hurt/comfort of being bitten/the eye gouge scenes would slap tho

🌦️ max “so on board with murder” brinly is faced with having to do it himself…. I offer you some angst

Through the pang of pain in his eye— that had, at one point, gotten so bad that Travis had to give him antibiotics— Max focused on the werewolf.

This was it. He just had to kill a werewolf and then Laura was going to be okay. He didn't know how to shoot as well as Laura did, he wasn't as fearless, he couldn't ever be as relentlessly devoted to anything as she was to everything. Nevertheless, he had to do this for her, now, and he had to get this shot right. If he failed tonight he was coming back next month— as many times as it took.

He crept closer, holding his breath, and aimed to the best of his ability.

The recoil of the gun in his hands and the noise almost took him off his feet. He made the shot. Holy shit, he made the shot.

He wasn't going to stick around because as much as his annoyance at the Hackett family had festered, he didn't want to see if the body was going to turn back into Chris Hackett. It was a werewolf. It was not a man.

Besides, he had to see Laura.

***

He used one of those boats to get back to the island with anticipation in his heart, giddily excited to finally see Laura, now that she was fine. Things could go back to normal now. They'd talked about it all in the cells. Max was gonna get a job and they'd share an apartment while Laura went to veterinary school. It was a better plan than what they were going to do before, because Max didn't actually want to go to grad school, not really— he had just wanted to follow Laura. Plus, him having income would be better than the two of them living on student loans. Max was going to make so many jokes about how Laura's first-hand experience with wolves made her the perfect vet candidate, now that she wasn't living it.

“Laura?” he called out, and got no answer. That made sense, right? She was probably exhausted and passed out when she turned back.

He made his way up the treehouse and called out again, just in case she was actually awake and just hadn't heard him, “Laura?”

Then, it— she— was there, and this was all so wrong. There was a werewolf in front of him and there shouldn't be any werewolves and he knew it was Laura. Why? He had killed Chris— he had killed Chris, right? Was it all wrong? Had he killed someone under a lie, wrongly thinking that it would cure Laura?

He was stuck in place and he knew it was a movie cliché but all he wanted to do was call out to Laura, reach her under the monster that had taken over. She was still there, right? She had to be. He said, desperate, eyes wet, “Laura, it's— it's me, it's Max, you know me, I love y—”

He cut himself off when she moved, and burst into a sprint. His chest heaved and tears pricked in his eyes. God, he had wanted that to work so badly.

Then, she had him in her grip and he was being bitten. It burned like hell, worse than his eye being taken out, worse than the peak of the eye infection, worse than anything he had ever felt.

[wolfawaycamp]

lone star

a very quick, small, non-linear fic about an unplanned pregnancy. emmajake angst time

The timer on her cheap digital watch rings, and she flips over the pregnancy test.

Positive.

Emma leans on the rim of the communal bathroom sink, her eyes fixated on that fucking red symbol.

Her lips part in a sigh.

That sigh becomes a dry sob, and her chest heaves, but no tears will come.

——————————————

Emma sits on the dock, the tips of her toes just barely touching the water. In her hands is the pregnancy test, wrapped in an old bandanna along with some rocks from the shoreline.

She glances over her shoulder— nobody’s there, not even Abi, no matter how badly Emma wishes she was— and winds up, throwing the bundle as far as she can. It hits the water with a solid plunk, and she watches it sink.

——————————————

Emma had passed Jacob her typical flirty note across the counselors’ lunch table. It made her feel nauseous. Her stomach yawns, and she realizes she never ate her dry turkey sandwich.

When her watch clock hits 9:00, she creeps out of her cabin, careful not to wake Abi. She all but tiptoes across the grass, past the tree— Jacob + Emma Forever— and towards Cabin 3. Her throat seizes up, and the sun-dried grass stabs into her bare feet.

Emma’s knuckles rap against the chipping green paint on the door, and Jacob opens it, his wide grin and sunburned nose greeting her. The world spins. She fixes a sultry look upon her face, knowing her hair looks like a mess and her mascara is smeared.

Jacob turns to take his shirt off, and she drops the facade as she drops onto the bed.

“I’m pregnant.”

“That's funny, Em.” Jacob spins around and the corners of his lips quirk up in a grin. Emma has to force herself to look away.

