click on the link and then on the big "click to help" red button. wait for the page to reload, it should read "your click has been counted" and you should see confetti
if you have time, click on the buttons for the website's other causes as well ("click to help" on the navbar)
if you want to click more than once, you can use different browsers or devices, or open incognito mode, it seems to work (at least on the client side of the website)
I just wanted to say, maybe many of you do not know this, but clicking on the blue 'refugees' button will help Sudan & Congo as well (amongst othere!), because Sudanese & Congolese populations are being served by the UNHCR which is where the click money goes for that button.
This is absolutely making a huge difference! Last year, the summer's fiscal quarter the UNHCR recieved only 16000$ from these clicks, but now they've reached over 416000$ just for the first fiscal quarter of 2024!! That's a massive massive improvement! Please follow the OP's blog for reminders to do your daily clicks!!
Your best friend, Brett Talbot, needs someone to pretend to be his girlfriend at a spring break trip so he can impress his parents. All things considered, you don’t think he really had to pick you.
masterlist
“I need you to date me for the next week.”
You stare at your best friend. Brett Talbot lounges casually in the seat next to you, but underneath the cool exterior, you can see a slight tinge of nerves shifting beneath the skin. That, plus the fact that he practically sprinted across the room to throw himself in the chair next to you, tells you that this is something important, not just a joke meant to mess with you. Plus, Brett is Brett. He doesn’t just ask people to date him like this.
You raise an eyebrow, looking up from your homework. “If this is your way of asking me out, I think it needs some work. I’m not really feeling wooed.”
Brett rolls his eyes. “It’s not like that, you dork. We’re friends, you know that.”
You lean forward, propping your chin up on your hand in an expression of studied disinterest. “Then why did you just ask me to date you?”
Brett looks away for a second, as if steeling himself to continue. “My parents have invited me and a girlfriend over to their beach house for spring break. I may have, uh, misled them into thinking that I was dating you.”
You better drop to your knees and bark like you want it.
aka The Isaac Rut Fic
Summary:
You have noticed some changes in Isaac since his father died, but you chalked it up to the dark shroud of his father's personality no longer clouding his life. You couldn't quite put your finger on the rest of his - the new stride of his confidence, his newly acquired muscles, the brighter spark in his eye - until the two of you were locked in the janitor's closet unexpectedly and it all clicked.
That spark in his eye turned golden yellow, and his voice turned into a puppy-like whine, and he started humping your leg... a lot like a dog.
(Or - Isaac gets trapped in a closet with you and being trapped with your scent sends him into a rut.)
Isaac Lahey x Fem!Thick!Reader. Acquaintances to Lovers. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 3, Episode 4.
Word Count: 12,900
Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link
Full list of warnings and author's notes below.
Warnings: the reader is described as a girl/woman and has a vagina and breasts, and as with most of my fics, the primary pronouns used for the reader are you/yours - at one point, the reader is referred to by a teacher as ‘Miss’; the only aspect of the reader’s looks that is described is her body type - she is described as fat/plus sized, and this is something that Isaac finds heavily desirable (even if other side characters and other people in this universe do not); mention of the reader being called rude names due to her body type by an outside random character; one mention of Isaac lifting the reader - but it’s not unrealistic, credited to his supernatural strength; the reader’s clothing is somewhat described - she is described as wearing a dress and heels (and being generally feminine); other aspects of the reader’s looks are not described - the reader’s hair type, hair colour, eye colour, and skin colour/race are not described in anyway; the term Y/N is used (in this case, the term L/N, as in Last Name, is also used) (and as with all my fics, I highly recommend getting a word replacer extension to make the experience more immersive and fun); mentions of Erica x Boyd as a background ship; mentions of Scott x Allison as a background ship (and technically, mentions of them having rough consensual sex when Scott experienced a similar rut); hints at Erica x Isaac as a background ship, mostly mentions of them having casual sex; mentions of Isaac’s past trauma (his mother and brother dying, his father’s abuse - glossed over, not discussed in detail); mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader - this is based on the fact that he is over six feet tall and would be taller than most people; this is mostly smut with very little plot; this could possibly be seen as dubious consent with it being a rut fic, but I have made it clear that the characters very much want this, so not really; Isaac experiences a ‘rut’ - he experiences a rush of hormones due to the adrenaline of having a panic while being in close proximity with a potential ‘mate’; scent kink - mentions of how Isaac loves your scent and how werewolves identify a potential ‘mate’ by scent; mentions of Isaac’s claustrophobia; descriptions of panic attack symptoms (Isaac has a claustrophobic panic attack); there are no specifically defined roles, but Isaac is more submissive and the reader is more dominant (Isaac is very subby, because I am such a sucker for Sub Top Isaac); the reader calls Isaac ‘puppy’ and ‘good boy’ (would it really be one of my Isaac fics if that didn’t happen?); hair pulling (towards Isaac); praise kink/verbal praise - both ways, but a lot towards Isaac; oral sex - reader receiving; unprotected sex - penis in vagina sex; breeding kink (generally undertones of it throughout because it’s a rut fic); reader gets scratched by Isaac’s claws - a small, minor injury; I think that’s it, but please let me know if I missed anything.
A/N: I love this one SO MUCH. I love dumb puppy Isaac, and I don't think I could write him as a dom if I tried (maybe unless it's him and reader aggressively topping Stiles together) - but yeah, this is my favourite form of Isaac fic to write, and I hope to write 10,000 more.
...
Isaac craved a normal day.
Of course, his life had been anything but normal since he had received the bite of an Alpha and became a freaking werewolf, but hey – a guy could hope. (Of course, when he truly thought about it, his life hadn't really been normal since his mother had died and his brother had gone off to Iraq, eager to die at the hands of the military than at the hands of their grieving father. But – he didn't have time to unpack all that.)
He just tried to move through life simply, taking it one day at a time. And of course, his hopes for a single normal day were flushed down the drain when he saw you. Beautiful, perfect, amazing you standing in the foyer of the school, handing out flyers for… something.
Of course, you were charismatic and confident enough to go up and approach people at random, and ask them about whatever you had to say. You were so bright, so brilliant, your smile lit up a room so well. And Isaac had to avoid you at all costs.
He tried to sneak past you, but of course - you saw him first.
“Isaac!” You called out his name and ran around the table you had set up, bringing a bright green flyer toward him with an outstretched hand. “I'm working with a group that's building a community garden this weekend - it's a place where they can teach kids how to grow their own food, and the excess produce goes to a food pantry.”
Of course, you, with your big heart… you were always working on some kind of charity project. You were such a good person, and it only made Isaac infinitely more attracted to you.
“I understand if you're busy,” You looked at him through your lashes, probably more an affect of his height than you intentionally trying to be demure, pure shining hope in your eyes that pulled right at his gut. “You – you probably have some busy, blooming social life.”
You let out a nervous chuckle, and Isaac truly had no clue what to say. Currently, his social life consisted of trying not to die at the hands of blood-thirsty Alphas and hanging out on the couch with Scott, playing video games and eating junk food. Did you assume that he was popular for some reason?
When he didn't speak, and only stood there staring at you awkwardly with his jaw clamped shut, you continued on:
“But you know, if you have some time to spare, we could really use the help of a big, strong guy like you.”
You reached out and gently squeezed his arm, as if to emphasize your point by proving just how strong his bicep was underneath the bulk of unseasonably thick cardigan sweater, and a wave of heat rushed through his body at your touch. You pulled back too quickly for his liking, letting out another nervous laugh, taking the widening of his eyes and the way he bit his lip to mean that he hadn't received the touch well.
Wait – were you flirting with him?
You had a distinct look in your eyes, and he thought he was delusional for mistaking it as affectionate.
“Yeah, I-” He laughed nervously, reaching out and grabbing the flyer, not truly looking at the paper as it became wrinkled in his nervous grip. “I – I'll see.”
“Thanks.” You grinned at him, your smile so sweet. Fuck – how were you so perfect? “And, I dunno, maybe we could go out afterwards? And maybe… we could go get coffee or something? You know – just the two of us?”
Isaac wanted to scream. He wanted to say 'yes' so badly, but he knew that it was such a terrible idea. Scott had warned him about being alone with a girl he liked too much...
And on top of that, he knew that he might not even have the time. How much of an asshole would he look like if he made plans with you and then he had to stand you up because Scott needed his help or because Alphas were attacking again?
