#holy shit i wrote something

[evanesdust]

kids say (and do) the darndest things E | 7.7k | established relationship | mpreg | kid fic | fluff and humor

Have kids, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. ...or the one where Stiles and Derek's kids had no shame.

ONE

Potty training was a nightmare.

Stiles shook his head and sighed as he helped Eli out of his training pants. Ugh. Not only were they running late for dinner at his dad’s, but Derek had just tossed the last load of laundry in that morning too, finally catching them up from the mound of clothes that seemed to pile up ever since Eli decided he couldn’t wear an outfit for more than an hour.

Weren’t kids supposed to be adorable and not constantly creating chaos or leaving disasters in their wake?

Still, as frustrated as he was that Eli had yet another accident, Stiles knew he shouldn’t be too upset. Eli was only two and his accidents were getting few and far between. He was even making it through the night without wetting the bed now. A feat he was very proud of announcing every morning during breakfast. Stiles was pretty sure it was because Derek made such a show of how proud he was.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Stiles told him, tipping Eli’s chin up so he was looking into his eyes. He put a smile on his face, not wanting Eli to think he was mad or disappointed in him. “Accidents happen.” And then, because Stiles wanted Eli to know that everyone made mistakes, that no one was perfect, he added, “There was one time when I got so into a video game, I pretty much peed my pants because I waited too long to go to the bathroom.”

Eli stared at him with wide eyes, as if he were trying to process the idea that his dad was once a kid like him, making similar mistakes. Shit. Who was Stiles kidding? Eli was two. His thought process was probably more like, Daddy peed himself, too? Stiles wasn’t about to tell Eli that he was damn near a teenager when it happened.

“A really silly thing to do, huh?” Stiles continued, his tone light and encouraging. “But that just goes to show, even daddies make mistakes. We just have to remember to learn from them and try to do better next time.”

Eli blinked at him a couple of times and then his small face broke into a grin that could rival Derek’s. Eli might have been a mini-Stiles, but there were times when all Stiles could see was Derek. And that smile was one of them.

“O-tay, Daddy,” Eli said, hugging Stiles as tightly as a two-year-old could.

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh, hugging him back and patting the top of his head gently. “Alright, but it’s time for a bath. And it’s gotta be quick because we’re heading over to Grandpa’s house for dinner.”

Eli lit up at that and finished undressing while Stiles got the bath ready.

Forty minutes later, they pulled up in front of his dad’s house. Stiles helped Eli out of the Jeep and then waved at Mrs. Wilson, one of his dad’s neighbors, who was working in her garden. She’d lived there for as long as Stiles could remember.

“Good to see you boys again. Visiting your dad for dinner?” she asked, holding a hand up to block the sun as she smiled at them. “No husband tonight?”

“Derek’s got a late shift,” Stiles told her, nearly falling when Eli pulled away from him to run over to her. Despite his age and tiny stature, he was strong. Not a surprise since he took after Derek in that respect. Damn werewolf genetics. He’d probably be an alpha, too.

Eli squinted as he squatted next to her, that ever-present curiosity etched all over his face as he watched her dig into the soil.

“I had an accident,” he told her, making Stiles chuckle. Not just because it was so funny how candid kids were, especially toddlers—seriously, they just had no shame. But because the way Eli said “accident” made it sound more like ass-ident. Before Stiles could correct him on the pronunciation, Eli continued, “But my daddy said it was o-tay. He has accidents too.”

Oh, Christ.

Stiles ran a hand down his face, wondering if this was part of that payback his dad always mentioned. It went something like, ’Enjoy the peace now because someday your kids will throw the stuff you did back in your face.’

“Well, isn’t that just a good thing to know,” Mrs. Wilson said, blinking and then laughing so hard she started to cough. Stiles was about to rush over, but she waved him off and composed herself.

“Oh, such honesty from such a small person.” She continued to laugh, patting Eli lightly on the head before sending him clambering back to Stiles.

Shaking his head, Stiles scooped up his tiny mischief-maker, who was giggling like a giddy gnome. The little tattle-tale. God, Derek was going to laugh his ass off when he got home from work tonight.

***

TWO

Stiles snorted as he walked into the bathroom. He couldn’t even be a little upset at all the water on the floor when Derek looked too damn funny sitting on the floor beside the tub, completely soaked from Eli’s splashing. Not a surprise considering their five-year-old somehow always left a disaster in his wake.

With one hand on his belly, Stiles stood in the doorway. The twins kicked under his palm, probably not appreciating his laughter since it jostled them around—and there wasn’t a whole lot of room left for movement since he was due in a few (hopefully) short weeks.

“Are you…laughing at me?” Derek asked as he stood, water dripping from his hair.

Stiles shook his head, eyes narrowed at the gleam in Derek’s eyes. It spoke of mischief and mayhem, and Stiles had a pretty good idea of what Derek was about to do.

“Uh uh. No way, don’t you even think about it,” he warned at Derek’s slow approach. But that didn’t seem to deter Derek, who stalked over, shaking his head like a wet dog. Each droplet that made its way toward Stiles had him laughing harder, his rounded belly bouncing with the effort. Eli’s laughter rang through the air, clearly finding this whole spectacle tremendously amusing.

Little traitor, Stiles thought fondly before turning his gaze back to Derek.

“I’ll get you for this,” he declared amidst fits of laughter, but Derek only grinned at him, his eyes soft with affection.

Eli continued giggling, his tiny hands clapping together with glee, utterly oblivious to the wet chaos happening around him. Or maybe because of the chaos since the bathroom, already half-flooded, had transformed into his own private water park.

Stiles gripped Derek’s arms, smiling up at him. “You’re cleaning this up, y'know.”

“Eli is. Aren’t you, bud?” Derek called out, never taking his eyes off Stiles before he kissed him on the tip of his nose. “He already knows he has to clean up the mess he made.”

“Something tells me this wasn’t just him…” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes, though there was no heat in his glare.

Derek gave him a megawatt smile, the kind reserved for Stiles and Stiles alone. “The little shit splashed me. I had to get payback.”

Stiles laughed again, tossing his head back. He slid his hands up to Derek’s shoulders, then to the back of his head, threading his fingers through Derek’s hair.

“I may have gone…overboard.” Derek’s words were muffled as he buried his face in the crook of Stiles’s neck, his breath warm, making Stiles shiver. Not just from the contrast of the cold water soaking through his shirt, but from the flood of arousal coursing through his veins at Derek’s proximity. A spark ignited in Stiles’s belly, warming him from the inside out despite the water that was steadily soaking into his shirt.

But now was not the time for that.

“Well, since you helped make the mess"—he gently tugged on Derek’s hair until Derek lifted his head—"you get to help your son clean up.”

Derek leaned in and nipped at his jaw. “Did I ever tell you that I like it when you’re bossy?”

Stiles would be offended if it weren’t for the teasing lilt of Derek’s voice or the playful smile on his stupidly handsome face. There was also the fact that Stiles was rendered speechless as Derek pulled away and yanked his shirt over his head. Stiles would never ever—ever—get used to the sight of a shirtless Derek Hale. Not even after nearly ten years together.

“Not. Fair,” he ground out, already forgetting whatever quip he’d been about to throw out.

Derek chuckled, the sound reverberating off the walls as he grabbed a couple of dirty towels from the laundry hamper. He tossed them on the floor, laying them out over the water. When Stiles stepped further into the room, Derek held a hand out, a silent offer to help him cross the slippery surface.

Accepting Derek’s hand, Stiles carefully walked over to the bathtub, sitting on the edge to watch Eli while Derek cleaned up.

“Take off your shirt,” Derek told him, reminding Stiles that it was wet now after Derek’s impromptu water attack. “I’ll get you a new one.”

Without hesitation, Stiles did as he was told, pulling the soaked garment over his head and tossing it in the direction of the hamper. “Now who’s the bossy one?”

“Still you.” Derek pressed a kiss to the top of his head before exiting the bathroom, leaving Stiles alone with Eli.

Eli, ever the fiendish five-year-old, was quick to dip his hands in the water once more and, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, flicked water at him. Stiles shook his head as a few rogue droplets struck against his bare chest.

“Nuh uh, no more water shenanigans,” he chided lightly, pointing a firm finger at Eli, who responded with an infectious, toothy grin, his head bobbing as he giggled. “Did Daddy already wash your hair?”

Eli nodded, scooping bubbles into his palm and scooting closer to Stiles. “Daddy, what are these?”

Before Stiles could ask what he meant, Eli stuck his little hands out, smacking his palms against Stiles’s slightly larger-than-normal chest and squeezing. Stiles yelped because one, it was cold, and two, his chest was more sensitive now that his milk was already coming in.

Stiles gently wrapped his fingers around Eli’s small wrists, pulling his far too curious child’s hands away. “Well, I’m an omega, and since I’m pregnant—”

“With Caleb and Clara!” Eli interrupted, always so excited to talk about his baby brother and sister.

“Yes, with Caleb and Clara,” Stiles continued. “Since I’m an omega, I’m able to produce milk, so I can feed them after they’re born.”

Eli nodded as if he knew exactly what Stiles was talking about. “Like a cow? We learned about them when we went to the farm.”

Christ. Stiles could already picture the hysterics Derek was bound to have when he heard about this. With a laugh, he ruffled Eli’s wet hair affectionately, listening to him talk about the field trip he’d gone on to one of the nearby farms. And just as he was imagining Derek’s comical response, the man himself walked back into the room, clean and dry, and holding fresh towels and a shirt for Stiles. Stiles took in the sight before him with an appreciative hum. Even after all their years together, the sight of Derek still gave him butterflies.

“I heard that,” Derek said, a half-exasperated, half-amused look on his face as he leaned down and tipped Stiles’s chin up, giving him a sweet kiss. “And don’t worry, I’d still love you even if you started bellowing.”

Stiles snorted at that, taking his shirt from Derek. “Wow. You really know how to charm a guy, don’t you, Hale?”

Derek’s only response was a quick wink before he turned back toward Eli and his bath. “Alright. Bath time is over. Time for bed.”

As Eli opened his mouth, no doubt ready to start negotiations for ’just five more minutes, please,’ Stiles pulled the fresh shirt over his head, still laughing over the entire interaction.

***

THREE

A warm breath tickled the back of Stiles’s neck and he inhaled sharply, letting out a quiet moan as the scent of freshly made waffles wafted through the room. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light seeping in through the bedroom curtains, painting the room in hues of golden yellow.

The bed dipped and he turned, blinking up at his smiling husband.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Derek whispered before leaning down and stealing a sweet kiss.

Stiles sighed, bringing a hand up and carding it through Derek’s hair. It was so soft, and he loved running his fingers through it.

“What time is it?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. He drew his hand back and sat up, shivering slightly when the sheets pooled at his waist, exposing his bare torso. “Where are the kids?”

Even if they let him sleep in, they’d still be the ones to run in and wake him. Usually by jumping all over the bed—and him.

Derek set a tray filled with plates of food on his lap. “It’s almost noon. Laura picked them up this morning.”

Stiles frowned in confusion. Almost noon? Damn. He must have been more tired than he realized after getting home from work last night. Then again, he’d done back-to-back doubles to help cover some shifts, since a couple of the deputies were out on medical leave.

“She did?” As far as Stiles knew, they didn’t have any plans with her. However, she was also the ’fun aunt’ and prone to unexpected visits.

“Yeah. She said she was giving us the day and was taking the kids to some park or another,” Derek clarified before chuckling.

Stiles nodded absentmindedly, his eyes straying away from Derek to survey the breakfast banquet laid out before him. Belgian waffles with whipped cream and strawberries, bacon, and eggs.

“With Caleb and Clara?” he asked.

They were only three but somehow still in their terrible twos. It was brave of her to volunteer to take them, Stiles thought. Dealing with their twin tornadoes single-handedly was no simple feat. Hell, Eli wasn’t that much better at times, though he was only seven.

“Yeah,” Derek nodded, rubbing Stiles’s back. “But the rest of the pack were meeting her there. Plus, she packed up all their favorite toys and snacks. Even their nap mats. They’ll be fine.”

Stiles relaxed at that. He felt better knowing the others would be there to help Laura, especially when the twins were in their most energetic moods.

“I hope she knows what she’s getting into,” he mumbled around a forkful of eggs. “Pack or no pack.”

Derek chuckled again, pulling Stiles closer and snagging a piece of bacon. “I’m sure she’ll manage. Now eat.”

Savoring the peaceful moment, Stiles dug into the breakfast Derek made. The waffles were fluffy and sweet, inviting him to take another bite.

It wasn’t long before all the food was gone and Derek got up to put the tray on the dresser. He was shirtless, his back muscles rippling in the sunlight that poured in through the windows.

Stiles watched in silent appreciation. Okay, maybe not so silent because a little moan slipped out when Derek turned. His sweatpants were thin. So thin that Stiles could tell he wasn’t wearing anything under them by the impressive outline of Derek’s dick as it hung against his thigh.

And just like that Stiles’s boxers were damp with slick.

Derek’s eyes flashed crimson, nose flaring as he inhaled. A quiet growl slipped out, making Stiles shiver the way it always did.

“Derek,” Stiles said in an inviting whisper, sliding down until he was lying flat on his back on the bed, legs spread wide. The cool sheets against his warm skin sent another shiver through him.

Derek was there in an instant, pinning him to the mattress with a playful growl. His weight was a welcome heat as his large hands roamed over Stiles’s chest. Soft kisses followed the trail, igniting a heat within him that only Derek could kindle.

Stiles gasped and arched his back, wanting more—relentless desire bubbling up inside him, his breath hitching.

“God, Derek.” Stiles whimpered when Derek latched onto one of his nipples, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub teasingly. Stiles’s heart pounded in his chest as excited anticipation washed over him, and he surged upward in response, grabbing at Derek and pressing their lips together hungrily.

Their tongues collided, exploring each other in a dance as familiar as the beat of their hearts. Derek pulled back momentarily, his gaze filled with warmth and desire.

Stiles slid a hand down Derek’s chest to his stomach, fingers scratching through the coarse hair there before reaching the waistband of Derek’s sweatpants. The sight of Derek’s dilated pupils and the feel of his fast-beating heart against his chest had Stiles grinning like a fool. His heart flipped with anticipation as he dipped his fingers beneath the waistband, wrapping his hand around Derek’s dick. It was hot and silky smooth. Rock hard.

Derek shuddered under his touch.

“God, Stiles,” Derek groaned, his voice roughened by desire. He rolled his hips into Stiles’s touch, nuzzling against his cheek as he continued to murmur breathy praises. Every whisper whetted Stiles’s deepening delight, coaxing him further into the delightful haze settling around them.