“No.” She swallows the lump in her throat and picks at her scabbed knees. “I got a test. From the drugstore.”

Jacob’s face turns from jovial to horrified, and Emma wonders if she should have even divulged this to him.

His head falls into his hands.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Emma does her best to focus on the texture of the ratty blanket under her bare legs as blood beads around the old scrapes.

“What are we— what are you going to do?” Jacob’s lip wobbles and his hands shake visibly as he sits on the bed, keeping a distance from her.

Emma’s voice comes out in a shaky whisper.

“I don’t know.”

[wolfawaycamp]

Can I have some mean infected Dylan please?

It’s not even midnight, but it’s already been a long ass night… and Dylan’s had just about e-fucking-nough of the other boy’s sour attitude and tunnel vision on why he — and apparently ONLY he — has the right to snatch the rifle and run off with their only means of defense. As he spins to face the other counselor, his hands ball into fists, nails digging into the meat of his palms with far more force than ever typically normal for him.

“Jacob,” he snarls, eyes flashing an inhuman gleam with the reflection of the fire. “I’m so fucking sorry your ex swam across a lake in the middle of the night just to get away from your pathetic bullshit — but it doesn’t mean the rest of us have to put up with it instead of her. Sit down and shut the fuck up before I make you.”

🐦‍⬛

[wolfawaycamp]

🐼 write something for your fave rarepair?

🐼EMMALYN TIME

The campers were running late. Again. And it was all due to Emma’s insistence on providing a true, in-depth theatre experience for the kiddos. That was all fine and dandy, but Kaitlyn was gonna blow a gasket if she had to endure another one of Ryan’s passive-aggressive comments about them being behind schedule.

Normally, Kaitlyn was pretty patient and waited outside the lodge, but today she barged right in.

“Ah, perfect timing!” Emma smiled as Kaitlyn entered the room. The campers were already in the process of lining up to leave. Good. “Remember what I told you about teamwork when you go down to the boathouse! It’s all about communication and cooperation! Now fly free, my beautiful butterflies,” she finished with a flourish of her hands, imitating the fluttering of wings.

After the group of kids had been walked down to Ryan (he was in a good mood, which meant he’d live to see another day), Kaitlyn went back to visit Emma. They both had an early lunch on Thursdays, so they’d spend time chatting and catching up on counselor drama.

Emma was cleaning up props that had been strewn about when Kaitlyn returned; she moved in a dance-like fashion, humming as she worked.

“Hey, Em.”

Kaitlyn almost felt rude interrupting, but Emma glanced up at her with that same enthusiastic grin. “Hey cutie. Come by to get a taste of today’s lesson?” She strode toward where Kaitlyn was standing.

“Something about teamwork, right? You teaching them to trust fall?”

“How did you know?” Emma purred.

“I did a bit of theatre in high school.” It wasn’t technically a lie, but the truth was that Kaitlyn had done summer pantomime workshops while Jacob was at football camp, or whatever they called it. She may have been a tad embarrassed about that little tidbit of Kaitlyn Lore.

Emma frowned. “Oh? And you didn’t pursue it in college?”

“Didn’t have time for it,” Kaitlyn stated plainly. Now this was a lie. College was a pipe dream for her, and she was content fixing cars and working at run-down summer camps to make ends meet for the time being.

“Well…you’ve got time now.”

Kaitlyn cocked her head to the side and smirked. “You want me to fall into your arms like a poor damsel in distress?”

A light giggle escaped from Emma’s mouth. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to that. Buuuut…” she pursed her lips and looked off to the side, “…we could try something different, since we’re alone.”

That didn’t sound ideal. “I didn’t take you for that kind of woman, Emma Mountebank,” Kaitlyn declared, feigning shock. Part of her was sure Emma was just being Emma, but another part of her knew that camp counselors were ticking time bombs of repressed sexual energy. Perhaps this was an extremely forward proposition. Don’t flatter yourself, bucko.

“Cute,” Emma remarked, “but I was thinking something more along the lines of…intimacy coordination. Basically, making sure two actors portraying a romantic duo are comfortable and have clearly set boundaries during the performance.”

“Oh, so like, kissing and things like that?” Kaitlyn sensed an odd thumping in her chest at that thought.