He knew that realistically, he would probably get wrangled into some plan by Scott, or just end up spending his weekend alone. But it was nice to imagine spending his weekend with you, out in the sun, watching you sweat as you knelt down in the dirt…
He swore he could smell you in the air now, your skin so close…
“Isaac?”
Blood began to thump harder inside his veins, and he felt his cock dangerously swelling to life... he swore, if he lapped at the air hard enough, he could practically taste your skin.
“Isaac? Are you okay?”
The deep rooted concern in your voice only made his blood hotter.
“I have to go.” He grunted out rudely, turning sharply on his heel and marching in a direction that he definitely had not intended to go, eager to get away from you as quickly as possible.
“Okay.” You sighed quietly to yourself, disappointment ripe in your voice. “I'll see you later, I guess.”
…
Isaac liked to believe that he hadn't changed much in the grand scheme of things. He liked to believe that truly, he hadn't changed much since Derek had turned him. Sure, an Alpha's bite was the definition of change - giving an ordinary human the ability to transform into a powerful werewolf, causing them to sprout razor sharp claws and large canine teeth, giving them speed-healing and impossible new heightened senses. But Isaac liked to believe that beyond all that, he hadn't truly changed that much as a person.
But deep down, he knew that wasn't true.
Even though he hadn't been the one to kill his father, he had still cowered in the man's shadow before his father was met with a violent, but seemingly karmic death. Before Isaac had ever known about the existence of werewolves or Kanimas or Alphas in Beacon Hills, he had been a very different person. He had been quiet, shy, reserved, someone seemingly terrified of his own shadow. He had been someone terrified to set a single toe out of line, fearful of the consequences that his father would reap down on him if he did.
And now, Isaac was someone entirely different.
He knew that he had been a bit wild with the freedom when he had first tasted it. Threatening Lydia Martin so openly when the preteen heartbreak she had doled out onto him wasn’t even something he was still all too upset about, mostly seeking out a justification to hurt her because Derek had ordered it and he didn't want to believe that he was following the man too blindly. Brazenly raking his claws against lockers because it made him feel powerful, dry-humping Erica on the crowded dance floor of a rave when he wasn't even that romantically interesting in her just because it made him feel alive.
He loved that feeling of being powerful, feeling like he could do anything. Before, being trapped in his father's house had made him feel so damn helpless, and it was addictive, finally being released from that, and getting to drink in the most anti-helpless feeling in the world.
It was something he had only previously tasted on the lacrosse field, only because his father had encouraged him to try out. His 'winning is everything' overly violent attitude caused him to only cheer for Isaac at games when he smashed into other players and nearly broke their bones with excessive force. Isaac knew that his father had the wrong ideas about what made someone a man, and he never truly got into the sport because he wanted some claim to brotherhood. Isaac himself just liked to run, liked to let it all out on the field. The only place his emotions were truly allowed to be free. And over time, he had come to like the pain of colliding with another person and feeling them crumble underneath him.
And somewhere in between, he did find balance. Under the guidance of Scott, who had been raised a lot better than he was – he learned that between freedom and power, there was a way to do right. He had learned something he never thought was possible – that he was capable of good. He made friends, even though he felt like he kept losing them at an impossible rate to dangers popping up all around him.
And now, Isaac wasn't someone who cowered at every shadow or feared going home to his father's fist. He wasn't someone who feared being locked in a freezer for the smallest perceived wrong.
He was someone who could confidently ride a motorcycle through the halls of Beacon Hills High and do a back-flip off the front of it, only thinking of revenge and spite, not even considering what punishment or consequences would come his way.
However, that mindset did lead down another troubling path – because when he was met with the consequences of his own stupid actions, he didn't consider just how awful they would be.
“Lahey, you're with Miss L/N - restocking the janitor's closet.”
This immediately presented two big problems for Isaac: the closet and you.
See, that was another big thing that had changed for him since The Bite – how he felt around you. Derek and even Scott had tried to warn him that dating would be very different, and how he would act around people he was attracted to would become entirely different because he would start to feel different.
Derek had given him a very blunt talk about how not to maul someone to death during sex, giving him straight forward and crude reminders about his claws and teeth. A topic that had come up after Isaac had helped him pull Boyd and Erica apart during a full moon where it looked like they were trying to maliciously tear each other to pieces, but Derek insisted that it was natural. He said that was how wolves 'mate'.
Scott had been a lot more tentative, treading around the subject, asking Isaac what his relationship status with Erica was like he was fishing for gossip, and telling him that things would 'feel' different now that he had heightened senses and the wolf in him would be triggered by a sudden rush of adrenaline. He had warned Isaac to be 'gentle' with any future partners, and told him that he should rush off and back away if he ever felt himself getting 'too out of control'.
Isaac had never really known what either of them meant, not to feel it for himself – not until he had been around you again. You were someone that Isaac had been crushing on for a long time. He had admired you for a distance long before the Bite had changed his life. In his opinion, you were the most gorgeous girl at Beacon Hills, far above Lydia or Erica or Allison – between your sparkling smile, your airy, excited giggle, your curvy figure, and the cute way you dressed, you were someone who had invaded his most private thoughts for a very long time.
But between his father turning his life into a battle to survive and the newly discovered battle for survival that Derek had introduced him to, with the monsters and the new strange dangers around every other corner, there wasn't really time for him to date. Isaac wasn't ready to ask you out, not even with his newfound confidence.
He had spoken to you from time to time. The two of you were acquaintances – mild friends, at best. You had worked on a couple of class projects together, you had spoken to him in congratulations a few times after lacrosse games, and he had poorly flirted with you when he came into your work (a local hardware store downtown) by chance sometimes. But the two of you had never specifically 'hung out' outside of school before. Isaac liked to think it was because you had better things to do with your time, not because up until a few months ago, he had basically been on house arrest because his father demanded it.
And with his father's presence being lifted from his life, he found it harder and harder to avoid spending time with you. Because he knew that according to Derek and Scott's warnings, he had to avoid getting to close to you.
Recently, Isaac found being around you increasingly more difficult. The few times a week that he was forced to be around you, in classes that you shared together or by chance outside of a class when you tracked him down to say hello: it was slowly driving him insane.
Whenever he caught a whiff of your scent - not just the lovely strawberry watermelon body mist that you always wore, or the vanilla lip gloss that you had swiped on, but something deeper, something that was so truly you. Your scent. Something so much more natural that he didn't want to believe was the raw scent to your pussy weeping between your thighs, somehow wandering up to his supernaturally strengthened nose. He couldn't stand to think on it for too long, because fuck – if he knew for certain that he was actually smelling your pussy through your clothes, then he might just lose it.
Whenever that scent hit him, his blood would pound hard through his body, and he would start to go feral. His claws would sprout against his will, the world would go blurry around the edges, and even though he couldn't see himself, he knew that his eyes were glowing. And at times, if he stuck around you too long, he would lose the capability of words, and he would start to pant like a fucking dog.
He knew that you likely saw him as colder and more rude, because every time he was around you, he kept cutting off perfectly polite, calm conversations with a caveman grunt in order to storm off, eager to get away from you. He was afraid of what he would do if he had to stand there much longer, inhaling your scent, becoming more devolved from it by the second. He knew you wouldn't understand, but ultimately, it was more polite for him to cut you off and run away.
There was just something about you that was actively driving him insane.
At one point, Derek had called it a rut. He said it was what werewolves called it when they were driven to their most basic instincts to mate and breed. Another animal instinct that they needed to fulfill that humans weren't as susceptible to.
(That word along had nagged at the back of Isaac's brain, delivering pictures of him pinning you down and shoving his cock deep inside of you, fucking you so full of his cum while you moaned for him, your body so hot around his cock – and he had spent more than an hour jacking himself raw, thinking about it.)
Derek said that it was most often triggered by two things – being around a compatible mate, aka being around someone who's body chemistry 'aligned with your own'. That, and being in a situation where one's adrenaline was forcefully spiked – a situation of fear, panic, or anger. And a combination of those two things was lethal, likely to trigger a rut that couldn't be stopped, even by the most masterful and experienced Alpha. Most likely because werewolves evolved to fight for their mates, so there was an underlying sexual impulse to fuck a compatible mate after you had just fought for them and won.
At the time, Isaac didn't fully understand it. His brain had faded out a few times during the conversation, admittedly, not fully paying attention.