“Derek,” Stiles breathed out, his hand working a steady rhythm as he absorbed Derek’s reactions. His heart pounded in sync with the thrum of desire coursing through him.

Derek’s hands were everywhere—gripping his hips, tracing his ribs, raking fingers down his flanks.

Derek kissed him again. Deeply, heatedly. His hand drifted over Stiles’s chest, down to his stomach, and then even lower to brush against the sticky dampness in his boxers. A sharp intake of breath followed, and Stiles’s hips bucked up into Derek’s hand.

“Derek!” Stiles yelped, his fingers tightening around Derek’s dick. The sudden movement earned a ragged moan from Derek.

“I’ve got you,” Derek murmured, nipping at Stiles’s jaw and thrusting into his fist. “Let me take care of you.”

The onslaught of sensations had Stiles moaning loudly, but he didn’t care about the noise. Derek didn’t either, Stiles knew that. He knew that it only spurred Derek on. The world outside didn’t exist when they were lost in the thrill of each other.

Then Derek worked his way down Stiles’s body, leaving a trail of feverish kisses in his wake. When he finally reached the waistband of Stiles’s boxers, he glanced up at Stiles, a devastatingly handsome smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

So unfair.

Stiles responded by biting his lower lip, his cheeks heating from how much he wanted Derek’s mouth on his cock. How much he wanted Derek’s tongue on his slick hole.

By the primal and feral look in his eyes, Derek seemed to understand, catching the hint as he slid fingers under the band of Stiles’s boxers and pulled them down. Even in the midst of pleasure, his actions were careful and delicate, a testament to his love and reverence for Stiles.

Once he was naked, Derek began taking him apart, his tongue expertly teasing and tasting. Slowly and sweetly. His scruffy jaw scraped Stiles’s thighs, and it was sensory overload, leaving Stiles a moaning mess beneath him, his pleas and gasps echoing around the room. It was as if Derek was everywhere, all at once, his hands gripping Stiles at the same time his mouth consumed him, drawing out cries that filled the air. Stiles couldn’t hold back any longer; not when Derek ate him out like he was starving for him. Not when Derek thrust two fingers into him, curling and flexing them as he sucked Stiles’s cock in a way that made his toes curl.

Stiles was reduced to gasping whimpers as Derek worked his fingers inside him. Torturing him in the best of ways until every nerve in his body sang and the only words left in his vocabulary were please and fuck.

Derek looked up at him through hooded eyes, and with the way he was kneeling, Stiles could see his cock straining against the confines of his sweatpants. It was decadently sinful.

“Derek, please.” Stiles wasn’t sure what he was begging for. He tangled his fingers in Derek’s hair, urging him on. Wanting more.

More of his mouth.

More of his fingers.

His cock.

“Yes.” Derek’s voice was rough, filled with desire. His movements paused for a second as he swiftly removed his sweatpants, leaving him as exposed as Stiles was. The sight of him was breathtaking, all muscle and skin. And pure raw power. His eyes were a darkened crimson, a sign of how turned on he was.

Stiles watched with anticipation as Derek settled between his spread legs. He wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a few good strokes.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice was a low growl as he positioned himself at Stiles’s slick hole.

An expectant silence fell between them as they both caught their breaths, eyes locked, sharing an intimate stare that spoke volumes of the unbridled love between them.

“Ready?” Derek asked. His voice was barely above a whisper, a tender lilt tinging the last syllable.

Stiles nodded, his lips slowly turning into a smile as he looped his arms and legs around Derek, pulling him closer. Needing to feel all of him.

The moment Derek bottomed out, a shared moan escaped them, the sound echoing around the room, mixed with the soft rustling of the sheets. God, Derek felt so good. Filled him up so perfectly. And when Derek rolled his hips, Stiles matched the rhythm to a beat primal in nature as Derek’s heart pounded against his own—their pulses drumming an unraveling symphony. Pleasure wrapped around Stiles like a living, breathing entity.

Taunting him.

Teasing him.

Luring him into the abyss.

“Oh f-fuck,” Stiles stuttered, his fingers digging into the small of Derek’s back in an attempt to bring him closer, to feel more of him, even though there wasn’t a molecule of space between them.

Derek wrapped his arms underneath Stiles, holding him tightly as he thrust into him. It was hard enough that Stiles gasped, but Derek swallowed the sound, capturing Stiles’s lips in a searing kiss, rocking into him and setting a leisurely pace that was all about pleasure, not urgency.

“Good?” Derek asked after a few minutes, his voice husky and strained. Stiles knew he was holding back, prolonging the moment. Making it last since this was something they didn’t get to experience much anymore outside of Stiles’s heat and Derek’s rut.

“So good,” Stiles breathed out, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Derek kept up the rhythm, matching Stiles’s breaths, pleasuring him in a way that was both new and achingly familiar. The room filled with the sweet and intoxicating scent of Derek and them. It was all Stiles needed. All he wanted.

Their pace fastened gradually, turning more desperate. More urgent. Escalating the euphoria coursing through Stiles. Derek held Stiles’s thighs, lifting his hips to meet his every thrust. Stiles gripped his cock, stroking himself, and the oncoming climax was inevitable. He welcomed it with open arms, letting it pull him under its exhilarating tide—his release spilling hot and sticky between them.

It only intensified when Derek’s knot swelled, filling him in the most delicious way. Especially when Derek’s thrusts grew erratic as he chased his own pleasure.

“Stiles. StilesStilesStiles,” Derek groaned, as if Stiles’s name was all he could say, all he could think about as the pleasure built up, threatening to break him apart.

And then it did. Every muscle in Derek’s body went rigid, his grip tightening around Stiles as he emptied himself into Stiles with a roar that shook their room before biting down on Stiles’s mating bite.

Stiles gasped at the bright sting of pain that quickly flooded into an overwhelming wave of euphoria as he tumbled into the abyss with Derek, another orgasm ripping through him that had him shuddering. That had his vision blurring, ears filled with only Derek’s rough growls and the pounding of his own heart.

He clung to Derek as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours. Time held no meaning as exquisite fatigue washed over him until he emerged from his orgasmic trance, still trembling from the aftershocks.

Derek was somehow both gentle and steadfast, his large hands soothing and grounding him as he traced delicate patterns across Stiles’s skin, quiet in the wake of their shared pleasure.

“You back with me?” Derek asked, his voice barely audible but filled with a teasing hint of relief and satisfaction. His hands caressed Stiles’s sides, a calming and relaxing touch. His whole body enveloped Stiles. Muscular and masculine. Strength and warmth. Comfort.

Stiles found the strength to nod, a gentle murmur escaping his lips. “Mmm… Always with you.”

Derek’s chest rumbled with a pleased purr as he nosed at Stiles’s throat, planting languid kisses there.

“Tired,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s shoulder, drowsiness creeping up on him, heightened by the post-coital relaxation flooding his system.

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles as he nosed against his hair before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You can sleep. I’ll clean us up when my knot goes d—”

The sound of minions giggling interrupted him, announcing Derek had a phone call. The ringtone never failed to make Stiles laugh, though Derek grumbled and let out a groan of dissent, pressing his nose deeper into Stiles’s hair, inhaling deeply.

“Worse damn timing,” he muttered, not moving to answer the call.

Stiles rubbed his back, chuckling as he fought sleep. “You should check that.”

Just in case it was Laura since she had the kids.

Derek grumbled again as he propped himself up on one elbow to reach for his phone on the nightstand, careful of his knot. It tugged deliciously on Stiles’s rim, but he bit back his moan as Derek answered the call.

“Hey. Everything alright?” Derek asked before mouthing, ’Laura,’ so Stiles knew who it was.

He couldn’t hear her response, but after a minute, Derek snorted. In fact, his whole body shook with laughter, making Stiles moan as Derek’s knot tugged at his rim again.

Laura must have heard it because Derek rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who called after taking the kids to—and I quote—’give you some time alone’. You even winked.”

Whatever she said made Derek shake his head. He fumbled with the phone and said, “Hold on. I’m going to put you on speaker.”

“You’re lucky you’re my favorite brother…” Laura’s voice came through the phone’s speaker. “I say again, I can’t believe you answered the phone while you’re knotted.”

“He’s your only brother,” Stiles pointed out. “And of course, we’re going to answer. You have our kids. It could have been an emergency.”

“Not an emergency, no. But definitely something that needs to be addressed!” Laura’s voice came through the phone’s speaker. “And it’s not funny, Derek! I thought he was potty trained!”

“Uh…does someone wanna fill me in?” Stiles was a bit lost. And very confused. “Everyone’s potty trained…?”

“Sure,” Laura said, sounding perfectly unamused. “Caleb probably was until he decided to relieve himself when we sat down for a snack. Just dropped his pants and peed against the closest tree!”

Stiles couldn’t hide his laugh as he imagined the scene: Laura standing there in shocked horror as Caleb peed liberally on a tree with a satisfied expression on his face.

This was definitely an ’I told you so’ moment. More for Derek—and Isaac—since they’d insisted on showing the boys they could just pee on a tree when they were outside. Though they’d obviously meant at home or in the preserve, and not, as Caleb had interpreted it, whenever and wherever the mood struck him. Unfortunately, that valuable/awful lesson seemed to have stuck.

“That’s…awww man. Sorry about that, Laura,” Stiles managed to say, trying to stifle his laughter now. “But technically that shows he’s potty trained. It wasn’t like he peed in his pants.”

Besides, the twins were still in training pants, so even if Caleb had had an accident, it wouldn’t have been too bad.

“Yeah, it's real hilarious,” Laura continued, sarcasm dripping from every word. “He could have asked one of us to take him to the bathroom! And that’s not even taking into account that Clara tries to hug every bystander within a four-foot radius. I know we’re werewolves, but we’re also trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Werewolf or not, strangers don’t appreciate being hugged by a child they don’t know. Especially when the child also happens to be unusually strong and fast for their age.”

Stiles chuckled again, picturing Clara’s warm, enthusiastic hugs throwing unsuspecting passersby off balance. It was so like her to befriend the world, but he could understand Laura’s frustration.

“Understood, Laura,” Stiles said, pressing his palm flat against Derek’s chest, fingers splayed wide over his heart. “We’ll talk to them, see if we can work on the…social boundaries a bit.”

“’Social boundaries.’ Yeah, I like that. And Derek, you can make sure to explain it to the rest of the pack as well. Erica couldn’t stop laughing and Isaac scored him as if this were America’s Got Talent or some shit. And then he high-fived him. High. Fived. Him,” Laura sighed, a half-laugh hiding in her tone. “Honestly, Boyd’s been my only ally.”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at that, knowing full well how everyone was with the kids. “What was the score?”

“Not the point, Stiles,” she chided through the line, but then heard Isaac call out, “Eight out of ten!”

This time Derek laughed, taking the phone off speaker. “We’ll talk to them. All of them. Besides that, how are the kids?”

“Does she wanna bring them home?” Stiles interrupted. He was torn. As much as he loved alone time with Derek, he was always a little antsy when the kids weren’t there.

Derek smiled down at him but shook his head. “Alright. We’ll see you later then. And thanks again.”

He ended the call and placed the phone back on the nightstand. His fingertips left trails of fire as they ghosted over Stiles’s still-sensitive skin. Derek nipped lightly at Stiles’s earlobe, an affectionate gesture that drew forth a soft, contented hum from Stiles.

“They’re having a great time.” Derek’s voice rumbled hot against his skin, each word a soothing caress. “Laura’s got it all under control. We have the house to ourselves for the whole day.”

“Mmm… Sounds like heaven,” Stiles admitted, his voice going husky. He definitely wasn’t tired anymore as Derek ground against him. “God, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Derek murmured in response, tenderly kissing his neck. His breath was hot against Stiles’s skin, causing goosebumps to prickle.

“Always,” Stiles affirmed, dragging his hands down Derek’s back, his breath hitching as Derek shifted just right, sending waves of pleasure spiraling through his still-sensitized body. With a lazy smile, he murmured, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Derek echoed, his comforting presence wrapping around Stiles like a warm blanket. His fingers trailed over Stiles, exploring every curve and dip of his body.

Stiles surrendered to the intoxicating allure of Derek’s touch, content in this moment of stolen tranquility—leaving the phone call and related mishap with the kids to become an amusing memory that fell into the pile of their shared experiences. For now, it was just them, skin on skin and breath on breath.

***

FOUR

“How many pounds should we get?” Stiles called out while staring at the cooler filled with turkeys. It was their year to host Thanksgiving dinner, so he needed to make sure they’d have enough food to feed an army. Which was why they were now at the grocery store. “Actually, it’s more like, how many turkeys should we get?”

If he did the math, at one and a half pounds per person—who was he kidding, these were werewolves, they’d need at least double that—they would have to get at least eighty pounds worth of meat.

“Mom said she was making two,” Derek said, coming up behind him and kissing his shoulder. “One in the oven and the other in the Nesco. If we can find a couple that are at least twenty-five pounds, that should be good.”

Stiles nodded absentmindedly, still doing the math in his head. He was distantly aware of Derek talking to the kids and then Derek kissed his shoulder again, drawing his attention.

“Hmm?” He turned his head, looking at Derek quizzically. “What’s up?”

Derek jerked his head to the side, toward the kids. Eli was playing I Spy with Caleb while Clara was shifting from side to side, which meant—

“I’m going to take her to the bathroom,” Derek told him. Clara was only four; far too young to go by herself. “I’ll be right back.”

“Actually, I’ll take her,” Stiles said since he needed the bathroom, anyway. “Unless you needed to go.”

Derek shook his head and then held his hand out for the shopping list. “I’ll work on the list while you take her.”

Stiles handed it over before taking Clara’s hand and leading her toward the restroom. He was halfway there when his phone vibrated in his pocket. When he fished it out, Lydia’s name lit the screen. Juggling the phone and Clara’s hand, he managed to swipe the call to answer it.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, navigating the rest of the way to the restrooms.

Lydia huffed in a way that said she was having A Day™. “I just need to vent…”

“FYI, I’m taking Clara to the bathroom, but I’m listening,” Stiles told her before she launched into a rant about work. When they got to the front, the family restroom was closed for cleaning, so he nudged the men’s restroom door open with his shoulder and walked Clara inside, opening the door to the first free stall and gesturing for her to go.

While she was using the bathroom, he muted himself and used the urinal then washed and dried his hands, nodding along as Lydia complained about her latest project at work.

Soon, Clara was done, stepping up beside him and trying to reach the soap dispenser with a little ’oof’. Stiles hoisted her up so she could reach, pumping a dollop of soap into her small hands. The foam bubbles brought a grin to her face as she scrubbed her hands.

The restroom door opened, and an older gentleman walked in, quickly making his way into the far stall. It was quiet for a moment, except for the sound of running water as Clara rinsed her hands. And then there was the unmistakable sound of a loud fart as the man in the stall passed gas.