And because she’d uttered it, of course Emma pounced on the idea. “Precisely! Would you like to take this rare, once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity to learn how to ‘stage kiss’ from an expert?”

Stage…kiss? Now the thumping had gotten louder. It was at this point that Kaitlyn realized she and Emma were standing only about a foot apart now. She was close enough to smell Emma’s recently-washed hair; Kaitlyn couldn’t quite place the exact scent, but it was woodsy and comforting, appropriate for a camp counselor, she reckoned. “Better make it quick.”

Almost too obediently, Emma brought her hand up, holding it inches from Kaitlyn’s face. “Can I…?”

Kaitlyn nodded encouragingly. Was Emma really just going to straight-up kiss her?

As Emma leaned in, Kaitlyn closed her eyes in anticipation. She’d kissed plenty of girls in her time on this earth, but it had been a while since one had made her stomach do cartwheels like it was currently doing.

Emma’s hand cupped her face. Then, her thumb pressed gently on Kaitlyn’s lips…and she kissed it before pulling away. Kaitlyn tried not to feel a bit of disappointment. It was supposed to be a “safe” alternative, after all.

When Kaitlyn looked back up, Emma was staring at her, seemingly satisfied. Or perhaps amused by the awkwardness of it all. 

“Voila! Stage kiss.”

[wolfawaycamp]

Ryan is sick and stubbornly claiming he's fine (he's not). Dylan is there to help take care of him.

“Babe.”

The only response the inquiry gets is a muffled, distinctly disgruntled groan.

“Hey,” Dylan tries again, voice gentle. “Babe.”

“What?” Ryan grumbles as his head lifts from where his arms were pillowing it on the edge of his laptop keyboard.

“You seriously need to go to bed. I swear I could see the red in your eyes from the front door, Ry.”

“No, I can’t– this is due tomorrow and I’m not even close to finished yet,” his boyfriend protests immediately, shaking his head quickly, but he seems to regret the movement, judging by the way he hisses and squeezes his eyes shut forcefully, curling forward once more so that his forehead rests against the cool surface of their countertop.

“Ry,” Dylan says softly. “There’s no way you can see straight to type. And you’ve, uh… got like five pages of nothing but l’s at the end of this paper. I think sleep’s already won this battle, man.”

Ryan makes a distressed noise, struggling upwards at the new information that he’d seemingly already fallen asleep over his keyboard; Dylan easily beats him to the computer, closing it and sliding it further out of the other boy’s reach, ignoring the squinty, anxious look Ryan followed its progress with before finally surrendering.

“Come on,” Dylan wheedles, working his fingers into the knots of tension in his boyfriend’s hunched shoulders. “I got that soup you love and some more advil on the way home…”

And finally — faced with the promise of painkillers and the ability to curl into his space heater boyfriend and surrender to much-needed rest — Ryan relents.

🐦‍⬛

[wolfawaycamp]

just a very sensitive ryan (potentially pent-up or bordering on subby) wearing one of dylan's oversized hoodies while getting absolutely railed into the sheets by said dylan. this ask was brought to you by the Bottom Ryan Incorporation (and definitely not just cas)

Dear Bottom Ryan Inc.

Please know that your request was treated with the utmost seriousness. We are so sorry it took so long and that we made it 13k+ instead of a short one-off. (We are not the least bit sorry, that is just what we do.)

We hope you enjoy!

🐰 Bunny

(Liz Lapin/Ghostradiodylan)

CEO, Doing Too Much Corp

[wolfawaycamp]

Truth or dare but Kaitlyn dares Emma to kiss her instead

It’s their last night at camp — a bonus last night, at that — and everyone’s being fucking boring. They’re playing truth or dare and everyone’s being fucking boring. Kaitlyn’s like thirty more seconds of awkward truth answers away from bulldozing her way into forcing the group to change games, to anything more entertaining.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for things to take an exciting turn: her chance comes when Ryan calls her name.

“Kaitlyn — truth or dare?”

Her response is easy; she doesn’t have much faith in the quality of possible dares she could be given.

“Truth.”

“Booooo!” Jacob crows, following it up rapidly by flapping some pretend wings and making chicken noises; without missing a beat, Kaitlyn throws a pebble that pings him right in the chest, earning an exaggerated wounded noise.

“Okay, uh… did you ever regret taking the job here?” Ryan asks.