But now, he definitely understood more and more as he was gaining the real life experience, feeling the true effects of what Derek had been saying. And he knew for certain that he couldn't be near you for extended periods of time, because he likely wouldn't be able to control himself.
Which meant he especially couldn't be with you in the janitor's closet – a tight space that would likely trigger his claustrophobia and cause him to panic. If what Derek had told him was true, then he wouldn't be able to use the calm, level-headed control that Scott had taught him to keep himself sane in the face of your maddening scent. And he would never forgive himself for mauling you, for doing something so harsh to you against your will. Even if it wasn't technically his fault in the end. How the hell would he be able to explain that to you? You would end up thinking of him as a monster. And he would never recover from that.
As much as Isaac desperately wanted you, wanted so badly to push deep into your soaking wet cunt between those thick, plush thighs and pound into you with reckless abandon until you were stuffed full of his cum - he never wanted to hurt you. He would never do anything to you without your permission. He could never do that to you. So he needed to protect you from himself. At least, he needed to protect you from the hungry wolf inside of himself that wanted so badly to devour you.
“Mr. Clark, can you send me somewhere else?” Isaac asked quietly, shuffling out of his seat to crowd closer to the scrawny teacher to be heard. He didn't want to make this inquiry too loud or too obvious. Naturally, he didn't want to embarrass you by making it seem like he didn't want to work with you.
“No.” Mr. Clark said bluntly. “If you didn't want to be punished, you shouldn't have been fighting. Make better choices next time, Mr. Lahey.”
Isaac let out a sigh of frustration, wondering how the hell he could get out of this aside from simply tucking tail and running out of the classroom, which would inevitably only get him into more trouble later on. But then, you might not be there next time.
“Fighting?”
You disrupted his thoughts with a chuckle, coming up behind him, having risen from your seat at the back of the room. Your scent quickly came to engulf him like a deadly cloud as you brushed past him to grab the keys from Mr. Clark's extended hand - a small key ring with a couple of keys on it, one for the basement storage room with the cleaning supplies, and others for the janitorial closets around the school. Isaac found it strange that students were trusted with these, but he guessed that the free labour being brushed off onto them was worth the risk.
“I wanna hear that story.” You grinned at him. “Come on, big boy.”
You put a hand on his shoulder and ushered him out of the room, throwing the nickname out there so casually, obviously having no clue that it practically buckled his knees. Despite everything he had been convincing himself of, he rushed to follow you down the hallway like a good, loyal dog, completely forgetting that the goal was to keep his distance from you. It was too late now. He was entranced by your presence, already feeling himself losing his better sense because of that scent. Feeling himself getting lost in his stupid wolfish instinct because of you, because of the sway of your wide hips directly in his sight, because of the jiggle of your thighs peeking out from under your skirt.
He had to do something. He had to control himself.
He had to try and distract himself.
“So - what are you in for?” Isaac asked, having to swallow thickly around the drool pooling in his mouth in order to form words.
Conversation would be a good idea. He needed to focus on something else.
He never thought you would be someone fit for detention anyway. You always seemed like such a good girl. Naturally, it caused him to wonder what you had done to land yourself in detention alongside him.
“Guess,” You told him, looking over your shoulder at him, tossing him a sweet grin with a mischievous glint lighting up your eyes.
Isaac found it far too adorable. The sight made him light headed with his affection for you, and he tripped down one of the stairs as the two of you descended down to the larger supply closet in the basement. You let out a cute giggle at this, and before you could pose concern over his clumsiness, Isaac spoke up again.
“What? Did you turn in your homework too early?” He posed jokingly. He really couldn't imagine you doing anything worthy of punishment. Perhaps one of your teachers just had a vendetta against you. That would be the more logical reasoning for you to be here in his mind.
“No.” You chuckled softly in return, shaking your head as you used the keys to unlock the basement supply cage – a place that would have been intensely creepy if not for your shining presence there. “Come on, Isaac. I'm not such a goody-two-shoes. I can be bad sometimes, ya know.”
These words instantly put a picture in his mind of you down on your knees with his cock in your mouth, desperately trying to prove just how 'bad' you could be. He was instantly thankful for the relative darkness in the room and the fact that you were distracted with loading up supplies onto a cart, too busy to notice him adjusting the harshness of his zipper across his cock. You didn't see, and you couldn't make any comments about how terribly perverted he was for touching himself in that area. You couldn't stop and consider what kind of thoughts he might be having.
Isaac forced himself to think about the awful smell of the boys locker room, dead bodies, anything to will his cock back down before he moved in to help you gather the supplies. He took a sharp breath, and finally mustered a reply.
“Seriously-” He said, his voice far too rough for his own liking, that stupid sex-addled, wolf-y adrenaline taking over his body again. Control yourself. He forced himself to have an aura of control. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Seriously, what did you do?”
“You know Jason?” You posed.
“Greenberg?” Isaac replied, mostly only knowing the annoying, obnoxious guy by his last name – often because Coach screamed it so much to yell at him in complaint.
“Yeah.” You nodded. “Well, during class, he made a stupid 'joke' about how he couldn't see the board past my 'giant ass'.”
You put both of these things furiously in air quotes, obviously not thinking that Greenberg's words had been anything comparable to funny, and only quoting his insensitive words to communicate just how much of an idiot he had been.
Isaac flared with anger. He knew that your beautiful body type – for some stupid reason – wasn't what most people considered attractive. It was something that was intensely difficult for him to comprehend. You were the most gorgeous creature he could conceive of – you were so much more, so round, so curvy, so perfect. If you ever blessed his presence by wearing something even slightly form fitting, he was distracted by even the slightest glance of you, loving every single roll and curve of your body, loving each dimple and ripple of your skin that he was able to catch a glimpse of.
Why didn't every single guy imagine fucking a bigger girl and feeling that thickness bouncing on their cock? Why didn't every guy dream of snuggling up to that soft warmth?
Isaac didn't like to spend long contemplating the stupidity of others, especially not people like Greenberg. Although sometimes, it gave him a flare of pride because he knew that he saw your beauty where others couldn't. Part of him was glad that there wasn't an entire mob of guys chasing you, especially not a bunch of idiots from the lacrosse team that would have spoken filth about you in the locker room. He knew that his rampantly jealous side wouldn't be able to handle it if half the guys on the team wanted to fuck you as badly as he did – he probably would have ended up benched for the rest of the season if he ended up carrying out that jealousy. So reasonably, part of him basked in their stupidity, enjoying the fact that he was one of the only ones who looked at your wide hips, your rolling curves, the slope of your stomach and saw gorgeous handles to grab onto while he fucked you into an oblivion (again, not that he was ever actually going to let himself do that).
But he was glad that he got you all to himself, even if it was only in his daydreams.
Still – he would have to remind himself to check Greenberg extra hard on the field during their neck practice.
“It wasn't even clever.” You laughed, a harsh bite in your voice that said those idiotic words, no matter how thoughtless and stupid, had still hurt you in some way. Isaac resisted the urge to reach out and pull you into a hug. “Anyway – I was just getting so tired of him. His voice constantly whining behind me, so – I smacked him with my textbook. And – apparently I broke his nose, or something.”
You grinned at Isaac as you said this, and he couldn't help the sharp laugh that escaped him.
“Oh my god.” He grinned back. “That's fucking amazing.”
Another beautiful thing about you? Your confidence.
The two of you then made your way back upstairs, via the freight elevator, which you directed Isaac to because you knew how to use it. Apparently you had been down in the basement and used it to get extra chairs up to the gym during a drama night that the school held to raise money for charity – because of course, you spent your free time doing things like that.
In the small lulling silence, you turned your attention back to the reason that he had been put in detention.
“So - you're also in detention because you hit someone?” You posed. “Mr. Clark said you got into a fight?”
Isaac felt a wave of guilt rush over him, and hated that he couldn't explain the details to you. 'Oh yeah, the Alpha twins went psychotic on me because I realized that they've been killing people.' He just hoped that you didn't think of him as someone dangerous, or some kind of monster.
“Uh… yeah.” Isaac replied.
Technically, he hadn’t been in the fight that he had been blamed for, even if he had wanted to beat up the twins, very, very badly. And taking simply credit for that fight was much easier than trying to explain all the strenuous drama to you – especially when he didn't want you knowing about the existence of werewolves in Beacon Hills. He didn't want you getting involved with any of it.