Stiles closed his eyes and braced himself, almost as if he knew what was about to happen before Clara even opened her mouth. And sure enough, half a second later, her little voice called out, “And what do we say when we toot?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose and opened his mouth to calmly remind her that this wasn’t home and the man was a stranger, but before he could even get a word out, the man sheepishly responded, “Excuse me. My apologies.”

Stiles barked out a laugh, even as he was mortified.

“I’m so sorry!” he called out, placing his hand on Clara’s shoulder, urging her out of the restroom with a quick, “Let’s go, honey.”

He pressed the button unmuting himself for Lydia again and said, “Oh my God, Lydia, I need to go, but I’ll call you back in a few.”

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” he reassured her quickly, before adding, “Just working on those…social boundaries still. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Lydia burst out laughing on the other end of the call. “Well, I cannot wait to hear this. Talk to you later.”

“Okay,” Stiles huffed a laugh. “Yeah, later.”

With that, he hung up, glancing down at Clara who was looking up at him with an innocent expression, as though she hadn’t just embarrassed a stranger in the restroom. The poor man had probably gone in there to pass gas in peace and wasn’t expecting to get chastised by a toddler.

“You’re not in trouble, but do you remember we talked about how to act around strangers, honey?” Stiles asked, smiling down at her.

Clara nodded her head seriously. “Mmhmm…but Daddy always says we should say ”scuse me’ when we toot.“

Stiles couldn’t hold back his laugh.

"Yes, he does, sweetheart, but it’s a little different when it’s strangers,” he explained, taking her hand. “At home, it’s always okay to remind us to use our manners because we’re family. But sometimes, strangers might feel embarrassed. How about we try not to point it out loudly next time, okay?”

“Okay…” Clara muttered, sounding a little unsure, but she gave him a shy smile and a nod.

Stiles glanced around as they walked down the aisle, looking for Derek and the boys. He spotted them in the freezer section by the frozen pies, where they seemed to be engaged in a deep discussion with them about which pies to choose.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped at the sight. “Yeah, we’re not buying frozen pie for Thanksgiving.”

“We’re just looking.” Derek looked relieved to see them. His gaze shifted from Stiles to Clara. “Everything okay?”

Stiles snorted, thinking about their little chat regarding social etiquette. “I’ll tell you about it at home.”

Right now, he just wanted to get the shopping trip over with and hope they didn’t run into the man from the restroom. Derek gave him a curious look but nodded. “Alright.”

He turned back to the boys who were now engaged in a mini-war over which pie was superior—Eli standing firmly on team Pumpkin Pie while Caleb rooted for Apple Pie.

Stiles and Clara joined them, Clara slipping from his grip to pull on Caleb’s shirt, forcing him to pay attention to her.

Derek slid his arm around Stiles’s waist, pulling him close. “Did you want to weigh in on the great Pie debate?”

Shaking his head, a smile played on Stiles’s lips as he watched his family, a laugh escaping his lips.

“I’ll take either, I don’t even really like pie,” he admitted, earning him a shared look of disbelief from Caleb and Eli.

“Never mind, no voting for Dad!” Eli shouted, arms flapping with the exaggerated indignation only a nine-year-old could muster, causing more laughter among the group.

“I like apple pie, like Caleb!” Clara declared, her eyes bright. Her support seemed to swerve the tide in Caleb’s favor.

Caleb flashed a triumphant grin at Eli, who grumpily crossed his arms, not accepting the defeat lightly. But the defeated look on his face didn’t last long as Clara ran up to him, pulling his arm to show him something she found interesting.

As Stiles watched his family, the restroom incident faded into the back of Stiles’s mind. Their chorus of laughter rang out in the quiet warehouse, creating a wholesome symphony he wouldn’t exchange for the world.

***

FIVE

“Should we just pick up dinner on the way home?” Stiles asked as they waited for the final bell to ring. They had the twins’ parent-teacher conference right after school and had gotten there fifteen minutes ago to park since the pickup line could be a nightmare. It was never really a line and people just parked wherever, taking up all the good parking spots. Or, even better, making their own spaces.

Derek hooked his chin over Stiles’s shoulder, holding him from behind. “That sounds good. What should we get?”

Before Stiles could respond, the bell rang.

Derek took his hand, tugging him gently as they walked through the mass of children exiting the building. They headed straight for the kindergarten classroom since Eli always went there anyway to pick up Caleb and Clara before walking out together. It didn’t surprise Stiles to find him already there when they arrived. His classroom might have been on the other side of the building in the fifth-grade hall, but Stiles had no doubt that he’d ignored any and all warnings from teachers about running in the halls as he raced to his siblings.

Sure, they fought and bickered like any other siblings, especially when either of the twins tried to claim his toys, but they were also protective and caring toward one another.

“I beat you!” Eli proclaimed when they walked in.

Stiles gave him a high five as Clara and Caleb ran over, first hugging Derek and then him.

“Why don’t you guys keep playing while we talk to your teacher, okay?” Derek said, gesturing to the blocks on the floor.

Stiles nodded. “Just remember that you’ll need to clean up whatever mess you make, okay?”

The twins nodded enthusiastically before dragging Eli to the mat and pulling him down to sit.

Their teacher, Ms. Bowen stood and gestured for them to sit at the small table next to her desk. “Thank you both for coming in. It’s good to see you again.”

Stiles looked at the child-sized chairs warily before slowly lowering himself onto one. Somehow he always forgot how comically small these seats were designed. Derek took the other chair, managing to make himself look at ease despite the comical mismatch between his large frame and the tiny furniture.

Ms. Bowen took the spot across from them and opened the folder that was in front of her. This might have been the first set of conferences for the school year, but Stiles knew the routine from Eli’s conferences over previous years. Ms. Bowen would detail Caleb and Clara’s academic progress, any classroom behavior concerns, and discuss their social interactions.

And she did.

Ms. Bowen began with Clara, noting her outstanding progress in reading for her age range and her gentle, nurturing dynamic during group tasks. Caleb’s remarkable math skills and enthusiastic class participation were recognized next. It was apparent that both of them were thriving, and flyaway comments about their mannerisms and childhood quirks made Stiles smile. Like Clara’s fondness for mismatched socks and Caleb’s conviction that capes made him run faster.

“Derek, Stiles,” Ms. Bowen began after finishing her report, “Do you have any particular areas of concern, or questions, regarding Clara and Caleb’s progress so far?”

Stiles looked at Derek, who was running a finger along his stubble in thought. He seemed about to speak when the kids burst into giggles on the floor, momentarily distracting them both.

“Nothing comes to mind right now. They’re doing so great, and we’re very proud of them.” Derek finally responded, his gaze shifting back to Ms. Bowen. “But if anything arises, we know you’re just a call away.”

Stiles nodded in agreement. The teachers here have always been forthcoming and supportive; it was comforting knowing their door was open for any potential concerns.

“Ms. Bowen, can I show them my drawing from yesterday?” Caleb bounced over with a bright smile on his face.

Clara tossed her blocks to the side and ran over right behind him. “I wanna show them mine too!”

“Of course.” Ms. Bowen chuckled, sliding the folder to Stiles and Derek as Caleb and Clara went to their desks. “Alright, this is for you to take h—oh my!”

Stiles followed her gaze, eyes widening when he saw the picture Caleb held up. On it were several—well, Stiles wasn’t exactly sure what they were supposed to be but the drawings sure looked like dicks. A variety of them and in all different sizes. He snorted, immediately covering it with a cough because while he could be immature at times, he knew it probably wasn’t appropriate right now.

Probably.

“Well, that's—” Derek reached out, taking the picture from Caleb and placing it on the table. He cleared his throat and Stiles could tell he was a little flustered—an odd sight to see on the usually stoic alpha werewolf. Then again, it wasn’t every day their kid shoved a drawing of dicks in his face.

Stiles broke the awkward silence, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “So, uh, what are we looking at here, kiddo?”

“It’s me!” Caleb proclaimed proudly.

Derek let out a strangled noise. Stiles, on the other hand, couldn’t hide his laughter.

“You drew yourself, huh?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Caleb nodded proudly, his smile so wide it threatened to split his face. “Ms. Bowen said we could draw whatever we wanted. So I drawed myself!”

“Yourself?” Derek bit his lip as he apparently tried to reconcile that with the image on the page.

“Yeah! Look, that’s me when I was a baby. And then when I was one and two and three and four and five,” Caleb said, pointing at each of the strangely shaped figures. “Like I am now!”

Stiles looked at the drawing again and tried very hard not to laugh (again).

“Oh, I see it,” he said, managing to keep a semblance of a straight face. “Those are great drawings, kiddo.”

Clara was next, eagerly shoving her drawing towards them. It wasn’t any discernible shape or object. Instead, it was a burst of colorful scribbles and dots that filled the page to the brim.

“And I drew a rainbow!” she chirped, beaming at them. “Do you like it?”

“We love it,” Stiles assured, taking her picture and holding it next to Caleb’s. “Both of these will be going up on our fridge.”

The twins bounced in delight at the news, and Ms. Bowen wore an amused smile. The meeting soon ended, and they gave their goodbyes as Stiles gathered their drawings before walking out with Derek, Eli, and the twins.

On the way back to their car, Stiles couldn’t help but glance at Caleb’s comical depiction of himself, a chuckle escaping his lips.

Derek shook his head, letting out a good-natured sigh. “Honestly, only our kids could turn a parent-teacher conference into a comedy show.”

Stiles shot him a grin, wrapping an arm around his husband’s waist. “And that’s why we love them.”

As they reached the car, Stiles looked at the kids, their faces glowing with happiness and pride, and realized how perfectly ordinary this moment was—and how extraordinarily lucky he was to have this.

#sterek #sterek fanart #stiles stilinski #derek hale #eli hale #eli stilinski hale #original stilinski hale children #holy shit i wrote something #holy shit i made something

[elysiumwaits]

Place a Beehive on My Grave

So you know that Sterek 1920s mob AU?

Yeah well, here’s the first chapter of the final part. One more chapter to come, and it’s all over (but for the crying!)

Stiles thought he was the manipulator in this relationship, but Derek's got some secrets of his own he's ready to bring to light.

--

And at the top of it all, the undercover and unsung hero, Derek Hale of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. President Hoover's practically beside himself with glee in the quotations. Derek looks pretty damn good in the picture, Stiles has to admit, hat cocked slightly off-center and cigarette burning in his mouth. It feels like he's looking through the ink right at Stiles, some kind of promise in that heavy gaze.

#fanfiction #sterek #mob au #holy shit I wrote something

[qrsshipper]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Raffles - E. W. Hornung Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Bunny Manders/A. J. Raffles, Bunny Manders & A. J. Raffles Characters: A. J. Raffles, Bunny Manders Additional Tags: My First Work in This Fandom, Ficlet, Work In Progress Summary:

A reimagining of part of the final scene in the chest of silver where Bunny has been trying to stuff all the silver up the chimney while Raffles astutely escapes Mackenzie's clutches yet again; only this time the laughter and rush of adrenaline brings Raffles and Bunny closer together.

#holy shit i wrote something #raffles #raffles and bunny #aaaaahhhhh #i have no clue what im doing #still figuring out tags

[mera-mera-simp]

OP Character's Love Languages

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Ussop, Ace and Law

Content Warning: fluff. Some angst (Sanji, Ace and Law)

Pt. 2

Luffy:

Absolutely physical touch. There is no debate on this.

He can and will cling to you with no hesitation. Man doesn't know personal space<3

But you and most of the Strawhats don't mind it. It's sweet.

Though you do have to gently remind him sometimes that not everybody he knows likes it when he does that</3

Definitely a words of affirmation kinda guy too.

This one isn't as often but he loves making you smile.

Constantly telling you how funny you are and how much he loves you. He is a sweet baby even if he's a menace sometimes<3

Sometimes, you'll get a combo of the two. He'll wrap his arms around a multitude of times and tell you all kinds of sweet things just to see you smile.

Gift. Giving.

Please give this sweet baby gifts it will make his eyes light up like stars and he'll treasure it forever.

You could get him the silliest thing and he'll be so happy. You'll have his stretchy arms wrapped around you and multiple kisses on your face while he's yelling 'thank you' multiple times within an instant.

Zoro:

Quality time.

He's not much of a touchy guy and he's not the greatest with words.

But he actively seeks you out on the Sunny. He just wants to be by you<3

He's not great at words, so just being by you is enough for him

He will make you take naps with him<3

He likes to sit by you when he's cleaning his swords.

Please just chill with him while he trains. He likes being in your presence.

This goes both ways low-key. He knows that you love him so he doesn't need to be reminded. And as mentioned earlier, he's not really a touchy feely guy.

So just spending time with you is enough.

Bro loves you so much, he'll chill by you while you're talking to the other strawhats. He doesn't need to involved in the conversation. He'll just sit by you (he'll take a nap depending on where you are on the ship)

Maybe a small bit of gift giving?

Only if he finds it useful though probably.

Get him stuff to clean his swords with and he'll be happy.

Send him over the moon with alcohol.

But definitely quality time for the most part.

Dude just wants to be by you<3

Sanji:

Is it absurd to say that it's everything? (Because I feel like it is but thats cause I'm in love with him and delulu)

He'll match to whatever your love language is babes<3

Gift giving? He'll spoil you

Quality time? Just hang out with him in the kitchen while he cooks

Words of affirmation? He'll tell you a thousand times a day that he loves you

Acts of service? Say the word and your wish is his command.

Physical touch? He'll be all over you.

He'll match your energy.

Sometimes you'll get the buy 1 get 4 free combo.

He bends over backwards for you.

And it's all super sweet. He'll cook for you, buy you some cute trinkets that you like, spend time with you while you're doing something, tell you all kinds of romantic things, and he'll hold your hand at all times

Bro is such a sweet guy<3

Please tell him that you love him. Reassure him for the love of god

He didn't get it a lot as a kid after Sola died so whenever you do, he really appreciates it <3 (Sanji my sad chef, my beloved I love him so much)

Nami:

Look me in the eye and tell me that her loves languages aren't gift giving and acts of service.

She'll be over the moon if you buy her stuff

Specially if it's expensive <3

Bake something for her, Sanji will help you if you ask him to!

She'll give you a bunch of kisses for it. It's her way of say thank you.

You're the only one who doesn't owe her a single berri. Cause why would she charge the love of her life?

She gets a little jealous super easily though. She'll pout at you. Just laugh at her and tell her she's cute. Kiss her cheek, forehead or tip of her nose if you want to make her melt.

Sometimes she'll indulge in physical touch, only for you though.