She quirks a brow, amused.

“Seriously regretted? Only once, that night Jacob ‘helped’ Nick in the kitchen.”

“Low blow, Kaity,” the boy retorts, sticking his tongue out at her.

“Do not get me started on that, Jacob,” she snaps back. “There was slimy, half-mixed uncooked egg in the middle of my cake. You’re lucky I’m even still willing to talk to you after that.”

With a grimace, Kaitlyn shakes herself and glances around the circle in search of a target now that it’s her turn to challenge someone… and immediately finds herself captivated by the green-clad girl across the fire ring, still laughing at the bickering of the old friends.

“Emma,” she blurts without thinking. “Truth or dare.”

Across the way, hazel eyes snap up to meet her own, and a delicate eyebrow arches with a clear note of challenge.

“Dare,” Emma says confidently, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.

Kaitlyn’s mouth felt dry suddenly.

“I dare you… to kiss me.”

Off to the side, someone squeaks — Abi, it can only be Abi, there’s no one else in their group capable of making such a high pitched squeak — and Emma’s other eyebrow jumps upward ever so slightly, like she’s almost surprised enough to put a chip in her calm, cool, and collected facade, before her face settles into a look that seems impressed.

The girl is up on her feet in a heartbeat, and then— she’s there so fast that Kaitlyn’s breath catches ever so slightly as she leans back in order to see the other girl’s face.

“Shaking things up, are we?” Emma accuses.

Wavy blonde hair falls thick on either side of Kaitlyn’s face, like a curtain between them and the rest of the world, narrowing her focus to nothing but the smell of woodsmoke and the goosebump feel of strands tickling her neck— and the press of Emma’s lips against her own.

🐦‍⬛

[wolfawaycamp]

after the rough night ending, emma and kaitlyn go on a date post-game... but kaitlyn goes to jacob for advice.

“Alright, spill,” Jacob demands.

Perfectly in sync with the end of his sentence, he tosses the little balled up wrapper from his long-since-finished burger directly at Kaitlyn’s forehead, where it bounces off as she blinks in stunned disbelief.

“Um,” she starts, fully around a mouthful of fries, free hand flying up to make an indignant gesture at him. “The fuck??”

“Spill!” he orders again. “There’s obviously something up with you, you’re not acting right. So spill! What’s bothering you?”

“What?” Kaitlyn squawks, indignant. “I’m just not talking with my mouth full, dude!”

“You sprayed fry bits at me like ten seconds ago,” he answers, deadpan. “Try again.”

They go back and forth as such, squabbling and picking at each other in the typical manner of those with so much shared history, with Jacob pulling progressively more and more exaggerated kicked puppy-esque expressions and leaning precariously out of his chair in order to force her to look at him. And finally, his obnoxiousness pays off when Kaitlyn’s resolve snaps.

“Okay fine, stop,” she growls. “I asked Emma out!”

Silence. Then Kaitlyn winces, like the words she’d just said had a delayed register in her brain.

“Oh,” Jacob says with an indecipherable expression on his face, and that is a rattlingly unfamiliar concept to her in the face of their many years of friendship. “Um, okay.”

“Okay?!”

“What do you want me to say?!”

“I don’t know!” Kaitlyn practically shouts, throwing her hands up in the air. “I kinda expected you to start yelling at me or something!”

Jacob’s brows pinch, a deeply unhappy look on his face as he suddenly drops his gaze back down to the tabletop. He starts picking at a napkin with his nails, making tiny little tears in the paper.

“I’m not gonna yell at you,” he mutters, eyes rolling. “I don’t want to yell at you, Kaity..”

She huffs, slumping back down into her own seat like all the wind left her sails, disarmed by his unexpected reaction.

“I mean… it would be kind of justified? Kinda feel like I’m trampling on a cardinal friendship rule right now..? No dating your friend’s exes and all that… and I knew you first–”

“Is it dating?” he asks, and he looks up with sudden focus. “Not just a… a fling or whatever?”

“I mean, yeah,” Kaitlyn shrugs. “I asked her out as a date date, like the first of many hopefully so..?”