So instead, he just took the wrap of being someone who got into a fistfight on school grounds in the middle of the day. Which wasn't even entirely unlikely for him. He hated what you might think of him. He really didn't want you being afraid of him.
Instead, you looked pensive as the two of you continued to walk to the janitor's closet together.
“What was it about?” You asked, giving him a chance to explain, not immediately perceiving him as dangerous or guilty. Naturally, you saw the best in Isaac.
“It's… complicated.” He sighed. “Just - you know those twins? The new guys?”
You nodded.
“You should stay away from them. They're really not good guys, and I… I don't want you getting hurt.” Isaac hesitated with the last part, not wanting to sound too affectionate or too sincere, and his stomach tightened at the way your eyes practically sparkled in reaction to his words.
Little did he know, you were glowing inside – absolutely alight with your own bubbling affection at him being so warm towards you. For a while now, you thought that Isaac disliked you for some reason or found you annoying, even though it seemed like he actively sought you out. But it was a lot of mixed signals, with the way he had been cutting off your casual conversations, seemingly looking for an excuse to escape you when the two of you had only been interacting for a few minutes. And you hated being left confused when he ran off, even if he had been the one to first say 'hello', or if he spent entire class periods staring you down like you were the most interesting subject in the world.
You were left with that horrible emotional whiplash once again when he he snatched the keys from you in order to unlock the janitor’s closet, turning his back on you completely, not saying another word as he began to unload the supplies into the shelves.
You sighed heavily, frustration knotting into your gut.
“Okay, did I do something?” You asked, picking up a bottle of cleaner and entering the spacious closet with him, caring much more about the conversation than the task you had been given.
You shouldered off your purse and dropped it carelessly in the corner, focused much more on Isaac – watching his whole body tense as he continued to work. He bent down to poke at some things on a lower shelf, keeping himself mindlessly busy, very intent not to look at you. He didn't say anything, continuing to ignore you.
“Isaac?” You pressed, slightly more stressed that he wouldn't even answer you. “Hello? Did I do something to piss you off? Because if I did, I would rather you just tell me-”
“Look, it's not you.” Isaac said, standing abruptly and turning to face you. You were now entirely aware of his towering height, especially because of how you had to crane your neck slightly to look up at him.
“Well, what is it then?” You pressed, trying not to let your words falter – hating now your attraction flared up at being this close to him.
“It's complicated.” He answered, his voice small, muting off with intense thought.
“Isaac, if you're upset about something, you can talk to me.” You told him, reaching out to gently grab his forearm, something that only made him more tense. You reacted quickly, pulling away sharply, not wanting to force your touch onto him if he didn't want it. “I know you and I aren't very close, but I'm a pretty good listener, and I won't judge-”
Just then, your words were cut off by a harsh bang – the sound of the closet door slamming shut, shrouding the two of you in complete darkness. You heard a distinct 'click' as it was locked from the outside, and then, harsh scraping. The sound of something intensely heavy being shoved across the floor and propped against the door to prevent the two of you from being able to get out.
Panic flooded Isaac as the closet door slammed shut from the outside.
No.
“Oh no. No, no, no, no!”
He couldn't be trapped in here.
He couldn't be trapped in here with you.
Isaac pounded fruitlessly on the door, and reached for the handle, twisting it, becoming more horribly panicked as he felt it not budge an inch. Then he began to shake the doorknob so hard that the entire door shook in its frame – but he still couldn't move it. Not when something so large and heavy was blocking it from the outside.
He shoved his shoulder against the door, harshly, a few times, trying to bust it down, trying to shove that heavy thing out of his way. He was feeling his lungs swell more inside his chest each time, feeling his chest muscles becoming concrete, fighting him, his breaths becoming more intense and rapid each time – his panicked gasps sounding more and more like crying with each passing second.
“No, no!” He cried out. “It's blocked from the outside.”
He finally paused, pressing his forehead against the door in defeat. Suddenly, he felt all too hot, all too trapped inside of his own skin.
He rushed to peel off his heavy cardigan, desperately needing some cool air, needing some way to breathe. You felt a pang of guilt as your eyes were drawn to the curve of his back muscles, the heavy slope of his shoulders as he panted, the sinful way his tight white shirt clung to his skin, especially now that sweat was gathering there.
You felt terrible, looking at him with lust when he was clearly so upset, so panicked.
“Isaac, it's okay, it's gonna be fine-” You reached out, trying to comfort him, but the second your fingers grazed across his shoulder, he let out a near feral growl.
The sound startled you, and you let you a quiet squeal from the back of your throat.
“Get away from me.” He barked at you, his head still pressed tightly to the door, not looking at you.
You drew back sharply, brewing with even more intense guilt. Okay – so he didn't like to be touched when he was upset. That was fine.
Isaac shook the door handle harshly again – he couldn't be trapped in here with you. He couldn't be this close to you, he couldn't risk getting caught up in your soft touch...
Every single panicked breath he took caused him to draw in more of the confined air, caused him to take in more heady lungfuls of your scent. And with each passing second that he was trapped inside this tight space with you, gulping down your scent, knowing that you were so damn close, he was losing it. The intensity of the blood thumping, claustrophobic panic was rapidly turning into a maddening, mind-melting lust.
He had to get out.
He had to escape.
If he didn't get out soon, then he wasn't going to have any sense left. And he was going to do something that he wouldn't be able to turn back from. Something that he might not even regret. A tiny part of him hoped that you wouldn't regret it either. A tiny little shred of hope lived inside of him that you might even want it, that you might want him -
He let out another feral growl, forcing himself to shake off that thought. No, you would never want him.
You spiked with fear as Isaac pounded on the door harshly, letting out a sharp, angry scream.
“Let me out!”
“Isaac! Isaac, stop!” You yelled, trying your best to scream over him. “That's not helping!”
He took a breath, pausing for a moment. His body craved more oxygen, and more of your gorgeous scent planted itself deep in his nose, so heavy on his tongue.
He was so fucked.
“Look, you need to calm down.” You said quietly, fearful that he would hurt himself if he kept this up. “Then we can figure out how to get the door open.”
Painfully, he knew that you were right. But he didn't know how the hell he was going to calm down. Not with you so close by.
He collapsed onto the floor, squeezing himself back into the corner that was farthest away from you, putting a hand flatly over his mouth and nose, trying to douse down as much of your scent as he could. Your beautiful, raw, sweet scent – but of course, he was still bathed in it, absolutely undeniable. He was trying his hardest to even out his breathing while his muscles shook furiously.
Your mouth became dry as you took in how truly pitiful he looked – his eyes wide and glassy, his forehead licked with sweat. Your stomach curled with a unique ache of sympathy, and you wanted nothing more than to help him.
“I read somewhere that eating sour candy can help with panic attacks, I think I have some in here-” You were eager to help, rushing to get the words out as you thought of the solution.
You moved to grab your purse where you had dropped it earlier, bending at the waist to grab it off the floor, and that was when Isaac was truly done for.
The way you bent perfectly revealed your underwear to him – your dress riding up just enough to reveal your panties, unintentionally revealing a little peek of your cloth-covered pussy to his eyes. And more importantly, exposing it to his nose.
The movement caused the scent to spike just enough in the open air to have his brain truly melt between his ears; his cock alive and throbbing inside his jeans, his claws sprouting out against his will, his eyes glowing a gentle yellow in the dark of the space. Mindlessly, his jaw lulled open in order for his tongue to spill out and lap at the air mindlessly, causing him to look more like a dog by the second, his body needing to drink more of that delicious fucking scent.
Isaac, now panting much more like a bitch in heat than like someone having a panic attack, began to crawl mindlessly across the floor toward you, desperately seeking out more of your scent.
He startled you harshly when you felt something bump up against your panty-covered pussy lips from behind – in that moment, not knowing that it was the tip of his nose. You let out a yelp and jumped away from the sensation, accidentally dropping your open purse in the process, spilling the easily forgotten contents all over the floor as you tried to orient yourself and figure out what had just touched you. You shoved your body right up against the shelves that held the cleaning supplies, looking around through the darkness (that your eyes had well adjusted to by now), looking for what had touched you...
And you were met with an entirely strange picture – something right out of one of your fantasies.
Isaac was on his knees in front of you – a very clear outline of his cock pushing up against his jeans, his white shirt sticking to him with sweat, making each of his beautiful muscles even more defined. His chest was heaving as he panted, open-mouthed, his eyes closed as he clearly tried to collect himself.