She'll hold your hand when strolling through a town on a new island. And then persuade you to buy something she likes by acting cute.

She's super appreciative if you do though

She'll hug you and kiss you with a big grin on her face

It makes her feel important

She likes to make you feel important too. She'll actually go out of her way to buy you stuff sometimes. She teases about an interest fee but if you actually try to pay it, it's the only time she refuses

Ussop:

Words of affirmation

My guy needs a lot of reassurance so he appreciates it

Tell him that he's brave and he'll be absolutely smitten

He also likes physical touch

He'll hold you as he tells his stories

Talk to him about the world. You both love being out on the Grandline and seeing how big the world is. It's one your 'late night can't sleep' topics.

Hangout on the deck of the Sunny and look at stars together. He'll hold your hand and point out the constellations to you. (He learned them from Robin, he just wants to impress you<3)

If you hug him from behind randomly, he'll swoon.

He'll let you stay like that too. He thinks it's sweet. He'll just casually talk to you about his day so far.

He's constantly telling you how much he loves you.

You make him feel strong and brave so of course he's going to return the favor.

Overall, Ussop is just a sweet guy. He likes holding your hand and making you smile<3

Ace:

Oh my beloved sad himbo

Please hold him and reassure him.

He's definitely a physical touch and words of affirmation kinda guy too.

Trace the freckles on his face (he'll melt in your arms with a blushing face if you call them mini constellations<3)

He likes to hold you yeah but please hold him. He needs it.

He likes to be in your embrace but he'll only let you do it when you guys aren't in sight of the crew, he's afraid that Marco and Thatch will tease him for a life time. (They wouldn't)

Pepper his face in kisses

This poor cowboy is so sad please tell him all of the things you love about him

Tell him he's worth everything in the world (Ace was the One Piece</3\hj)

Whisper sweet nothings to him as you guys try to fall asleep at night, that's when his head tries to attack him the most.

He appreciates it all and he'll definitely return the favor.

He constantly has you wrapped in his arms.

He'll kiss the top of your head and nuzzle his face into your hair.

He'll purposely act stupid just to see you laugh.

Please just make him happy. He is so sad

He will deny though.

"Me? Sad? Blasphemy."

Law:

Another quality time kinda guy

He doesn't like physical touch

Or words of affirmation

Please don't openly say you love him or promise him anything, the last person who did both those things died almost immediately after (he's traumatized </3)

Just spend some time with him, that's all he asks. You don't have to say anything he just wants to he by you.

He doesn't know how to accept gifts so that's also kinda out of the question

If you do something for him though, he'll be appreciative. In his own way

Just quality time for the most part.

Just sit by him while he reads or looks over some notes he has.

He's comforted by your presence, you make him happy even if he never outwardly shows it

#holy shit i actually wrote something to post #be proud ya'll #one piece #op #one piece x you #one piece x reader #op x reader #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x reader #sanji vinsmoke #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #nami #cat burglar nami #nami x reader #ussop #one piece usopp #ussop x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d. ace #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #one piece headcanons

[efingcod]

Cold Mornings

Have a, well, it's more than a drabble, but it's still short. Have a whatever this is.

John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

You wrap a blanket around your shoulders as you step out of the bedroom. It’s a freezing cold morning. All you can think about is coffee until you see him, John, sitting there on a bar stool at the table, shirtless, reading something on his phone.

You’d say something, but he’d probably give you a line about Scotsmen being made of tougher stuff. So you walk to the kitchen, your blanket dragging behind you on the floor. You could have sworn you heard a low, amused chuckle coming from John’s direction, but he doesn’t follow it with his usual teasing, so you ignore it. 

As you take a few sips of your coffee, you study John. As you watch him, he shifts in his chair, subtle movements that manage to completely change the topography of his back. You feel the urge to be close to him.

You shuffle over to where he’s sitting and reach around him to set your mug down on the table before pressing your chest into his back.

Even without a shirt, he’s still warm. How is that possible?

You make a soft sound and bury the tip of your freezing-cold nose into his shoulder.

“Cold there?” He asks, a tone of humor in his voice.

“Maybe,” You say as you drape your arms and the blanket over his shoulders.

“Should get you back to bed then.”

He rises then, and you automatically let go and take a step back. In a swift movement, he dips down, bracing one arm on your back and the other at the bend in your knees. You’re lifted into the air like you’re nothing as he gathers you and the blanket into his arms and takes you back to the bedroom.

#john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #modern warfare #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #holy shit i wrote something for MW? #it feels weird to write a character who has a cell phone #😂😂😂 #anyway

[feral-teeth]

Fallen from grace

Fallen from god

#grace chasity #starkid #fallen angel #theres something there #right? #i feel like i saw this before #dont mean to steal this idea btw #i also just wrote that line #like holy shit #her name is grace #and shes the fallen angel #feral-teeth thoughts #my edits #team starkid #angela giarratana #they MUST have done this on purpose wtf #angela giarriatana #angela

[bakedbakermom]

they are all things (read on ao3)

post-ep for "all things" // T // 535 words tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

Mulder stirs when Scully slips into bed beside him – a pleasant surprise, though not a wholly unexpected one. They’ve been slipping into each others’ beds for a little while now.

#holy shit the pipes have been clogged for months but i finally wrote something. #bird by motherfucking bird indeed #please note that due to tumblr admitting they will allow content scraping i will no longer be posting my fics here in their entirety #i opted out but i don't trust any of these ai companies to abide by that #my fics are on ao3 and require an account to read. #x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #xfiles #the xfiles #mulder and scully #my fic #my writing #dailytxf #they are all things

[james-p-sullivan]

i managed to write about 1.4 k words yesterday and i am over the moon about this

#i know ive been really whiney about it #but seriously having my creative outlet ripped from my hands was really horrific when i needed it the most #but something clicked yesterday #and i was able to bang out a nice little intro #and i actually liked it???? #like i want to go back and add some more things and expand on something I briefly touched #but holy shit you guys i got it down on paper #i cant describe to you how difficult writing is when you don’t recognize letters #and im not someone who is able to use speech to text #I TRIED #i practically go mute any time a recording device is near me #i try to speak so hard but nothing comes out #ive always been like that #i just clam up #BUT ANYWAY #GUYS I WROTE SOMETHING #PLEASE PAT ME ON THE BACK :D #fan fic talk #sulley speaks

[hopalongfairywren]

I wrote a fic for the @sixteenth-day-event lol check it out https://archiveofourown.org/works/53093737

#dream smp #dsmp #dsmp sixteenth day event #c!hannah #c!sam #holy shit i actually wrote something

[twistedtavern]

Another reverse au interaction or continuation? (I like the reverse au)

It has been EONS since I have received this ask, but now I know exactly which of them shall be tonight's Mother of Fucker. Idk this is kinda more of a character introduction than anything.

CW: Yandere, I tried to salvage this irreverent/sarcastic Yuu but idk if it worked, reader is Yuu, canon-typical racism, canon-typical Sebek slander, murder/execution mention, LIGHTLY IMPLIED planning of genocide, implied abuse

You swore today was going to be a normal day when you woke up.

You had awoken, got ready for your inevitably exhausting day at NRC, and the moment you were about to be on your merry way, you were greeted by none other than Lilia Vanrouge and... Sebek with his hair down?

Lilia explained that apparently there was a second Sebek running around, this being the second in question, and long story short he was dumping Diasomnia's 6'2 crocodile surplus on you.

And as Lilia left, you could see for the barest second that this strange other Sebek looked back at him with the shiftiest eyes you had ever seen. Even Jamil, pre ass-kicking, looked less shifty than this rat bastard who had been placed before you, but everyone in this school was either shifty or a rat bastard or very much both, so he fit right in.

The differences from the Sebek you were used to were minute, but noticeable. Most apparent was his hairstyle, not overloaded with gel to keep it upright, and instead left to hang down. Funnily, it almost made him look like a completely different person. The front of his blazer was buttoned up completely, and the ribbon signifying his dorm was missing, as well as the golden pin to go with it. If it weren't for the bright green magestone, you wouldn't have been able to tell he was even in Diasomnia.

You blinked owlishly up at him, and he looked down at you before promptly looking away and bowing his head, as if to avoid eye contact.

" Greetings, prefect. I don't want any trouble. Just say the word, and I will leave," he said simply. He raised his head again, still very pointedly not looking you in the eye as his gaze scanned around Ramshackle. He seemed quietly surprised by his surroundings.

You looked at him in confusion, deciding to just be a polite host, " Uh... No, you're okay. You can grab a snack and sit down, if you want. I don't have a lot of movies, but I've memorized the passwords to Cater's streaming subscriptions."

His voice suddenly changed as a faint confusion ghosted over his features before being replaced by a polite, small smile, " Ah, forgive me. It seems you are quite different from the Ramshackle Prefect that I have been accustomed to,"  he bowed halfway at the waist, one arm bent behind his back as the other reached to gingerly take your hand in his and raise the back of your palm to his lips.

Hearing Sebek's boisterous, proud shouts replaced by a low, dulcet tone as his gloved thumb traced over your knuckles rendered you speechless. You could only blink through your sheer lack of comprehension. You were being handled like glass, in stark contrast to the occasional times your usual Sebek would unceremoniously pick you up by the collar to plop you down wherever he saw fit.

The subtle tilt of his head and his half-lidded eyes sent a whirl of the most baffled butterflies in Wonderland alight in your gut as he finally looked into your eyes. Sebek... kinda looked good with his hair down... That was all you would say. You dumbly looked up at him as he stood at full height again, your hand still over his. His smile returned as he saw your expression, and he spoke again.

" I am Sebek Zigvolt," he placed his other hand over yours, and don't think anyone d been this blatantly into you since your last conversation with Rook. " I am honored to be your houseguest."

" O-Oh. Thanks...!" you squeaked out.

His expression became gentler, if that was even possible, and he continued, " Pardon my ignorance, but what is your name? I'm afraid I've never heard the housewarden of Ramshackle referred to as anything more polite than the Prefect, at least from Dawn Phoenix College."

" I'm Yuu. I'm not much housewarden as I am the only non-cat to live here, I guess," you paused as his words fully registered in your brain, " Wait- Dawn Pheonix? I've never heard of that."

The... transfer student(?) looked puzzled, " It is the school attended by His Highness and Grand General Vanrouge," he seemed somewhat... irritated having to say it, a shocking development, given that the Sebek you knew made his downright worship of the former a good three-fourths of his entire personality. " But it appears as if this place can boast that same accolade."

" Yeah. This is Night Raven College. Where's Dawn Pheonix located?" you asked. You were usually tasked with being the resident helper, so you began to naturally slip into that mode.

" Sage Island, if memory serves," he mused, before coyly smiling at you. You felt his hand move from covering yours to... holding your chin up?!?

" If I may, I must admit I do enjoy this Night Raven College far more."

You froze at the contact like you had been raised in a nunnery, and you felt your face heat up. From your throat came a noise like the peep of a tiny bird, and you immediately turned your head in embarassment, squeezing your eyes shut. He chuckled, and-

" THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!!"

A large figure came between the two of you, a heavy hand over your face shoving you back so hard you fell square on your butt, and the push from the other hand hardly made your companion stumble back.

Sebek, your Sebek, had suddenly arrived, here just in time to give you your daily headache. He turned to yell at you, but your attention caught on the expression of the second. The other crocodile turned to look at him with a sharp, silent stare, green eyes wide and pupils slitted. It was almost startling, how his demeanor changed from gentle and flirtatious to seething anger barely being restrained.

You expected him to do something, but he stood completely still, gaze locked completely on the yelling guard as he scolded you about propriety. What surprised you was yet another complete 180 in tone, an amicable smile to rival Kalim's appearing on his face as he set a hand on your frenemy's shoulder.

" Come now, brother! It's just a mere human. I see no need to bother."

Sebek whirled around upon feeling his touch, still scowling. " Then just what were you doing, TOUCHING them like that?!?"

Not-Sebek seemed completely unbothered by his words, " Ah, don't be that way! I was just having a little bit of fun. It wouldn't have gone much farther, I assure you."

This statement angered both Sebek and you, the heat on your cheeks increasing in intensity from your embarrassment mixing with newfound indignation at his implication that you were "just" some human toy he could have "fun" with. Sebek opened his mouth before you could, " HOW DARE YOU? The prefect is NOT some- S-Some PLAYTHING!! They may be a puny human, but they can't be that easy to string along!"

You scoffed in offense as you looked at both of them, and you saw the cornered half-fae's gaze flit towards you for the barest second before his smile faded slightly. His eyes narrowed somewhat as he looked at Sebek, " And what's got you so interested in what I do with them? To think, you'd be keeping His Excellency waiting so."

Sebek's attitude changed in an instant. You facepalmed while Sebek squawked, " T-The young master?!? He's waiting?!?"

Not-Sebek nodded and tutted at him with crossed arms as if disappointed, " Since you seem so concerned about this human, I had naturally assumed you would be here. I was sent to fetch you for urgent business, since we all know just how much you are relied on."

" WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME WHEN I WALKED IN?!?" he all but screeched, before darting out the door, " I'M COMING, MASTER MALLEUS!!"

The remaining first-year snickered wryly to himself as his adversary practically disappeared into thin air, muttering to himself, " Works every time... boot-licking sucker."

He turned to you, his self-satisfied sneer pulling the exact same disappearing act when he saw your expression. With a face like he had been injured, he dropped to one knee before you, holding his head low and crossing one arm over his chest.

" I beg that you forgive me. You are my gracious host, and this is not the first time I have had to utter such slanderous lies in front of a crown loyalist. It was done for the sole purpose of preserving your safety," he said with as much of a smooth, even tone as one could while simpering on the floor.

You gawked at him, still angry, before speaking your piece, " My safety? In front of Sebek?? The greatest threat HE poses to me is rendering me deaf! I'll tell you one thing, and it's that this school is full of two-faced con artists, and I'm sick of it! I'm sure as hell not gonna have one staying in my dorm without proof of improvement!"

He looked up like you had struck him. You pointed firmly toward the door, " Go! Go on back to wherever your overgrown lizard prince is skulking around! Shoo!"

You saw the green locks lower again, hiding a sharp-toothed snarl and brightened green eyes as the crocodile fae bristled at your rejection. His hands balled into white-knuckled fists as his face became politely remorseful, and he stood up. Not-Sebek looked at you with mournful, yet determined eyes, " I will give you the proof you desire as soon as possible, honored housewarden."

" Good for you, now get!" you huffed.

He bowed his head once more before leaving, walking out the door just like his counterpart.

Once he had walked far enough away, a rage overcame him, dead silent and blazing. Not towards you, an innocent human would never earn his wrath, but towards that disgusting, dirty sympathizer that had interrupted his time in your presence. Finally, someone else he could truly dedicate his cause to, and yet, through pure meddling, he would need to get back into your good graces.