The boy’s lips quirk, a tiny little hint of a smile breaking free. All it does is make Kaitlyn feel more conflicted, and more confused. She’s been privately plagued by battling feelings of excitement vs guilt and a thousand things somewhere in between, for the whole week she managed to keep this news an unintentional secret from Jacob… in the sense that she had never purposefully chosen to hide it from him, but she had certainly done her best to avoid having to break the news until now.

“Kaitlyn,” he said, with an odd and uncharacteristically serious look on his face, before he just started squinting at her. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to you of all people but I don’t own Emma you know—”

“Yeah no shit, shut the fuck up you little—”

They both cut off abruptly, Jacob laughing as this time it’s his turn to dodge a balled up burger wrapper, and despite the emotional weight on her shoulders Kaitlyn can’t help but grin as she settles back into her seat. As the laughter finally fades out, leaving them again in an uncertain silence, Kaitlyn starts drumming her knee under the table as the worry comes rushing back.

“Seriously though, Jake,” she says. “Are you actually cool with this happening or are you just pretending you are to spare my feelings?”

“And here I thought you didn’t have those,” Jacob snarks — a vain attempt at deflection — then winces as her foot collides with his shin. “OW, Jesus Kaitlyn I thought we had an agreement that you wouldn’t do that anymore with the steel toes on!”

“Be honest!”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Jacob exclaims, throwing his hands up. “It stings a little bit, yeah!”

Kaitlyn wilts ever so slightly in her chair.

“But,” he says quickly, before she has a chance to cut in. “You’ve been my friend for like, my entire life. And.. and I’d like to think Em and I were friends first and friends again now, and I’d kinda like it if you both stuck around. So… yeah, it stings but I’ll get over it.”

He shrugs a little, like his answer is the only option that makes sense, and not blowing Kaitlyn’s mind slightly.

“That… is remarkably mature of you,” she squints suspiciously. “Have you been reading self help books, or–”

“Shut up before I dump this ketchup on you, bitch.”

🐦‍⬛

Anon I've been sitting on this for SO LONG but I just couldn't ever get to a point of her asking for advice without it feeling forced, I'm sorry! Hope you still enjoyed what I came up with <3

[wolfawaycamp]

Anything Bobby/Jacob. Please. I am so tired of paddling my rarepair pool noodle alone in the Quarry pond.

Maybe set when Bobby has to get him down from the trap? I am begging 🙏

🌦️ the monkey’s paw curls. I wrote bobbyjake :)

Jacobus seethed from inside his family’s private box at the Amphitheatrum Flavium. He wished his family never found out he was really an omega, not a beta like he had been pretending to be when he first presented. The patrician class always spoke of male omegas as a gift, as great politicians and orators who could continue the family line without doubt of relation. But male omegas were banned from the military and his best friend Nicolus Furcillus— an equestrian family, not a patrician like Jacobus— had enlisted to fulfil his proper duties as a Roman vir. Jacobus just missed his best friend. He wasn't even very good at being a politician, either— he’d do better in battle, wearing lorica segmentata alongside his comrades.

The venationes were pretty dull today, he thought. Not even the more exotic animals they kept bringing out for the fights made it exciting. He couldn't leave though, for the same reason he had to attend. He needed to keep his public image up if he wanted any chance of keeping his political career afloat now that he was moving into his twenties as an unmated omega.

Then they brought the wolves out and there was a man with rippling muscles exposed for all to see— and a hat Jacobus had never seen before. He had no weapons. Jacobus was immediately intrigued.

There was a bizarre art to the brutality of his fighting style— tearing right through wild wolves like they were nothing. He had to be an alpha. Jacob felt a pang of jealousy at the status he held, even though it was ridiculous because Jacob was in the patrician class and the man was down there. Finally, something interesting.

“Serve, quis est?” Jacobus asked his maid once he took himself out of his trance. (Slave, who is he?)

“Nomen ei est Bobbius Hackettus,” his maid responded quickly. (His name is Bobby Hackett.)

“Quid? Ignobiles— isti Hacketti?” (What? The dishonoured— those Hacketts?)

“Sic. Pugnat ut reddat debita pro familia eius.” (Yes. He fights to pay debts for his family.)

Bobbius was still fighting, still going, dripping with blood. Jacobus had to meet him. After Bobbius had finished, Jacobus decided to slip away from his box— surely no one would question a quick break. He bribed his way into the hunter’s quarters easily with his patrician status and money. They barely cared at all, but when presented with a couple sesterces that care went down to none.