“Sorry,” He panted quietly, a whiny edge on his voice that made him even more pathetic and even more sweet at the same time. “Sorry, I-”
And then he crawled closer to you again, closing the gap, pinning you right up against the shelves, his body a hot, deadly force against your own. Even on his knees, as tall as he was, his head easily came right up to your waist, and he slouched, sloping his neck to rest his head against the soft plush of your stomach. You couldn't mistake the sound when he hummed contently, pushing his cheek into you, seemingly soothed by being closer to you.
Okay, so he did want to be physically comforted.
“It's okay.” You told him, trying your best to use a soothing, soft voice. You reached a hand up on instinct and ran your touch through his hair – it was slightly damp from sweat, a burning heat coming off his skin. “It's okay. You're alright.”
He let out a warbling moan, a sound that cut right through you, humming against your core like a tuning fork, reminding you just how badly you had always wanted him.
In an instant, you knew that claustrophobia was no longer the major issue at hand for him. Not when he was making sounds like that. It was almost like he was feral. Like he was some kind of animal. As though he was so turned on that he could no longer control himself.
You had no clue what to do, especially not when his large, hot hands came up to grip your hips, and his knees tightly bracketed your ankles, effectively keeping you from running away. Not that you ever would have wanted to. But it made it much harder to think when all you could feel was the thickness of his cock pressed against your calf, and his big, warm hands holding onto you like you were something so damn precious.
You felt an odd sharpness poking into your side, and when you glanced down, you saw that his nails had somehow sprouted into thick, brown claws. When he opened his eyes and looked up at you, instead of that sweet baby blues you had come to know, you were looking down at a unique, nearly shocking yellow.
And then, somehow, it all came careening into perfect clarity.
You should have been terrified. But an incident with Allison about a month earlier meant that you knew exactly what was going on here. You went to her place early to pick her up for a nail appointment that the two of you had scheduled, only to find her room a chaotic mess, and to see her covered in bruises, with her shoulder bloody and clawed. You grabbed your phone, rushing to call the police, or at the very least, her father. And you had only panicked more when she knocked the device out of your hand and begged you not to. It led to her sitting you down and telling you about Scott. She told you all about his 'special abilities', and how her tempting him and teasing him on a full moon had led to the best sex of her life.
You had no clue when the next full moon was, but it had to be soon for Isaac to be acting like this.
An excited, lustful ripple went through you, and a distant murmur in the back of your mind told you that it was a terrible idea to have sex in a school supply closet. You really wanted to hush that voice.
“I - I thought you were having a panic attack.” You gasped, coming to the conclusion aloud for it to truly be real.
“I was.” Isaac admitted in return, his voice oddly small, as though feeling guilty that he had somehow deceived you.
Isaac let out another whine, pressing his forehead tighter into your stomach as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, desperately trying to hold himself back. He couldn't let this happen. No, no, no. You smelled so good – but no. His hands gripped your hips harder, his claws digging into you slightly. You were so close, but he wasn't allowed to touch you.
Allison saying the words 'best sex ever' kept ringing through your skull. You had imagined being with Isaac for so long, and now he was on his knees in front of you, so visibly desperate. Your pussy began to get wet as the thoughts truly hit you and the smell reached Isaac's nose within seconds.
“Sorry, I'm sorry,” He whimpered, unsure what he was apologizing for – the thoughts he was having about you, or the fact that he might actually act on them with the rapid way that his self control was crumbling. “Sorry.”
He nosed down to the edge of your dress, his actions entirely contrasting his words. He felt the need to apologize, but he ultimately, deep down, he knew that he couldn't stop what was about to happen. He couldn't help himself as he tightly shoved his face right up against the front of your underwear under your dress, causing your muscles to tense up in shock at the sensation, your thighs almost clamping around his face.
But still - you didn't find yourself hating it, not one bit. You just weren't used to guys being so brazen and direct with what they wanted from you. If anything, this was more of a turn-on.
You continued to pet soothingly through his hair as nosed tightly against your mound, the tip of his nose tracing a pattern on the front of your underwear that quickly sent dizzying tingles through you. He was panting even harder now, his breath fanning out over your thighs – seeing him so needy and wanting making you wetter and wetter by the second.
“Don't be sorry,” You said, finally gathering more words past the horrible dryness of your mouth. “Don't be sorry. It's okay, puppy.”
The nickname slipped so naturally from your lips – because how else could you think of him? On his knees for you, panting like a dog, looking at you with his big, sweet puppy eyes. He was a sweet, loyal little dog, and you wanted to keep him at your side forever. You wanted him to be your puppy.
Isaac let out a sharp whimper when he heard it, only further adding to your theory. You had wired into his animal nature, the way he looked so perfect on his knees for you, the way he was so desperate and mindless, looking for a command, silently begging to hump. He was your puppy now.
You used your other hand to pet across the broadness of his shoulders, hating the intense tension that you felt there. You had no clue that he was ripe with stress from him holding himself back, forcing himself not to rip your clothes to shreds just so he could get at your pussy. Instead, for now, he settled for letting his tongue out – licking wetly at the cotton fabric of your panties, making your whole body jolt and making you cry out, bucking towards his face when he accidentally skimmed across your clit through your underwear.
He let out another whiny moan.
The taste was so much better.
Unconsciously, a part of him hated sucking on the fabric, but another part of him said that he wasn't allowed to touch, wasn't allowed to move the stupid fabric out of the way, so this was definitely the next best thing. Part of him knew that he was lucky to be on his knees like this for you, that he was lucky to drink your scent like this. He was lucky to even be in the presence of a goddess like you.
His brain continued to melt away and be barely noticed when he began to hump against your leg like an animal, unconsciously grinding his cock against the firmness of your calf, seeking any friction that he could get against his aching, angry hard dick.
“Isaac, puppy,” You breathed out, giving a gentle tug on his hair, trying to force him to look up at you – when he did, he was so damn beautiful.
His eyes had calmed back down to that beautiful blue – somehow, soothed by having you under his tongue. Soothed by finally letting himself drink in your scent, rather than denying it. And though his eyes were still tearful and watery, there was something so utterly beautiful in how pathetic he looked – a proper fucking dog, on his knees for you, panting hard with his tongue out, wordlessly begging to serve his master.
“Come on, it's okay,” You said, further trying to soothe him, an instinct inside of you nagging, telling you that you needed to take care of him in this vulnerable state. “Tell me what you need. Whatever you need, puppy - I'll give it to you.”
Your whole body was vibrating – you had never been so turned on in your life, and if he asked you to runway with him at that point, you likely wouldn't have thought twice before packing a bag.
Isaac let out a sob, absolutely incoherent, and shut his eyes again, seemingly distraught as he pressed his head against your stomach. He was once again enjoying the softness, soothing himself there. He took in a few more greedy lungfuls of your scent before he spoke.
“No.” He whined out. “I can't.”
“What? Why not?” You asked, disappointment ripe in your voice.
“I – I like you too much. I can't – I like you too much.” He declared between gasping breaths, his cock nagging even harder against his zipper, reminding him what he was denying himself of. But no – he would never let himself hurt you. “That's my problem.”
For a moment, you thought that he was opposed to having sex with you under the idea that it might be 'no strings attached' sex. You thought this was him confessing that he had feelings for you, and he didn't want to get emotionally attached to you to you through sex if you didn't want him in return.
Fuck, he was so damn sweet.
“That's not a problem, Isaac.” You told him. “I like you too.”
The warm fondness in your voice only made things harder for him, only made more tension ripple through his shoulders. He held back another sob.
“That's the problem.” He pressed, his voice ripe with bitter urgency, trying to force you to understand, his whole body shaking now.
You couldn't help but to rub another soothing hand over him, your heart aching as he let out more sharp tears.
“Why, puppy? What's wrong?” You asked, truly and utterly confused.
Isaac's eyes snapped up toward you again, and what he said shook you to your very core.
“Because – I'm gonna fuck you.” He declared, his voice warbling with hurt, his words so entirely certain, as though it would happen no matter what, as pure as gravity or the passage of time – somehow filthy, even tainted with the sadness ripe in his voice.
“Isaac-” You gasped in return, and he easily cut you off.
“I'm gonna fuck you, and I’m not gonna stop.”
He nearly choked on his own words, so passionate, the beast inside of him desperately trying to rise up again. He choked it back down, taking in another harsh breath. He closed his eyes once again, petting his hands softly across your curves, desperately trying to remind himself that your body was tender and gentle and he had no business unleashing himself upon it.