" ...to the gallows... no, the guillotine."

His words came out in a growling hiss, swearing his revenge... just another head to put on a pike once the time was right. Once the dragon falls, it'd only be a matter of time until his circus of a court will follow at the hand of the future Lord Zigvolt, dragon-slaying usurper of Briar Valley, and the last remainder of fae blood.

A glittering hoard, a towering throne, and the corpses of every fae in the Valley rotting on the outside just as within... A crown on his head, just like it belongs. A shimmering ring on your finger, just where it belongs. All of it, his dream, the thing that made everything worth it. Every straining smile, every time he was forced to say "human" as if it were a dirty word, every time he'd seen poor Silver limping through the halls at another ungodly hour.

Some day, it all had to come to an end... Didn't it...?

#reverse twst au #reverse!sebek #HOLY SHIT I ACTUALLY WROTE SOMETHING #twst au #i am NOT putting this bastard in the general Sebek tag

[evanesdust]

need you tonight (and always)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Additional Tags: POV Stiles Stilinski, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Derek Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Deputy Derek Hale, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Crushes, Confessions, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Knotting, Rimming, Second Chances, Getting Together

Summary:

On his way home from work, Stiles's Jeep broke down. Which normally wouldn't have been a problem, except his heat was two weeks early, so he needed to get home. Now. Fortunately, Deputy Derek came to his rescue—in more ways than one.

It was half past ten when Stiles's Jeep broke down.

"Fuck my life," he groaned, banging his head against the steering wheel. He chanted in prayer as he tried the ignition again. "Okay, c'mon, please start. Please start, please start, please start…"

Nothing.

He muttered a curse at the realization that he was stuck, stranded on the side of the road.

"Why now? Why? Why is this my life?" Because while he wasn't surprised the Jeep broke down—honestly, the damn thing was practically held together by duct tape and hope—Stiles would have preferred it to happen at literally any other time than right now.

His stomach cramped on cue, as if he needed to be reminded why his Jeep breaking down sucked so fucking bad right now. His heat hit early. He'd been at the library studying when he started feeling warm. There was already a light flush on his cheeks when he went to the bathroom, but he didn't think anything of it. Not even when he began to grow restless.

It wasn't until he got to work that afternoon that he noticed a lot of people turning his way, their noses held high as they sniffed the air. Two hours into his shift, his boss pulled him aside, telling him there were complaints about allowing an omega in heat to work without scent blockers.

Stiles argued that he wasn't in heat, but then the cramping started.

It played out like a bad movie. His stomach clenched, and his boxers grew damp with slick. Then Brett—a regular at the bakery—came in. He was always so nice, so Stiles was startled when Brett damn near dragged him over the counter and pinned him against it.

Brett's eyes flashed red, and he growled something about Stiles's scent but thankfully had enough control to pull himself away before doing anything more. As Brett ran out of the shop, he glanced over his shoulder, throwing Stiles an apologetic look.

Stiles bit back a curse. His heat wasn't due for another two weeks. Thankfully, he'd managed to make it through the rest of his shift without incident. Of course, it was also spent in the back office, filing paperwork at his boss's insistence.

Seriously, fuck his life.

Stiles dug his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Scott's number. He didn't have the time to try and figure out what was wrong with Roscoe, and who better to call to pick him up than his best friend-slash-roommate, right? Except Scott didn't answer.

So he tried again. "C'mon, Scottie. Pick up, pick up, pick up."

When the call clicked to voicemail for a second time, Stiles remembered Scott was out on a date.

"Wish I were on a fucking date," he muttered. Preferably with his crush, Derek Hale.

They'd met nearly six months ago at a bar. Stiles had been out with friends when Derek walked in. The attraction was immediate. One thing led to another, and within the hour, Derek had Stiles pinned up against a wall and then bent over his couch, their clothes haphazardly strewn around Derek's loft.

Unfortunately, while they had explosive chemistry, any chance of a second time was thrown out the window when Derek learned that Stiles was the sheriff's son. As it turned out, Derek was the newest deputy for the Beacon County Sheriff's Department and didn't want to risk any kind of conflict by screwing around with his boss's son.

Memories of the way Derek had touched him flash through Stiles's mind, making his body hot, his cock hard, and his hole slick.

God, what Stiles would do for a repeat. Seriously. Derek's dick was magnificent.

But that wasn't the only reason Stiles liked Derek. Sure, he was drawn in by Derek's stupidly handsome face, ridiculous muscles, and fantastic cock, but that wasn't what kept his crush alive all these months. Derek was genuinely one of the nicest guys Stiles had ever met. He was always volunteering at the local cat rescue in town. Not only changing the litter boxes and making sure the cats had food and water but also sitting with them. Seriously, the image of Derek Hale cuddling kittens was adorable.

Then, there was the time a storm blew through town, damaging some homes. Derek was the first person to grab a toolbox and ask what he could do to help. And, to top it off, Derek took in three betas who were without a pack. He provided them a safe haven, a home. A family. Honestly, Stiles admired the hell out of him.

Another cramp hit, pulling Stiles out of his thoughts. With a heavy sigh, he called his dad, but there was no answer. He wouldn't be surprised if his dad was still at work, so he called the sheriff's station.

"Beacon County Sheriff's Department. This is Deputy Hale speaking. How may I help you?"

"Er, he-ey, Deputy Hale." Stiles chuckled nervously because, of course, it would be Derek who answered. "It's Stiles."

"Hi, Stiles."

God, the way Derek says his name made a shiver run down Stiles's spine. His pants became uncomfortably damp.

"Stiles?"

"Sorry, um," Stiles cleared his throat. "Is my dad busy? I tried calling his cell, but he didn't answer."

There was some shuffling over the line, presumably as Derek got up from his desk to check.

"His door's closed. He's doing evals this week and called Graeme in a while ago, so he might still be with her. Is this an emergency? I can interrupt."

"Nonono," Stiles said quickly. "When he's done, can you just let him know that my Jeep died again? I'm sitting out by," he glanced around, trying to get a bearing for where he was, "Old Windsor Road."

"My shift's actually done. I can pick you up."

"No, that's— Really, you don't have to. Besides, if you did that, then you'd be going out of your way to take me home. I can wait until my dad's free." And the last thing Stiles needed was for Derek to scent his arousal. Just the thought of Derek being there made him leak more slick.

"Are you sure?" Before Stiles could answer, Derek said, "Actually, Tara just left his office. I'll transfer you now."

Oh, thank God. "Awesome. Thanks, Derek."

"No problem. Just one second."

There was a click and then the line rang twice before his dad picked up. "Sheriff Stilinski speaking."

"He-ey, Dad. You know how I'm your favorite son?"

"You're my only son."

"And therefore your favorite," Stiles insisted.

"Meh. Maybe if you visited more."

"Rude." Stiles rolled his eyes, too used to his dad's teasing. "Anyway, Roscoe died."

"Stiles…" His dad sighed. "I know how important the Jeep is to you, but—"

"I will never abandon this Jeep, you understand me? Ever." Though Stiles knew that at some point, someday, he'd have to give up his mom's old Jeep and find something more reliable. "I'm gonna fix her, but I need to get home first. I already tried Scott, but he didn't answer."

"Alright. Where are you?"

"I'm on—" Stiles was cut off by three rapid beeps. He realized his call dropped when he pulled his phone away from his ear. "Shit."

And, because his life sucked, his phone died as he tried to call back. And, naturally, his portable charger wasn't in the glove compartment where it should be.

Seriously, fuck his life.

What was that old saying? When it rains, it pours? Well, right now, it was a damn torrential downpour.

"I charged you!" Stiles yelled, glaring at his phone as if that would magically turn it back on.

The car was suddenly too small, the metal exterior closing in around him as anger and frustration coursed through his veins, so he climbed out, slamming the door behind him.

The moon hung high in the sky as Stiles paced along the edge of the preserve. The trees cast ominous shadows in the early autumn breeze, their dark fingers stretching toward him in the moonlight.

He'd seen enough horror movies to be freaked out by being alone this close to the woods. These kinds of situations never ended well for guys who were one hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone—not to mention how bad his luck had already been tonight.

No, stop!

He was a grown man; he was absolutely not scared. Nope.

A cool gust of wind breezed over Stiles, and he briskly rubbed his hands over his arms, smoothing away the goosebumps as he blew out a breath. "Okay. Okay. This is fine. Everything's fine."

Famous last words.

His stomach clenched, and he hoped his dad was on the way because he seriously needed to get home as soon as possible. He needed his dildo—the knotting one if the way his hole clenched desperately around nothing was any indication.

He briefly considered walking to his dad's. It was closer than his apartment, and he knew he could hole up in his old room during his heat because, as much as he loved Scott, he'd rather have his dad checking in on him. Scott's alpha control was good but not great, and it was always awkward when Scott popped boners just because Stiles was in heat.

But his phone was dead, and there was no way he was walking through the woods without a light source. Plus, if any random alpha came across him… Nope, Stiles didn't even want to think about that. Instead, he thought about his bed and dildo. Absolutely not about Derek because that just made him clench with need. Fuck, he really needed to be filled. Like right now.

It was only a few minutes before a siren wailed and headlights appeared around the bend. Red and blue lights flashed atop the sheriff's cruiser that parked behind Stiles's Jeep, and Stiles sighed in relief.

The driver's side door opened and a tall figure walked toward him, but the moonlight wasn't enough for Stiles to make out any details. It had to be his dad, though.

"Oh, thank God. You have no idea how happy I am to see y—" Stiles stopped short because the person coming closer wasn't his dad.

Fuck.

Seriously, no one should look that good in a uniform, but Derek was easily the most gorgeous man Stiles had ever seen.

Stiles's eyes swept over Derek, whose uniform fit so snugly it practically clung to him—so taut across his thighs, hips, and broad chest it was just shy of indecent. Derek was the epitome of sex on legs. A walking wet dream.

God, and those arms!

Stiles couldn't help but remember how those muscular, tanned biceps held him against a wall as Derek fucked him senseless.

Derek's nostrils flared.

Stiles flushed in embarrassment, in complete mortification. Derek was an alpha werewolf, so there was no way he couldn't smell Stiles's arousal or the slick that was now dripping down his legs. "I am so sorry! What are you doing here?"

"Told your dad I'd pick you up," Derek said, his words now slurring around his fangs. His eyes flashed crimson as his nostrils flared again.

With supernatural speed, Derek was on top of Stiles, pressing him against the Jeep with his face shoved against the crook of Stiles's neck.

Stiles sucked in a breath because that shouldn't have been as hot as it was, but he lost all train of thought because Derek's scruff felt fantastic against his skin.

He moaned wantonly. His cock was hard—painfully so—and he was pretty sure if he dropped trou right now, his boxers would land on the ground with a sickening splat.

"Oh my God, yes!" Stiles gripped Derek's hips, rutting against him as Derek mouthed at his neck. "Pleasepleaseplease."

He'd been tempted to ask Derek about helping him through his heat, but he didn't think Derek would do it since he'd shut down any possibility of a relationship, and Stiles didn't want to make things awkward. Not to mention, Derek probably would have said no, considering Stiles was still the sheriff's son.

Derek wrenched himself away, his chest heaving and his hands clenched at his sides as if it was taking everything to hold himself back. "Get in the cruiser and go."

"Wait, what?" Stiles frowned, confused. 

"I don't—I need—my control…" Derek growled. "You need to go. Now. I can't—I can't control myself around you."

"Why?"

That didn't make any sense because Derek always had impeccable control. Anytime there was a call involving an omega in heat, Derek was the only alpha his dad trusted to deal with it. Like Scott, most alphas had at least some reaction to an omega in heat, like popping a boner or beta-shifting. Not Derek, though. It had earned him quite the reputation and was another reason Stiles thought so highly of him.

"Because it's you!" Derek growled again. "God, your scent. I can't—"

"What about my scent?" Stiles crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed, even though all he wanted to do was get on all fours and present his ass to Derek for the taking.

Derek let out a pained whine. "You smell like cinnamon rolls and home. Sweet and familiar."

Oh.

Oh.

Stiles's eyes went wide. Derek liked him.

Derek liked him.

But why? Their situation hadn't changed at all. Stiles was still the sheriff's son, and if Derek really did like him, he would have said something before now. Right?

Still, all Stiles could think was, "You mean we could have been together this entire time? Months of sex! We've missed months of sex!" His yell echoed through the trees. Shit. Okay, he definitely hadn't meant to say all that out loud. "Not that I just want you for your dick or anything," he quickly added, "but I'm in heat and horny and you're standing there, staring at me like you wanna eat me."

Derek growled again, and when Stiles glanced at him, it looked like Derek was seriously second-guessing his taste in men. Or, at least, his attraction to Stiles. But Stiles couldn't really focus on that right now because he was in heat, and Derek had already admitted to liking him. So, no, Stiles didn't feel bad about being an antagonizing little shit. Not at all.

Plus, there were instincts at play. He was an omega in heat with a very attractive alpha werewolf looking at him like he was the most desirable prey. Like he'd love to just devour Stiles.

And Stiles was more than willing to let him. So, instead of getting in the cruiser, he smirked and stepped back.

"Stiles." Derek's voice was hard, like he was warning Stiles not to tempt him.

Well, where was the fun in that? So without a second thought, Stiles ran.

A howl rang out behind him, the sound echoing through the preserve. Stiles swore he could feel it in his bones, shaking his very core—Derek was calling for him, and Stiles desperately wanted to answer.

His pulse skyrocketed. He let out a shuddering breath as blood surged to his head, drowning out nearly everything until he heard the snap of a branch breaking. The sound filled him with a rush of excitement. His breath hitched and he forced himself to pick up his speed.

Another branch broke, and then another. The sound grew closerclosercloser, and when Stiles glanced behind himself, he tripped and fell onto his ass in his haste to get away. Rocks and twigs dug into his palms as he pushed himself up. He didn't bother dusting off the dirt as he spun on his heels and started to run again.

There was no way he was making this easy for Derek.

Another howl broke through the trees, only this time, it sounded almost gleeful.

Stiles ran until his lungs burned—until his legs gave out. He was pretty sure that Derek could have taken him down by now, but it was like Derek was teasing him.

Like this was a game, and Stiles was the prize.

Stiles pivoted, trying not to trip again as he crouched against a fallen oak tree. His skin tingled, his stomach swooping, and his heart beating an erratic tempo against his ribcage as he tried to outrun an alpha werewolf.

Thwack.

Stiles banged his head against the tree trunk before hauling himself up. His thighs burned as he ran again, wincing as the leaves crunched beneath his feet, giving away his position.