“Hackette!” Jacobus called out upon seeing the familiar rippling back muscles, mid cleaning himself with olive oil. There was still a lot of blood on him. (Hackett!)

“Quis est?” the man asked, turning around. He looked a lot more… innocent up close, somehow. There was a softness in his eyes. (Who is it?)

But still… Jacobus wasn't used to being so much smaller than someone, even alphas— he had always been a tall omega. It felt a little scary, considering the man was cleaning wolf blood from his body— but something deep inside him was preening at the thought of the size difference.

“Jacobus Custo. Pugnabas bene,” he asked awkwardly. He didn't know what he was doing down here, he was running on pure adrenaline. (Jacob Custos. You were fighting well.)

“Bene facis— pugnas?” Bobbius responded, giving him a nod. Jacobus couldn't keep his eyes off the oil and blood on his chest shining in the torchlit room. (Thank you— you fight?)

Jacobus felt shame run through him, which he was sure Bobbius could smell in the pheromones he had suddenly lost control of. “Minime. Vetitus est— sum… omega.” (Nope. It is forbidden— I am… an omega.)

🌦️(if my Latin is wrong it's not my fault, I am sick xoxo)

[wolfawaycamp]

Blygbank soft fluffy post-game smut

🌦️this took me way too long for no reason. I’ve never actually written wlw smut before I don’t think? So maybe it was just getting started with that

Abi assumed that it’d be easier with a girl because she was one. 

Her assumption was wrong, because her hands had shaken so badly that she was unable to take Emma’s bra off for her, when Emma had encouraged her to. Emma had been very kind about it but Abi was mortified. Emma took her own bra off, then her underwear— a nice matching set that Abi had seen in pictures before they had started dating, because Emma had wanted her to pick the best underwear option. Abi averted her gaze, not knowing where to look.

Emma laughed, a light, bubbly thing. “You're allowed to look. This isn't the girl's locker room.”

Abi blinked. “You're… right,” she said, but still struggled to look straight at her, heart rate skyrocketing upon looking at where her chest curved out perfectly.

Abi quickly took off her underwear so that she wouldn't have time to think about it and left her black sports bra on— she told herself she wanted the support, but really she was just nervous. Emma’s gentle fingers were beneath her chin, then there were soft lips against hers, smearing tinted lip-balm on and around them. Timidly, Abi kissed back as well as she could. Emma's hand was on her thigh, and Abi had to remind herself to keep kissing because she got so distracted.

Pulling back, Emma asked, “Can I?” then her hand was inching further up Abi���s thigh, brushing the sensitive skin.

Abi nodded and Emma went back in again, kissing Abi as her fingers gingerly pressed against the hood of her clit— Abi squeaked into the kiss. They moved down— the contact to her clit made her need to put her head into Emma’s shoulder instead— and she realised how embarrassingly wet she was. Emma slowly pushed her back into the pillows and pressed a kiss onto Abi’s cheek, then her jaw, before her fingers trailed back down Abi’s body, kneading the flesh above her hip, tracing the lightly stretch-marked skin.

“Do you want— fingers inside?” Emma started, and Abi blushed. She continued, “We don’t have to do that, I mean.”

“Um. Okay? Yes, I mean. Yes,” Abi said, mind flitting around in excitement and anxiety.

Emma's smooth fingers danced around Abi’s folds, drawing out her anticipation until she finally dipped one finger between them, then pushed it in. Abi took a sharp inhale and let her legs fall open. The bent finger explored inside of her for a second, and she was being fucked with it deftly. It was as if Emma already knew her body intimately, even though they had never gone this far before. She bit back her gasps and moans— tried to, at least. 

Abi was worried, then, that she wasn’t doing anything in return. She reached out blindly to try to touch Emma, but Emma caught her hand with her own free one and interlocked their fingers— the hand that was inside of Abi stilling. Swaying their joined hands in the air, Emma asked, “What’cha doing, babycakes?”

The tips of Abi’s ears burned. “I realised— I was being, um, a pillow princess.”

Emma kissed the tip of her nose, whispered, “I like a pillow princess,” and then kissed her on the lips, deeply, drawing moans out of Abi with her fingers, until she forgot her worries.