“Y/N, please – you have no idea of the things I wanna do to you…”
His voice had a unique kind of pleading, as though begging the universe to rid his mind of the filth you wanted nothing more than to know through a close-up demonstration.
You let out a whimper this time, and Isaac snarled when he smelled more wetness flooding out of you, this time truly soaking through the fabric of your panties, making it so much more potent in the air. He was losing that last little grip he had on his self control.
“I'm gonna ruin you.”
He rasped out, his voice so tired and wrecked, even though the two of you were still fully clothed, even though technically, nothing had happened. At least not yet.
“I'm gonna fucking ruin you… I'm gonna ruin this pussy, Y/N-” He spoke these words with scorn, as if it wasn’t the hottest thing you had ever heard, as if it didn’t make your very legs shake. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry-”
“Please, Isaac.” You said, tugging on his hair again, forcing his face up to look at you once again.
He was so tearful, so beautiful, so pathetic – his pretty blue eyes were wide with shock, unsure that he had heard you correctly.
Were you actually asking him to-?
“I want you to ruin me.”
“Y/N – you, you don't know what you're asking for.”
“I do. I do, Isaac.” Truthfully, you didn't care. You had a good enough idea of what you were asking for, and you were becoming just as needy as he was. Your cunt was throbbing and you had a feeling that you needed it as badly as he did. “Make me yours. Please, Isaac.”
“I wanna be good.” He whimpered, the last shred of reservation still tattering around inside his brain.
He didn't want to hurt you. He would never hurt you.
But it would be hurting you if you asked for it, if you wanted it -
“You are good, you're so good,” You replied, your voice full of breath, the lust finally beginning to become maddening for you too. Finally, you grabbed one of his hands, guiding it to slot into the waistband of your underwear, practically begging him to pull them off you. “You're so good for me – you're such a good boy. Such a good puppy for me.”
The words caused something to light up inside of Isaac. Nobody had ever said anything like this to him. Not ever.
He stuck his tongue out again, greedily licking against the fabric of your panties. And then he outright sucked the fabric into his mouth like someone licking a wrapper clean before devouring their favourite treat, as though he was sucking all the goodness off the packaging before he got to what he knew would be the best part. It was something that caused you to gasp, causing another sharp jolt of pleasure through your body.
“Take them off, puppy, please-”
Isaac was good, he was being good. He was being a good puppy, he assured himself as he hooked his fingers into the fabric and pulled down, partially ripping right through it with the sharpness of his claws, neither of you truly caring about that right now. He made quick work of having your underwear in a useless pile around your ankles and baring your cunt completely to him now.
What a perfect prize.
It was all mindless from there. He dove forward with an intense hunger and you couldn't help but to open up your legs to him, having to detangle yourself from the tenseness of his thighs bracketed around your ankles and the scraps of your underwear in order to do so. Of course, he was too far gone to care about the clumsy exchange of limbs, or the way you used a demanding grip on his hair to shove him further into your pussy. You slung a leg over his shoulder, drawing him in even deeper, and he hummed in enjoyment, glad to be closer to you.
He was in heaven. If catching passing glimpses of your scent was maddening before, then this was being driven off into insanity and fully enjoying it. He was coated in your scent now, your wetness smeared across his face as he shoved his tongue deep inside of you, desperate to have more. He was desperate to drink right from the source, happily bouncing his nose against your clit to further bury himself in that perfect scent. He would do anything to have more of you – more, more, more.
With the plushness of your thighs resting against either side of his face, every single fantasy he had ever dreamt up about you was quickly coming to life. He was completely lost in you, so perfectly smothered against your beautiful, fat mound, loving the feeling of your round body so soft against him. The rest of the world shut out and forgotten – for once, he was enjoying a tightness and closeness, being wrapped in the warmth of another person, rather than being abandoned and alone in a tight, cold, forgotten place. With you, he wasn't forgotten, he wasn't alone. With you, he belonged. With you – he was good.
“Fuck, Isaac!”
There was a certain discomfort in being pinned against a row of plastic shelves while having the life sucked out of your cunt, but you couldn't bring yourself to truly care, and you absolutely did not want it to stop. Not when it was Isaac, shoving his tongue deeper inside of you, moaning madly against you as though he was getting more pleasure out of this than you were.
It was so fucking good.
He was so good, so messy, practically fucking you with his nose like he knew every little move that he made would drive you closer to the edge. He was seemingly determined to shove his face as far inside of you as possible and not caring how wet and messy it made him. He wasn't eating your pussy in some dainty, hesitant way – he wasn't performing this pleasure as some mandatory step on his way to get his dick inside of you. No, instead, he was truly devouring you because it was what he wanted, what he needed, and that knowledge alone was making your legs shake.
You easily felt the warmth of an orgasm curling in your gut, something that was as firm as the fact that Isaac was going to fuck you. It truly struck you when Isaac let out another needy moan into your cunt, vibrating you to your core, continuing to lick and suck at your wetness as though it was the most divine thing he had ever consumed. Your pussy pulsed harshly and your thighs quaked, and he grabbed onto your hips harshly, holding you closer to keep you from squirming away as your body shook harshly with the orgasm.
“Isaac! Isaac!” You cried out, becoming increasingly breathless, your body becoming much more slack and urging to lean against the shelves, which did not feel like they were going to support you, your legs shaking more and more. “Isaac, I'm gonna fall-!”
You gasped out the words, and the simple phrase set off alarm bells in Isaac's lust-foggy head. He would never let you fall. Only a second later, Isaac had firm hands under your lower back, sweeping you off your feet – quite literally – as he lifted you in a smooth move to lay on the floor. You didn't have too much time to think about how perfect and easy that had been for him, how impossibly strong he must have been.
He hesitantly moved his face away from your cunt, his new favourite place to be, inhaling one last greedy breath from between your legs before he moved his head up your body, checking to see that you were okay. (Of course, that would always be his priority – knowing that you were okay.)
The feeling of his nose taking a sharp breath against your bare, raw cunt caused another pang to ring through your body, like a sharp note being played on a piano, and you let out a last harsh whimper as his face came to meet yours.
“Y/N?” He rushed out, his voice so soft, so impossibly full of concern, making you swell even more with affection for him.
“Isaac.” You answered back, unsure what else the answer could possibly be.
All there was in that moment was him.
You felt awash with intense affection at the sight of him – his white shirt slightly stuck to him with sweat, his face downright filthy with your wetness, his cheeks tinged pink, his eyes once again back to that seemingly innocent, pale blue and glassed over with lust.
You couldn't help but to pull him into a kiss, needing to be closer to him, needing to feel those now slick lips on your own. You moaned against his mouth, feeling pure heat coming off his swollen lips, loving the taste of your own tang on his mouth, and he let out another needy moan in return. He shoved his deep tongue into your mouth, feeling so lucky to be able to kiss you. Finally, finally – he was able to kiss you. It was something he had been dreaming about for so many months, something he had wanted for so long.
His cock gave another demanding throb against the zipper of his jeans, and even though he was soothed by being surrounded by your scent, practically bathing in you, his balls ached with sheer need and he felt his claws threatening to burst out again. He wouldn't let himself hurt you. He knew that he had enough of a taste to control himself, so he either had to find a way out, or he had to -
“Please.” He moaned against your mouth, pulling back from the kiss just enough to breathe, his voice broken and gravelly and so truly desperate. “Please, please, please, Y/N. I need to be inside you, I need to touch you, I need you, you're so perfect, your pussy is so perfect, you're so good, you're so warm, please-”
“Yes.” You choked out in return, unable to find the backbone to tell him that horrible word 'no', not when he was still glistening with your wetness, not when his tone was so desperate, not when he was looking at you with those deadly sweet eyes.
Of course, you knew how utterly insane it was to have sex in the middle of a school day inside the janitor's closet – even if the door was blocked off, someone could come across the two of you at any moment. But there was a bit of a thrill behind it too, the possibility of getting caught. You twisted your head to the spilled contents of your purse, wondering if you had another condom or if you had given away your last one to a friend at a party the other weekend. Part of you wondering if you would even truly care if he used one or not, because this was Isaac Lahey, the hottest guy at Beacon Hills, the pretty faced, tall boy that you had been pining after for months, openly begging to fuck you.
“Yes, come on, I want your cock, be good for me – be a good puppy-”
Those words were a soothing relief to Isaac.