Come on, Stiles, think!

There was a snap of another branch breaking. Stiles blanched as he fell again, and then—

He was pinned. Derek's hard body pressed him to the ground, his teeth settling against Stiles's neck. All it would take was the slightest pressure to pierce his flesh. So Stiles waited.

Only it never came. He whined as the weight on his back disappeared, and then he heard a groan.

Stiles tried to flip over, but strong hands gripped his hips, keeping him still. He squealed in surprise when Derek shoved his face between Stiles's ass cheeks, inhaling like a man starved for air.

Stiles's hole clenched in response, and a thick line of slick dripped between his thighs. Derek released a pleased rumble-purr and lapped at the wet spot on the back of Stiles's pants.

God, Stiles was so ready for Derek to fuck him now.

"I will," Derek said, his voice low and rough.

Shit. Stiles must have said that out loud.

"Please. Please, Derek." Stiles seriously needed to be filled—needed something as the first wave of heat took over.

"I've got you, baby."

Stiles had never really cared for terms of endearment, but Derek could call him anything right now, and he wouldn't care.

Cold air hit Stiles's ass as the back of his jeans and boxers were ripped open, the tattered fabric falling against his thighs. He glanced over his shoulder and glared, but the look of hunger on Derek's face instantly made him forget why he was mad.

Then Stiles forgot how to breathe because Derek's face was back between his asscheeks, his breath ghosting along the crack, followed by strong, slow sweeps of his tongue over Stiles's hole.

"Taste so good," Derek murmured like he was unwilling to pull away for even a second. "Missed this. Dreamt about tasting you again."

Derek's fingers joined in on the action, and Stiles reached back, brazenly spreading himself wide open for Derek.

It was like every sensation has been amplified by a thousand. Every bead of sweat felt heavy on Stiles's skin; the tickle and scratch of Derek's scruff against his ass sent jolts of pleasure up Stiles's spine. He was so keyed up that it wouldn't take long for him to get off with the way Derek was working him over.

"You have such a greedy hole. So hot and tight, sucking me in like you'll never get enough," Derek praised, his voice gruff as he crooked his fingers just right. Stiles cried out, barely managing to snake a hand under himself to wrap around his own cock before it pulsed, the warmth of his release spilling over his fingers. Still, he kept stroking until he had nothing left and his muscles stopped convulsing.

Derek growled hungrily, flipping Stiles over to lap at his balls and spent cock. Stiles lifted his hand to his mouth and licked his fingers, smirking when Derek growled again. Then Stiles moaned as Derek grabbed his hand, bringing it to his mouth, lapping up the rest of the cum on Stiles's fingers.

"Oh, fuck. That's hot." Once Derek licked every trace of cum from his fingers, Stiles asked, "Are you gonna fuck me now?"

Derek grunted, and somehow Stiles knew that was Derek-speak for 'yes.' Except instead of lining his cock up and driving into Stiles, Derek stood, easily hoisting Stiles up with him, too—one hand settled on his ass to hold him up. Stiles instinctively wrapped his legs around Derek's waist and opened his mouth to ask where they were going.

"Not here," Derek interrupted before Stiles could even speak. "I'm not knotting you in the middle of the woods."

Stiles bit back a grin. He loved that even though Derek's control was tenuous right now, he had enough sense for that. He also loved that Derek slid two fingers into his hole, knowing how desperate he was to be filled. Stiles clenched around his fingers and moaned. Now that he'd had an orgasm, it would be wave after wave of heat for the next four days. He couldn't even bring himself to care that Derek was carrying him through the woods, ass out on display for all to see while Derek was still fully clothed in his deputy's uniform.

"Ah, God, your fingers feel so good." Stiles rolled his hips and mouthed at Derek's neck. When Derek crooked his fingers just right, Stiles moaned again.

It wasn't enough, though. Stiles became frustrated as he keened and pushed back for more.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry," Derek said, adding a third finger. "We're almost there, I promise."

Stiles didn't respond, palming himself until he came again, Derek's name on his lips. Always Derek. Only Derek.

Derek increased his pace, and soon, they were in front of a house Stiles had never seen before.

"Where—?"

"It's the pack house," Derek told him, pausing at the base of the front porch steps. Stiles whined when Derek's fingers slipped out of him. "It's okay, it's okay," Derek soothed. He shrugged out of his jacket, quickly covering Stiles's ass before hurrying up the steps and kicking the door open so hard it splintered the wood.

Stiles blushed at the thoughtfulness.

There was a snort, and when Stiles glanced over his shoulder, he saw Derek's beta, Erica, standing in the entryway. Her arms were crossed, and she had a perfectly plucked brow raised. "The door was unlocked, y'know?"

"Not now, Erica!" Derek barked out, tromping past both her and one of the other betas that Derek took in a few months ago. Boyd, if Stiles remembered correctly. Everything was getting hazy, though. All he wanted right now was for Derek to fill him. He wanted Derek's knot.

Derek growled and carried him up the stairs, but not before Stiles distantly heard Erica call out, "We're going to meet Isaac at the bar. Don't do anything I wouldn't d—"

However, her words were cut off as soon as Derek slammed his bedroom door shut.

Derek was surprisingly gentle when he laid Stiles on the center of the bed, considering he had practically devolved into a caveman. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, illuminating Stiles as he fisted the soft, silky sheets. It was like he was under a spotlight.

"Derek. Derek, please. Want you to fuck me so bad," Stiles said, unable to keep quiet under Derek's scrutinizing gaze. "Need you."

The pleas must have worked because the next thing he knew, they were both naked, and Derek's deliciously warm body was blanketing him.

Stiles trembled as Derek's hands trailed over his body, sliding down his sides to his thighs, urging Stiles to spread his legs. Derek settled between them, cupping Stiles's ass and lifting him slightly.

Derek's fingers were at Stiles's hole again, gathering slick on his fingers, then running them over his—quite honestly—massive cock and getting it wet.

"Are you ready?" Derek asked breathlessly, lining himself up.

Stiles's back arched off the bed as he looked up at Derek with desperate, pleading eyes. "Fuck me. Need it. Need to feel you inside of me. Pleasepleaseplease."

Derek growled and rocked forward, sliding inside him with one smooth thrust. Stiles cried out and threw his head back. When Derek found an angle that had him hitting Stiles's prostate with every thrust, Stiles released the white-knuckle grip he had on the sheets in favor of raking his blunt nails down Derek's back.

The bed creaked as they rocked in perfect rhythm, and Stiles mindlessly murmured his pleasure. Yes. More. Fuckfuckfuck.

Derek growled with each thrust, repeating the same word over and over again. "Mine."

"Yours," Stiles assured him. "Only yours. My alpha."

"Mine."

"Yoursyoursyours," Stiles cried as he dug his feet into the firm, muscular globes of Derek's ass.

Derek growled against his neck, nipping and sucking what were sure to be dark, red bruises into his skin. "You don't even know—fuck—how much I've missed this. Wanted this. God, Stiles—"

Stiles muttered a string of curses and pleas as Derek fucked him mercilessly, sending jolts of white-hot electricity throughout his body.

"Fuck," Derek moaned, rutting into Stiles—faster, deeper, harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a syncopated rhythm against their primal grunts and groans and Stiles's helpless whimpers.

His hole pulsed around Derek's cock. His legs clenched around Derek's waist, and he came for the third time that night with a shout, stifling his scream into the crook of Derek's neck as he shook through his release.

Derek kissed him, hot and insistent. Stiles couldn't help but moan into Derek's mouth when his hole stretched even more as Derek's knot swelled. It caught against Stiles's rim a few times until Derek couldn't pull out any longer. Every pulse of Derek's cock sent shock waves through Stiles's body. He'd never felt so full. So sated.

Stiles was hypnotized by the look of pleasure that contorted Derek's face. It was a look of almost-awed pain, as if this were so good, it might just kill him.

Derek ground against him forcefully until Stiles cried out Derek's name again as another orgasm hit him out of nowhere. It was everything he'd ever wanted, yet more than he'd ever dreamed of at the same time. He felt amazing—panting hard and completely out of breath while his whole body tingled with pleasure.

So good, so perfect.

"Mine," Derek said again, collapsing on Stiles's chest. They were slick with sweat, but neither could be bothered to move.

Stiles could tell Derek was in full control again when he trailed a hand down his side, his touch featherlight.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Derek asked quietly.

"No. Feels good. So full." Stiles blushed when Derek pushed up from his elbows to look down between them. As he pictured his hole stretched over Derek's knot, he clenched reflexively, sending another shiver down his spine.

God. His hole probably looked fucking obscene.

Derek made a pained sound and grabbed Stiles's hips to still him. "Keep doing that and it won't go down any time soon."

"How long?" Stiles asked since Derek hadn't knotted him the last time.

Derek leaned down, nuzzling into the crook of Stiles's neck. "Don't know. I've never actually knotted anyone before."

The news surprised Stiles. "You haven't?"

"I've never wanted to."

"But you do now?" Because Derek liked him. For some reason, Stiles pictured Sandra Bullock's character from Miss Congeniality and sang, "You think I'm gorgeous. You want to date me. You want to love me. Marry me."

"Yes. I want that," Derek said seriously before his face softened. "Somehow, despite the fact that you're clearly insane—"

"Hey!"

"—I like you. I always have, but I was being stupid."

"You were," Stiles said with a nod, smiling softly as his heart flipped in his chest. "Not gonna let you be stupid anymore."

"I know. In fact, I already asked your dad for his permission to—"

"You asked my dad," Stiles interrupted, "for permission to date me?"

"I asked him how he would feel if we started dating." Derek held his finger to Stiles's lips to stop him from interrupting again. "It was just a courtesy since he is my boss, but I've been working up the courage to ask you out for the past few months. Him saying yes was just reassurance because if you hated me at all, then I'm pretty sure he would have told me not to bother."

"Months?" Stiles shook his head, not understanding why Derek would think he hated him.

"I know I messed things up when I found out you were my boss's son. You've kept your distance, and I was sure it was because you didn't want anything to do with me anymore."

"That's not true! I was respecting your decision."

"I know. I know that now." Derek brushed his fingers down the side of Stiles's face, smiling softly.

Stiles sighed. "Well, at least that explains why my dad was acting weird during dinner last week. He kept grinning. It was…disturbing."

Derek chuckled. "Speaking of which…do you wanna let your dad or Scott know that you'll be spending your heat here?"

"Yeah, I should. Can I borrow your phone? Mine's dead."

"Of course."

Thankfully, Derek's pants were close, so he was able to grab his cell phone with a minimal amount of maneuvering. Stiles sent a quick message to both his dad and Scott so they didn't worry. Then, as much as he hated to admit it, exhaustion pulled at him. Multiple orgasms in a short amount of time would do that to a person.

He yawned. "'m tired."

"Okay." Derek kissed his shoulder. "Sleep. I'll get you cleaned up as soon as my knot goes down."

Stiles whined at the thought of not being filled.

"Shh...it's okay. Trust me, baby. I'll take care of you," Derek said, giving him a sweet kiss. "Wait, let's—" He wrapped his arms around Stiles and carefully flipped them until Stiles was lying on top of him. "There. How's that? More comfortable?"

Stiles mumbled his agreement incoherently, even though he would have been perfectly fine with Derek's weight over him. Derek's knot tugged deliciously at his rim, but he couldn't stop his eyes from closing. With Derek's arms holding him tightly, he fell asleep to the rhythmic rise and fall of Derek's chest against his cheek and a warm, happy feeling in his gut. One that was filled with promises of tomorrow, their future, and forever.

#sterek #sterek fic #sterek au #holy shit i wrote something

[a-gal-with-taste]

29 and 38 | Silco x Reader

:3c

Oh, you're evil. I love you

Troupe Mash-Up | Wedding-Fic & Grief-Fic | Silco/F!Reader | ANGST | Fears of Mortality | Discussions of Death | Pre-Canon | Feral/Sad Zaunite Revolutionaries | Speed-Wedding | Hopeful Ending

You didn't have time for this.

You knew that, and a part of you had always known. There wasn't nearly enough time for this, for anything.

There had never, ever been enough time, and it's proven, by how quickly the ashes dissipated into the waves: forgotten, and swallowed up by the sea.

So, impossibly, horrfiyingly quickly.

Dully, you blink slowly as the current does-away with what remains -- they say death is so permanent, but a mere-blink, and all existence of it is already gone.

You give another slow blink, before you turn to him. In the same instant, sea-green eyes find yours and you immediately lose kinship with thought, with air-

Silco's eyes are as turbulent as the crashing-waves of the River Pilt before you both, dark grey-blues that bleed into the vibrancy of the sea. Fascination doesn't even scratch the surface of explaining what you feel when you normally look into that ever-thinking gaze... but right now, when you look into those bright hues, fascination is not what you feel.

You feel afraid.

Strangling you, choking you, there is a sudden, desperate jolt of fear that courses in your veins as you stare back at him, gazing into eyes so fierce and alive...

And knowing, from recent experience, just how quickly eyes like that can grow dull and dead-

"Marry me."

You don't have time.

You never, ever have enough time.

And you don't dare want to waste another second.

Considering how he only takes a single moment to consider, it's clear Silco has no-intentions of wasting time with you, either.

"Okay. When?"

"Now."

"Now?"

He's moreso curious, rather than shocked or indignant, perhaps even outraged at the demand. Maybe he should be... you are, of course, asking him to wed you at a funeral of friends.

But maybe that's the best place to wed. In the sight of what remains of friends, dead and gone.

Or maybe you've at last lost your sanity, it really feels like a toss-up. "You can say no," You inform him, shrugging a bit limply, letting out a small chuckle that is far from mirthful. "Yes, no... it makes no difference."

"It makes no difference whether or not we get married?"

Again, the Son of Zaun is only curious about the entire situation at-present. Keen for answers, but not seeking judgement or admonishment for your... less-than ideal timing, and lack of ring.

Turning away from the bright green, unjudging and daresay gentle glint of his gaze, your own travels to gaze back down into the waters below.

The waves are already clear.

It's sickening, how clean the water is already.

Fingertips touch your chin, and feeling strangely weightless as Silco tips your head back over, from the waves, to him. His eyes flick over your expression, the perpetual flat-line of his lips curling downwards at the edges and brows furrowing.

"I would prefer not to have a crying bride at my wedding," He says, but it's not meant to be insulting.

Regardless, your eyes still roll and your hand raises to tap-away his fingers. "I'm not crying-"

"But you're grieving." He insists.

You scoff, and it's ragged. "I wonder why-"

"We've faced death before. Personally and at a distance - It's an ever-present constant of Zaun, that you and I have both faced many, many times over," Silco pauses. Takes a small, tiny breath, that cracks at the calm expression on his face while his hand trails down, to grip at your own just a bit too tightly as his eyes darken. "It's... not easy."