“Thank you.” He moaned out, becoming breathless at the idea that you had even given him such sacred permission. “Oh, thank you.”
And taking another good look at you, seeing you so beautiful below him, looking up at him with a pleased smile and lustful eyes, that was when he truly noticed that your head was pressed against the hard floor, and something harsh panged inside of him. Something beyond every single part of him screaming with lust, his nerve endings torn up by adrenaline, ravaged by your scent, something deeper inside of him was screaming:
Take care of your Mate.
So he took a quick glance around and he grabbed up his forgotten sweater, folding it nicely into a little pillow, and as he moved to put it behind your head, you quickly realized what he was doing and lifted your neck to make this easier for him. A tingle ran through you at the sweetness of the act as you laid your head back down, finding that it was much nicer cushioning to lay on. Isaac gently brushed your hair away from your face, nosing along your hairline – a deep, low, pleased growl coming from inside him, something bordering on a purr. He was deeply contented, filled with the pleasure of knowing you were comfortable, knowing he had taken care of you, and smelling that you were now surrounded by his scent, that possessive streak in him soothed and eased.
“Isaac-”
You spoke his name again, so beautifully, so softly – fuck, you were so perfect.
He cut you off with another deep kiss, reaching for his belt buckle as he properly situated himself between your thighs, becoming so clumsy with need once again that he struggled to get the belt open. As you parted your knees for him to get closer, a fresh wave of your scent wafted through the air, catching on his nose and making him even more desperate, another harsh throb going through his cock.
He parted from the kiss and inhaled deeply, his mouth falling open once again and his tongue lulling out to taste the air, drinking up every essence of you that he could get. He felt downright drunk on it, his new favourite sensation in the world. His head fell into the crease of your neck as the lustful dizziness overtook him, and he began to lick up the bits of sweat that had gathered there, once again mindlessly chasing his instincts, only caring about what was right in front of him, even while his cock was angry and painful with need.
You took pity on him and knocked his clumsy hand away from his belt and undid it for him, instantly thrilled by the large bulge under your touch – eager to explore the large, thick cock throbbing against his jeans, begging to get out.
“You really are a big boy, huh?” You purred against his hair, your hands beginning to shake slightly, unable to contain your excitement as you reached for his zipper. “So good, such a good puppy. Such a good boy for me.”
“Thank you.” He hummed into your neck once again. “Thank you, thank you – oh god.”
His words tumbled into a moan when you got your hand around his cock, pushing his underwear down just enough to free it. You got him warmly in your grip, getting a good feel for the hard, thick nine inches now under your hand, throbbing and flushed pink, standing tall from a nest of soft blond pubic hair that wrapped around his heavy, aching balls. You were only able to pump across him a few timed before he finally jumped into action.
He didn't wait, he couldn't wait.
He reached over and knocked your hand out of the way, just barely taking a moment to push his pants down more to free himself, his ass now bared to the room as the fabric slid partway down his thighs – but it was only a blink of a moment before he finally pushed his cock into you. It was a nearly clumsy slide against your abundance of wetness, his thickness fitting into you so perfectly, sinking home in a swift, needy, demanding movement. A single firm shove of his hips causing him to sink all the way inside of you – deep, so, so, deep.
“Oh my - Isaac.”
“Holy fuck.”
There was no shyness about it.
No hesitation, no more asking or begging – Isaac's body had taken over, his instincts now driven by need. It was that thing Derek had talked about: the need to find his mate, and breed.
Feeling you so close, so warm, he needed you now more than ever – he needed his cock so deep inside of you. And he was rewarded with the tight, hot clench of your pussy fully surrounding his cock now, a perfect home that he never wanted to leave. The softness of your belly and your breasts pressed up against him, the plush of your thighs fluttering beside his hips, surrounding him.
The part of his brain that was truly feral was angered by the fact that you were still wearing some clothes, that he couldn't truly feel every inch of your round softness pressed right up against him, that he couldn't feel every naked detail of your body so perfectly. And though he ached to tear your clothes off, he couldn't even focus enough to do so. He was too distracted by the perfect feeling of your wetness surrounding him, your heat.
(He would remember this next time, and he would rip your clothes off without hesitation.)
“Isaac, Isaac, fuck, oh my god.” You gripped onto him tightly, your hands moving up his back, underneath his shirt, your fingertips a cool spark against his overly heated skin as your thighs gripped tightly onto his hips. “Come on, puppy, you gotta move.”
There was a unique pleading in your voice, something anchoring him against his feral mindlessness. The part of him that was convinced he had finally found a home, one that was warm and safe and so different from the world he had known, a place he wanted to live forever. But yet, his cock panged with need and his balls were still aching in protest and all his muscles were so tight and you were fluttering around him, gripping into the thickness of his cock like a silent signal, and -
Yes, that was it.
He needed to move. He needed to fuck you.
A wounded sound warbled out of the back of his throat, a clash as his whole world came colliding into perfect harmony. And finally, he steadied himself on his knees, and he began a sloppy rhythm.
Usually he would have tried to woo you, would have tried to impress you with some kind of purposeful skill – he would have intended to have you cumming on his cock and begging for more. (If he wasn't completely mindless, he might have remembered some of the things that Erica had tried to teach him.)
But his mind was completely wiped blank, and any essence of intention or skill had completely left his body in favour of need, lust, want, the instinct to be deeper inside of you, to feel more of your wetness and heat against his cock. He let out a whimper against your neck as he fucked harder and faster into you, creating a downright sloppy sound inside the small, closed off space as you began to pant and moan, his body becoming overwhelmed by the pleasure of you against him.
“So - so good.” You moaned out, your breath dissolving into his sweaty hair where his head was collapsed against your breast. “So good for me.”
Good?
It was a word that had been quarantined away from Isaac all his life, and hearing it on your lips became damn near addicting in an instant. He was stripped away of everything, acting on his most naked instincts – and you called him good. This was the most bare version of Isaac in the world, the most unprotected he had ever been... and you thought he was good. He let out another needy moan, determined to hear it again – he was going to be good for you, he was going to be good for you – yes, yes, yes.
Bouncing between the spark of that word in his head and the hot tingle of your pussy clenching around his cock, he knew he needed more. He reached for the edge of your dress, tearing it upward, needing to feel more of you, needing to see more of you, inadvertently driving his hips forward harder, making a harsher slap of skin on skin as he devoured more of you.
With his conscious sense all but gone, he had no clue when his claws had sprouted again but he didn't have the slightest bit of will to retract them now, and he did feel a pang of guilt when he heard fabric ripping and saw an angry red streak up the gorgeous fat mound of your stomach. He had been so desperate to move that fabric out of the way that he was now wrecking things in his wake, but fuck – now more of you was exposed. That gorgeous, round fat that was bouncing with every movement of his cock, so hot and perfect and soft for him – fuck, he really couldn't stop himself now if he tried, far too hypnotized by the sight of you leaking around his cock, the feeling of your heat consuming him.
“Sorry.” He whimpered, trying to apologize for that weeping red scratch he had unintentionally left on you, a sting of pain that only made you wetter around his thick cock. “Sorry, sorry-”
“Hey, shh.” You grabbed him by the hair, tilting his head up, forcing him to look you in the eyes before you kissed him on the forehead. “D-don't be s-sorry, pup.” You struggled to get words out, your body quaking around his cock as your orgasm drew near once again. “Fuck - ah! Fuck! You're so good!”
So good.
The words rang through his head again, bouncing off his cock like a scared song, and it drove his instincts into overdrive. He grabbed both your hands, weaving your fingers forcefully with his own – some deeper part of him knowing that this would be the best way not to let his hands wander, not to have his sharp claws pierce anymore of your perfect, tender flesh. And he pinned your hands above your head, now stretching his body over yours completely flat, pinning you to the ground with the full, overwhelming weight and heat of his body in an intensely intimate position that forced his cock deeper inside of you.
You throttled out a moan as you felt it, felt his thickness pushing so deep inside of you. And he continued to fuck into you in deep, harsh thrusts, his hips bruising your own with each movement, rattling the fat of your inner thighs in a way that was sure to leave satisfying marks later on.
“Mine.” He growled out, his words slightly muffled past fangs that were bullying their way into his mouth – something that should have scared you, but instead, caused another telling flood of wetness around his cock. “Mine.”
Yours. Your Mate. Fill her up. Scent her. Cum in her. Make her so full of you.