Understatement. Zaunites are tough, but tragically, forever human at their core.

"But," He continues, squeezing your fingers until they twitch, and he returns to himself. From murky depths, the bright shine of his green-eyes returns when they mean your own gaze. "Typically... marriage-proposals don't erupt from such finality. So I feel the need to ask, why?"

A pause, where there's only the crashing waves and a distant rumble far overhead to speak in your stead.

You find your voice after a minute longer, when that grip on your hand starts to lessen and pull-away. "I love you."

"And I love you," He says, easily. "But why?"

He's not asking why you love him, because that's obvious enough.

You never have had the security of a promised-future, but your past has been long-since entwined with his. Death may be an ever-present constant for Zaun, but Silco has been your ever-present constant.

From the lowest-streets of the Sumps, to the highest-rooftops of the Fringes. From children of trash, to the Children of Zaun... You've done it all-together.

Again, you don't have the time. The unguaranteed of tomorrow, the nonexisting-promise of the future... that's been proven, many, many times over, and there's ashes already forgotten in the river, to help keep the reminder fresh.

"I can't lose you too," You admit in a whisper. Staying still, no longer dismissive or defiant when his hand comes up once-more to hold your chin, so he may continue to hold your gaze. "Why? Because I can't. I just... I can't, Silco."

"You will. One day."

It's a fact, and it's spoken as such. Silco is the kind that will go down thrashing, clawing, roaring and taking down as many with him when his heart-stops, and such a fact is one you have known for the entire time you have been in his life.

Still, you scoff and glare at him for saying it aloud, so flippantly. "You think I'll just sit by the sidelines? Think I won't go down fighting beside you, before I have to lose you?"

The fingers on your chin squeeze, and you become away of how chilly the air is, when compared to how warm his breath is on your face, and how his eyes blaze at your implication. "And you think I won't fight death-itself to prevent losing you?"

Another rumble from the stormclouds overhead.

The next time you speak, the sky has cracked open, and the fall of rain joins the spray of the sea that is steadily drenching you both.

"We'll lose one-another eventually. It's hardly a contest."

"It's an inevitably," Silco agrees, but it's clear he's not exactly thrilled at the prospect. He'll likely drag Piltover to hell with him, when the time comes... but it's not difficult to imagine he is a man willing to take the entire rest of the world down, should you fall-first.

It shouldn't be an endearing as it is. It shouldn't make you feel breathless as you are, and yet-

"Then if I have to lose you, let me have you first." You whisper in a hoarse tone, somehow still audible for him to hear... though it's equally unsurprisingly. He's so close, you might as well be sharing the same breaths of air. "Let me have you, have me, for as long as we got."

"I thought you said it made no difference, if we got married."

"It'll make no difference to the ashes." They won't care whether or not you wore rings on your hands, one of which turns to grasp onto his. "It would mean everything to me. You... you, mean everything to me."

Sappy as a trashy-romance, but one can afford to be sentimental at a funeral.

And a wedding, if the equal-squeezing of fingers around your own is any indication of Silco's choice.

You lean forward - now truly taking-in every inhale he exhales - to rest your forehead to his, the dark, dripping tendrils of his long dark hair acting as a bit of a curtain as he tips his face down, his lips brushing agaisny your own when you move them minutely.

"Silco, marry me."

"Okay. When?"

Your eyes close, and there's the beginnings of a smile.

There was some old netting up ahead, strong and sturdy despite age and disuse. No one would notice a few inches of twine hacked away, until the tied-loops could be replaced by true bands.

No one would notice two rebels, alone in the rain, with only the waves and ashes to hear the whispered promises, eternal vows Silco and you would speak.

Somewhat of a morbid ceremony. Not many brides would prefer it.

But you only smile at the mental image, that would soon be reality.

"Now?" There's too little time left to wait any longer than that. And you love him, by many, many facts, but also by the fact that he seems to agree.

"Now."

#holy shit I finished something?? #i WROTE something? #this was sweaty's fault #and y'all better thank her for it #THANK YOU SWEATY #silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco x reader #drabble #request #also i'm not editing this #you're going to take this treat and you're going to like it (i hope) #little different from what i write tone-wise but i had fun with this one #arcane fic #silco fic #arcane x reader

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Gentle Noise

Steve knows his house is quiet, even though all he can hear is the ringing in his ears and the pulse throbbing behind his eyes. It's been less than a week since the dogs. Less than a week since they saved the world again. And less than a week since Billy Hargrove almost killed him. 

The pain is less than before, slowly waning each day. He can finally drag himself out of bed and into the kitchen without exhausting himself. He's hungry and hasn't had a decent meal since before he became the babysitter. Diet mostly water, painkillers, and whatever snack he could scrounge up in his room. 

They'd tried their best to convince him he needed a hospital. "Another concussion could be dangerous". Like he doesn't know that already. 

But Steve's parents weren't home -- still aren't, won't be for a while -- and he didn't want them coming home early because of another fight. Another excuse to show their disappointment. The pinch of his mother’s brow and the tone his dad took up to explain how “real men win fights” is not something he’s eager to repeat. So no hospital. 

His house is always quiet. It's not like it's the first time he's noticing the silence. No, Steve first noticed his house was quiet the day of his fourteenth birthday. Then again the next year for Thanksgiving. Months and months of silence would pass by, broken up only by his parents’ brief layovers between business trips. Even when they were home, it was quiet, but a stronger, more oppressive silence. Not the neutral sounds of absence he was used to. Which Steve definitely prefers. 

Now, for the first time, he's wondering what a house would sound like if it was loud. If maybe he got lucky like everyone always told him, but not because of the money. Maybe because, with bad parents, it’s better to have a quiet house than a loud house.

He's trying to imagine what it would be like, living in that kind of noise. The yelling. The screaming between people who've screamed at each other for years. Crying and name calling. Never ending strings of curses so thoughtlessly thrown together that it sounds a little ridiculous and juvenile.  Music blaring, fists pounding on doors, cupboards slamming closed. The smell of stale cigarettes and spilt alcohol is too loud. Hair in the shower and stains on the toilet. An unbalanced washing machine, forgotten white noise on the TV, the sink dripping. It's all too loud. 

Can’t imagine her living in a place like that with nowhere to hide.

How can someone find quiet when their home is only noise? 

Steve pulls up outside of a house that looks like he expected. Took him a while to find it. Took him a bit to realize it was listed under a different last name. 

He notices the yard is yellowed, and as he gets closer, that there's a tear in the screen door. The sounds and smells seep from the edges of the house, everything he imagined leaking from its pores. He can't help but pause to consider that maybe this is a mistake. If he can handle the volume.

He knocks anyway. 

Steve knew what would happen once he did, guessed it by the car in the driveway. Yet it still didn't keep him from tensing as Billy Hargrove opened the door. 

House listed under Hargrove, not Mayfield.

A flicker of shock flashes across Billy's face before he quickly fashions it into casual hatred, disdain hidden behind a cocky smile. He’s shirtless and sweating, reeking of body odor and stale cigarettes. Behind him Steve glimpses the kitchen, littered with beer cans and unwashed dishes. The TV has been left on, white noise struggling for space against metal music drowning out the rest of the house. 

"What are you doing here, Harrington?" He sounds tough, aggressive. But he crosses his arms, taking a small step backwards into the house and rakes his gaze over Steve's face. He realizes that Billy seems nervous.

Maybe Billy does take threats seriously. Even when he's high on tranquilizers. 

"Where is she?" Steve asks, more akin to a demand. He straightens his shoulders. Braces himself just in case. Tightens his grip on the handle just out of sight. 

"I'm babysitting the brat until they get back. She's grounded after all that shit and she's not going anywhere with you--" 

"Go get her. Now. I wanna talk to her." Steve pulls the baseball bat into view from where it’s casually propped next to the door. Billy's eyes widen as he takes another larger step back. 

He can feel a migraine coming on. He hadn't eaten anything before leaving and was due for meds. At this point Steve was using the bat more as a crutch than as a threat, but Billy didn't need to know that. 

"Maxine! Get your ass out here," Billy shouts over his shoulder. He walks backwards further into the living room, still keeping his eyes on the bat. He fumbles his hand around on top of the end table next to him, blindly grabbing a crushed pack of smokes. Steve watches Billy stick a cigarette between his lips, glimpsing yellow-stained teeth behind chapped lips. 

Steve thinks maybe he’ll never smoke again. 

He's finally able to turn away as he catches sight of unruly red hair. She stares up at him, surprised and maybe a little curious, if Steve had to guess. He doesn't know her very well, doesn't know how to read her yet. But he sees she's wearing a headset around her neck, plugged into the Walkman in her pocket. 

Yeah, he supposes that would help with the noise. She makes her own. 

"Steve," she says, and yes, he's sure now. It's surprise. She sneaks a glance back at Billy, who hasn't moved, then turns back to him and asks, not unkindly "what are you doing here?" 

"I'm hungry," Steve replies. It’s not what he meant to say. But he’s not really sure what he’s doing here either. Just making it up as he goes.

Max scrunches her face, confusion flickering through her features. "Umm ok..." 

"Are you hungry? I was gonna make some lunch or something. I'll probably have extra " he states, as if commenting on the weather. A casual invitation, to keep from spooking her. So it doesn’t come off as pity. So she won’t feel like a burden. 

 He gets it. 

He sees the moment she understands his invitation. But again, she looks back at Billy. "Oh," she sounds unsure, tense, her shoulders hunched. "Billy's supposed to be babysitting me until my mom and Neil get back, so I don't think–" 

"I'm the babysitter." It comes out strong and sure, and maybe a little too forceful.

Max stills. She glances at the bat in his hand, then back up at him with something there behind her eyes. He hopes it’s something good. God, he hopes he’s doing this right.

"Max," Steve says softly, crouching down and slowly telegraphing his movements. He gently places his free hand on her shoulder. "I'm your babysitter, Random Girl, and I'm asking if you want to eat lunch with me." 

Because at the end of the day, he's not Billy. He'll never force Max to do anything she doesn't want. Even as he suppresses the urge to bundle her away from this place, this house. Away from the noise. 

"You're such a dork," she bites, half-hearted with a smirk and wet eyes. He quirks his eyebrows in question and she laughs, a quick but true thing. "Let me grab my stuff." 

Steve looks back to Billy as she runs off, and finds him sitting on the couch now, resigned. 

"Who's gonna be there, Harrington?" Billy kicks his feet up on the coffee table, aiming for casual again and just missing the mark. "It's not those little shitbags is it? Sinclair, right?" 

Steve stands again, swings the bat over his shoulder, and plants his feet as he holds Billy's glare. He feels the quick beat of his pulse and a tremor in his hands. Can’t believe he’s here really. Because, for some reason, inter-dimensional dog monsters are ok. But his nightmares are of Lucas pinned to a wall and a plate to his own head. 

Billy finally gives it up, turning his attention to the TV. 

Steve doesn't relax until he sees Max round the corner, weighted backpack on one shoulder and a skateboard tucked under the other. She's smiling, so full it takes up her whole face, and then Billy's forgotten by both of them. 

The ride back is quiet. Max turns the radio on– the pop station Steve normally listens to– but the volume is turned low. She rolls the windows down letting the cold November wind wrap around her curls. Steve huffs, trying to fix his coif, which gains him a giggle. But she rolls it back up, just so it's cracked. 

It's quiet as he cooks. She's set up on a high top at the kitchen counter, backpack open and schoolwork spread out. Soft music floats through the headphones around her neck, and he can catch her small hums, whispering along with the lyrics. 

He hopes he was right, that Max likes it here where it's quiet. Because now there's sounds of life in Steve's home. 

And if she can be his gentle noise, then he will be her peace and quiet.

#Holy shit you guys I wrote something! #if you see typos no you didn't #steve & max #Steve harrington #max mayfield #stranger things ficlet #QueenieWritesStories

[ultra-puzzlemaster]

Cold hands

A little something I wrote something for the 10th day of @descember (don't pay attention to the date time is an illusion): it's a small scene between Melina and Descole, set during the time when Melina was still alive and living on the island of Ambrosia with her father. There are a few of my headcanons as well.

Spoilers for the Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva only.

I don't know if there's a need for content warnings? There are mentions of Melina's illness and future death, but that's it I think (please tell me if there should be more I'm not used to this yet)

On a winter morning, when the night started to fade away and the first colors appeared in the sky, Melina Whistler had gone on the beach on her own. While waiting for the sun to rise, she was rubbing her hands against each other and gently blowing on them, in an attempt to keep her warmth inside of her ill body.

As the first ray appeared above the horizon, the ocean started to shine, and Melina paused to gaze at it. It was truly a wonderful moment. She felt like the whole island was awakening, and was welcoming her like an old friend. The feeling warmed up her whole body and made her forget about the coolness of the morning.

She could hear the sea singing to her. She breathed in deeply, and joined her voice to the one of the waves:

"Ah ah ah aaaah…"

"Ah ah ah aaaah…"

"Ah ah ah a-- *cough*"

Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea, she thought. Perhaps I haven't recovered enough yet.

As an answer to her question, a gust of wind suddenly blew, causing her another coughing fit. It felt like the winter wind was trying to steal her last bits of life.

When she managed to calm herself down, she heard footsteps approaching behind her. She anxiously turned her head to who she thought would be her dear father, but her eyes widened when she saw the masked man standing next to her.

"Sir… Descole, was it?"

She had heard his name only once, when her father presented her the man who owned the castle they were about to move in. They hadn't exchanged a single word since then, and even though she was extremely grateful for the chance he gave her to live on this beautiful island, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease she had every time she saw his dark castle, or her father discussing with him of things she couldn't imagine.

He slightly nodded.

"Are you alright, miss Whistler?"

His tone was calm, and his words were polite, yet a shiver ran down her spine.

"Yes, I apologized if I worried you."

"Are you cold?"

"I just—"

Before she could finish her sentence, he took off his cape and handled it to her. For a moment she starred at him, surprised, then took the piece of clothing and wrapped it around her. It was too big on her, but it shielded her from the freshness of the wind.

And it was a nice gesture, too…

"Thank you sir."

A smile appeared on his face.

"My pleasure, miss Whistler." he responded, with a bow. "Would you mind if I stayed here as well?"

"Oh, no, of course not!" she stuttered.

She didn't understand what he wanted, but she could not simply push him away. She looked at him anxiously but he simply sat on the rocks, a few feet from her.

For a moment, they both gazed at the sea in silence. The sun was still rising, spreading its light, warmth, and life on the island. The darkest tones of the sky were turning into bright hues of vivid colors, from yellow to pink, before fading to blue. An ephemeral spectacle, accompanied by the whispers of the nearby waves.

Finally, Descole broke the silence.

"If I may…"

Interrupted in her contemplation, Melina looked at him.

"Why did you come here alone, miss Whistler?" he said, harshly. "Surely you didn't think a nighttime walk in the woods would improve your health, did you?"

She felt a twitch of anger at this moment. Who did this man think he was?

And yet, what explanation could she give him? She herself could not explain that feeling, that calling, that was driving her to the sea… Nor could she acknowledge the reason why she came without her father. Not with everything he was doing for her…

She turned her head towards the sea and responded:

"I just wanted to watch the sun rise." she said with a tone sharper than she intended. "My health has improved enough for this since we moved here."

She glanced at him, hoping to decipher an emotion despite his mask, in vain. Was he angry? Disappointed? Worried?

"I understand." he simply responded in a softer tone. "My apologies, it was rude of me to ask you this. I am very glad you're feeling better, miss Whistler. I only hope you will heal soon."

It felt sincere. Something she couldn't explain was still bothering the young woman, but she started to think that she may have simply judged this man too quickly.

"It's alright." she calmly said. "And you can call me Melina."

"Very well, Melina."

Somehow, hearing her name gave her a warm feeling.

She studied him again. His costume was very eccentric, to say the least, and made him very hard to read. His mask wasn't just hiding his identity, but his thoughts and feelings as well. A barrier between the person he truly was, and the rest of the world. A shield, and a prison.

But Descole is still a person, she reminded herself, as she tightened her grasp on the cloak he gave her. Behind his facade is a living human, with a beating heart.

Maybe she could get to know him a little better today.

"Can I… Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?"

She took a deep breath.

"Why did you bring us here, on this island? Why me, of all people?"

He paused for a second, thinking.

Then a large smile appeared on his face, as he responded:

"You could say… I fell in love with your music."

Melina was completely taken aback by this answer.

"Wh-Wh-What? What do you mean?" she managed to ask.

He chuckled at her reaction.

"Hahaha, I am talking about 'The first night'. They say it's another of Whistler's work, but it was actually you who wrote it, am I right?"

"I..."

It had been the most logical decision, and she knew it. Her music would reach more people through her father's name, and he did help her composing this piece after all.

Still, it was the first time someone would recognize her work, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride inside her chest, mixed with the guilt of having hidden the truth.

"… How did you know?"

"You father is very talented, but this song was quite… different, from his usual work. I quickly realized he could not have been the person who wrote it. However, I could hardly believe such a famous composer would simply steal the work of someone else. That's when I figured out that the genius behind this work of art could only be you, Melina."

"Impressive…"

The smile on his face grew larger. He was proud of himself, wasn't he?

Descole paused. His gaze moved back to the sea, then up to the now blue sky. Starring at the faded crescent of the moon, or at a memory he was reliving, he continued:

"I'll always remember the first time I heard it. This melody… it was like all the stars in the night sky were singing together, in perfect harmony. Truly a masterpiece."

Melina felt that warm feeling again, in her chest and now her cheeks. Or was she blushing? She had no idea her music could affect people this way…

"After this, I wanted to listen to more of your work, so I made a few researches. Unfortunately, it was then that I learned about your condition."

Suddenly, something shifted in him. His face darkened. His tone changed. His fist clenched.

"At that moment, I knew I had to do everything in my power to save you. And I would stop at nothing to make you sing again."

She starred at him, unable to move. Something was wrong. Very wrong. That feeling of unease again… It seemed that the air suddenly got a lot colder.

"This is… just for my music? Really?"

He let out a somber chuckle.

"Ha. You can't see it yet, but I assure you Melina, your music is way more powerful than you can imagine."

"I--"

The cape couldn't keep her body warm anymore, and suddenly she was seized by a violent coughing fit.

"Melina, are you—"

"I- *cough cough* I need-- *cough* I need to go back. *cough*"

"Of course. Let me help you."

The next moment he was right next to her, and offered his hand to help her stand up.

After a second of hesitation, she took it.

She froze.

His body was ice cold.

As if he hadn't received any warmth in a long time.

As if he hadn't feel any warmth in a long time.

He didn't seem to notice her reaction. Or perhaps he simply didn't care.

He helped her getting back up, and without exchanging a word, they returned to the castle.

There, she was welcomed by her dearest but extremely worried father. He seemed really distressed by her early disappearance, for which Melina felt guilty. It took her a while to calm him down by reminding him that she was fine, she was not hurt, she was not lost, she was here and everything was alright.

The father then wrapped his arms around his daughter, and held her close, as if he was afraid she would disappear again. It felt warm, comfy, and safe.

Melina returned the embrace, and for a moment, she thought of that icy contact she had with the masked man earlier. And she wondered…

Could he give such warmth? Could he accept such warmth?

…

Descole…

Which one of us… had truly stopped living?

#professor layton #descember #descember 2023 #professor layton fanfic #professor layton and the eternal diva #eternal diva #melina whistler #jean descole #i headcanon that melina was inspired by the stars way before she set foot on the island of ambrosia #*insert something about how stars are eternal and connect us through time and space* #she wrote a song based on that melody which was publicly released #descole heard it one day and was like “HOLY SHIT” #you know the rest

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

watching space station videos for fic research and this astronaut is explaining how they sleep and that they dont really lie down because it always feels like shes still standing up anyway. she says "i dont have any sensation in my head that tells me im upside down so it doesnt matter"

i think thats what time sense is like. this thing in your brain that makes you able to orient yourself like in relation to, like, gravity? humans float in time like astronauts float in the space station. theyve got nothing in their brain telling them whats up and down.

and i dont know physics but like gravity distorts time along with space right? thats what they told me in world enough and time right? magic space hole, dont call the lift, cybermen problem

anyway i think thats what it's like. just like feeling gravitys effects on time? and then when it disappears or gets broken, which i hc happens with the master a bit after the timelords take away the drums and then relatively soon after that they regenerate very close to a black hole TWICE. TWICE AT ONCE. i think those things together mustve really fucked with their time sense i dont think the master can orient themself very well anymore, cant tell whats up and down anymore, just always floating

#theyre showing oUT THE WINDOW TO EARTH NOW AND SEEING THE VOID OF SPACE AROUND THE EARTH IS FREAKING ME OUT HOLY SHIT #THERES NOTHING THERE #ITS JUST NIGHT #anyway i think about the masters time sense a lot #bc i think when they HAVE it. like all their life. it's already fucked #i think the drums fuck it up #or like thats a manifestation of its fucked upness #anyway i wrote that whole vault fic abt it so you know but like #i think when they have their time sense it's sort of like. a stripped screw? #or like. something that doesnt stop when it should #im trying to think how you could say that with the gravity analogy but im not sure #but i think when they have it it's like that. like kinda in overdrive? and then when they loseit #or most of it. it must be such an adjustment #like first time is so insistent and relentless and constant that it Hurts and then all of a sudden it's so hard to feel #you feel like youre floating all the time #first youre dizzy one way for all of your life and then youre finally used to it and they take it away so now youre dizzy ANOTHER way #the master on earth in their first years after regenerating not only manually transing their gender but also #trying to adjust to this new disability #and then finding hte doctor and not only are they now sudddenly this super special person in your eyes #but also they seem to be doing FINE #you got fucked up like three times over in your attempt to be friends with them and they just MOVED ON

[krixel]

Fools Part 2

This isn’t exactly a direct sequel. More of a spiritual successor to the first part. I haven’t written anything significant in like a year, so *waves hands* here you go.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Runaan tensed, his concentration shattering under that familiar brogue. He took a measured breath and opened eyes, staring into the forest beyond. Birds chirped overhead, flitting in and out of the strands of sunlight piercing the thick cover of leafs. “I’m not.”

Ethari’s dark brows arched and his lipped thinned. For a moment, he considered removing an item from his bag and chucking it at the perfect white braid in front of him. “Then why did Dali stop by my shop earlier to ask why you dropped your bow off with her for repairs instead of with me?”

Even with his back to Ethari, Runaan felt the heat of the glare between his shoulder blades. Could picture those light brown eyes ablaze with anger in the afternoon sun. It was by force of will alone that he smothered a wince. “Dali should gossip less. I thought her services were suitable enough to fix my bow.”

“Suitable? I built your bow, Runaan. If it needs repairing, then you bring it to me. You always have in the past.” The last sentence came out softer, and with a bit more emotion than Ethari all together appreciated. “Have I offended you?”

“What? No.” Runaan stood from his rock perch and faced Ethari, careful to keep the boulder between them. Offense was the last thing Ethari had caused him, and that was exactly the problem. Runaan could handle offense. The soft flutter in his chest every time the craftsman looked his way, or the warmth that unfurled there at Ethari’s smile - those were the things leaving him unmoored. Runaan folded his hands behind his back. “I simply wished not to disturb you. You seemed busy.”

“I’m the blacksmith, Runaan. Bringing your weapon to me when you’ve broken it isn’t bothering me. It’s my literal job. I shouldn’t have to hunt you down to do it. That is a bother.” Ethari adjusted the strap of his shoulder bag, but met Runaan’s eyes with an even stare of his own. 

Runaan straightened his shoulders further until his posture rivaled the stone fixtures in the Silvergrove. He spoke in the cool, crisp tone usually reserved for his assassins, but his hands clenched behind his back. “There was no need for you to seek me out, Ethari. If I wanted to leave my weapon in your care, then I would have, but you weren’t necessary to repair it. You wasted your own time.”

Ethari’s eyes, normally so bright with molten warmth, went brittle beneath their rapid cooling. He tugged a strap from his shoulder, revealing a long canister, and tossed it across the space between them. Runaan caught it with a frown, but Ethari was already speaking. “I will keep that in mind in the future. My apologies for bothering you, Runaan. It won’t happen again.”

Ethari turned on his heel and stalked out of the clearing before Runaan could say anything else. He looked down at the cylinder in his hand and, after taking a bracing breath, unscrewed the top. His bow, newly repaired and tenderly wrapped within the case so it wouldn’t scuff, waited inside. Runaan dropped his head with a huff. Already, an ugly feeling was winding around his ribs and crawling towards his lungs, making it hard to breathe. 

“Well, that couldn’t have gone much worse if you’d put actual effort into it.”

Runaan’s head jerked up, and he scowled when he spotted Lain lounging against the trunk of a nearby tree. “What?”

His best friend grinned. He shoved away from the tree and crossed the clearing, claiming a seat on the rock Runaan had previously occupied. “Oh, even I get the cold shoulder? You’re in a mood.”

Runaan’s shoulders dipped the barest amount at the rebuke and he settled on the rock next to Lain, who reached over and offered him a moonberry. Ignoring the offered gesture, Runaan continued to stare at his reclaimed bow. “I thought you were training for the Guard this week.”

“I am, or was - it’s the end of the week, Runaan. Your head really isn’t here, is it?” Lain’s brows drew down as he looked over at Runaan. Beneath the facade of perfection, his friend strove to present were dark circles and slumped shoulders. Lain bumped his shoulder into Runaan, his easy humor replaced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Runaan shook his head, but pinched at the bridge of his nose as if fighting a headache. “Nothing, just a long week.”

“Right, because you normally tear Ethari’s head off when he goes out of his way to be kind to you. Did the two of you fight?” At Runaan’s look, Lain waved his hand. “I mean, besides the obvious one just a few minutes ago.”

“No. What could we possibly fight about? He always takes exceptional care of my weapons, and that is all the involvement we have.” As he spoke, Runaan absently trailed his fingers along the cylinder containing his bow.

Lain stared at him for a long, long moment before the laughing started. He braced himself against Runaan’s shoulder as he pitched sideways with amusement. Runaan glowered down at him. “What?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Lain said, reclaiming his breath but not his balance as he remained leaning on his friend. “Come on, Runaan. We all know how you and Ethari feel about each other. The only ones still in denial about it are the two of you. Actually, probably just you. I’d wager Ethari knows exactly how he feels about you.”

“Probably like I’m a right arse,” Runaan muttered, fingers still stroking his bow.

Lain snorted and crossed his legs in front of him, finally straightening away from Runaan. “Well, yeah. Right now, that’s true enough, but generally he likes you. More than likes you. I thought you had - uh - similar inclinations with him.”

“I-“ Runaan bit down hard on his tongue as his mouth attempted to betray him. “It’s complicated.”

“What isn’t complicated with you?” Lain said with a roll of his eyes. “For whatever my opinion is worth, I think you’d be good together.”

Runaan just shook his head and stood up, slinging the canister with his bow over his shoulder. “I need to go, and shouldn’t you be getting back to Tiadrin?”

Sensing that pushing the topic any further would only result in Runaan slamming a stone wall between them, Lain sighed and stood as well. “She sent me out to find you. I’m supposed to invite you to dinner, but I suspect you’re going to decline.”

Runaan offered an apologetic smile as they headed back towards the grove. “My apologies, but I can’t tonight. I have to prepare.”

“That’s right, you have a mission soon, don’t you? The full moon is just a week away. When do you leave?” 

“In three days.”

Lain tugged at his braid as they walked, tilting his head back to glimpse the stars through the gaps in the trees. He tapped the fingers of his other hand against his leg and kept his eyes off Runaan, making his best attempt at casual. “You should have Ethari look over your weapons, just in case.”

The tension radiated between them at the name, but Lain continued to pretend he wasn’t aware and eventually Runaan’s shoulders eased. “My weapons are fine. It would be a distraction and a waste of his time.”

“I don’t think Ethari minds and making sure you are safe isn’t a waste of time, Runaan. I know you’re the rising star of the assassins, but you’re not infallible and you have people here who would be quite perturbed to lose you.”

Runaan twisted to stare at Lain, teal eyes wide. Lain blinked at him and then frowned. “You do know people care about you, right?”

“Of course,” Runaan said, but the surprise lingered. “It’s not that, just - I’m an assassin. Our life expectancy is limited and I forget not everyone must come to terms with that fact as we do.”

Lain rolled his eyes and bumped his shoulder against Runaan’s with a laugh. “See, this is why I love you. Your sunny disposition and optimism never fail to brighten my day.”

Runaan smiled despite himself, shaking his head and sending the wave of his white hair swaying behind him. They’d reached the entrance to the Silvergrove, but Runaan lingered at the ritual gate. “Go ahead, and tell Tiadrin I send my best. I promise to visit after the mission.”

Lain leaned in and dragged Runaan close for a hug, ignoring the stiffness in his frame as the assassin begrudgingly dealt with it. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, a rare touch of gravity in his tone, and then with a flash and a smile Lain was gone, melting into the illusion of the Silvergrove.

#runaan #ethari #ruthari #tdp #holy shit I actually wrote something #once more returns to my cave