“All yours.” You let out in a breathy whine. “All yours, pup. Come on, cum for me-”
Fill her up. Fuck her good. Breed her so good. Fill her, make her yours -
With a bright, snarling growl that sounded more like a whine, Isaac fucked his cock in deep, pressing his cock all the way inside of you and finally cumming, letting out bits of frantic bits of drool across your cheek as his eyes glowed that fantastic yellow once again.
“Such a good boy, such a good boy for me-”
You gasped out, breathless, quickly following him over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a brick as you were overwhelmed by the parade of sensations. The topper was feeling those thick spurts of cum flowing inside of you, feeling the overwhelming heat of his cock pulsing as he continued to fuck you through it, his hips stuttering in the most messy, sweetly selfish way.
He shoved his head down into your neck, reducing to tiny whimpers and whines as he became overstimulated by the feeling of your pussy gripping and fluttering around his cock, but of course, he couldn't bring himself to pull out of the warm, perfect home he had made there. Especially not when one of your hands came to pet at his hair and you kissed along the side of his face, making him feel so loved in a way that he never had been before. You drew him even deeper into that wave as you wrapped a knee around his lower back, embracing him, keeping him there, further swallowing up both of your bodies in that filthy mixture that the two of you had created.
“Such a good boy. Such a sweet puppy for me.”
That deeper part of him was now entirely pleased by the way your two combined scents were filling the small space, and he realized that this was what he had been seeking all along – not just more of your scent, but the contentedness that came from the two of you together, the two of you ultimately close, the scent and feeling of you covered in him, the satisfaction his baser instincts felt of having you filled with him.
He let out a deeply content sigh and it was only then that he realized, laying happily on your breast, his cock softening inside of you, that his claws had withdrawn on their own, and his fangs had as well, and his heartbeat and adrenaline had entirely calmed. (He took the opportunity of his claws now being gone to reach a greedy hand down, groping across your thighs and your stomach and down to your ass, enjoying the fat and the smoothness that he had stared at for so long but never gotten to touch.) He was trapped in a closet, in a tightly confined space, for the first time in his life, not panicked by it. Being perfectly soothed by you, having you close.
You were the cure to any horrors he had experienced in life.
“Are you okay, Isaac?”
You asked, your voice small.
Better than ever.
“Yeah.” He replied, his voice having a sex-worn rasp to it now. “Look, I am sorry if I-”
Of course, he had to be interrupted yet again.
His stomach curled nervously when he heard the sound of scraping – something being moved harshly across the floor. And a moment later, someone harshly ripped open the door that had been snapped shut, originally trapping the two of you into the closet in the first place. Isaac blinked his eyes against the harsh burst of light and instinctively moved to shield you with his body for modesty, not caring that his pants were halfway down his thighs and his bare ass was sticking out.
It wasn't until the person spoke that he recognized them.
“Isaac? Y/N? I – oh my god! I thought you were in trouble!”
Scott. Of course.
“Shut the door!” Isaac barked in return.
“Are you sure?”
“Shut it!”
Scott did as asked, and Isaac was relieved when you burst out laughing.
“I'm glad you found that funny.” He griped sarcastically, moving to hide his face in your chest once again, his face absolutely bleeding with embarrassment now.
“Well – the whole… bizarre-ness of the situation just really hit me.” You told him, your voice light. “And – at least the door's open now.”
Isaac let out a laugh too.
...
A/N: Please note, this fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2', and I find it rude when people rush to the comments to ask for one. If you would like to comment, please discuss the content of what has been written. I love talking about my fics and my favourite characters with fellow fans, so you are definitely not bothering me by commenting love for the fic or just the fandom in general. If you're feeling shy, feel free to come into my inbox and comment on anon.
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Summary: during an argument with Carlos, you flinch
Word Count: 1.1k
Content/CW -> gn! reader, arguing, comfort
— requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> my first time writing carlos & this prompt was so good i couldn't ignore it :p honestly im not a huge fan of how the argument dialogue turned out in this but also i just cannot imagine carlos blowing up on his partner, i feel like he's more of the type to storm out and go hit the gym :,)
-> title stolen from the song 'HEAD' by devon again, go listen <3
Carlos has never considered himself a ‘soft’ man. Umbrella saw to that. They weren’t looking for soft men—a soft man wouldn’t have survived the childhood he did, and wouldn't have been able to complete the work he’d done for Umbrella.
Still, he tries for you. He swallows back the fear and pain and rage that grows in the pit of his stomach like a cancer, forces himself to stop and think before he does anything because he knows while he may not be soft, that doesn’t mean you aren’t.
It’s been harder lately with the news of more Umbrella shenanigans. The first time he’d seen it on the news, his fist had curled around the remote, fingers working quickly to switch the channel back to something he could actually stomach.
It didn’t work.
He feels it bubbling under his skin long before it comes to the surface. He tries his best to fight it, to breathe through it the way he taught himself a long time ago. He goes to the gym more, throws himself into his work, distances himself from you.
He’s a ghost in his own home, fleeing rooms as fast as you can enter them, squirming away whenever you cuddle up to him. He misses you, yearns for your warmth and yet, he can’t bring himself to taint you with his touch.
Not like this, not when he feels like he can burst at any moment.
It all comes to a head when you manage to catch him off guard in the kitchen.
He hasn’t been sleeping well lately, plagued by nightmares of horrors he’ll never let you know about. He’s off his game, too tired to sweep the corners of the house for any signs of your presence like he usually does.
“Carlos?” The usual sweetness in your tone has been drained away. “Why are you avoiding me?”
He blinks, swallowing hard. He didn’t think, didn’t consider for a moment that you might catch on to what he’s been doing. His stomach twists in knots.
“I’m not—” He sighs, tugging at the loose strands of hair that hang in his face. “I’ve been busy.”
You shake your head, lips forming in a hard line the way they do whenever you’re upset with him. “No you’re not.”
He goes quiet, casting his gaze downwards. He’s speechless, at a loss for words for once in his life. Usually, he’d be able to talk you down, say just the right things to calm your nerves, be the perfect partner that he needs to be.
You take a step towards him, unaware that you’ve boxed yourself in between his body and the kitchen counters. “Talk to me. Why are you avoiding me?”
He clenches and unclenches his fist, breathing through the moment. “I just need space.”
“And you couldn’t have told me that?”
It’s the way your voice catches on the words that really twists the knife in his stomach. The way your eyes are shining, your lips trembling in frustration. Carlos knows what this is, sees through it in a way no one else can. You’re not sad, you’re angry.
He knows he should back off. He knows he should grumble out an apology and go hit the gym, burn off the adrenaline spiking in his veins. But Carlos Oliveira has never been one to back down from a fight.
“Do I have to tell you everything?”
“Excuse me?”
He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Do I have to tell you everything?” He repeats himself, taking a step towards you.
You shuffle backwards in response, trying to add distance between the two of you when all you’ve wanted for days is to close it.
“You don’t get to do this,” he says, coming another step closer. “You don’t get to corner me and—and force me into some touchy-feely conversation.”
“I-I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were.”
You back up even more, your palms brushing the corner of the counter. Trapped. You find yourself feeling akin to a cornered animal, with all of the fear and none of the ferality.
Your heart pounds in your chest, breath leaving your body. Carlos has never—would never—hurt you, but you’ve also never seen him lose his composure quite like this.
“I know you’re upset, but this—” He brings his hand up to gesture for emphasis and you flinch.
Carlos freezes, the words dying on his tongue. The world stops spinning, time stops ticking, he swears his heart stops beating. The anger dies, red hot rage going cold as winter.
Your eyes are glassy, hands clenched on the counter behind you so tightly that your fingertips burn. Carlos lets his eyes flutter closed, as if between one blink and the next, this will all go away. It doesn’t.
“Sweetheart, I—”
I what? He’s not sure what to even say anymore, what could possibly make this better. He would never hurt you, he knows that, but clearly you don’t. He suddenly finds himself wishing that the ground will open up and swallow him whole.
“It’s fine.”
Carlos falls to his knees in front of you and even the hard linoleum floors don’t hurt as much as the sight of you flinching at him.
He’s slow to reach out to you, to press a gentle hand on either side of your thighs. You don’t flinch this time, don’t even react to his movements, but the damage is done.
“It’s not fine.” He shakes his head, resting his forehead against the plush of your thighs. “Sweetheart, I would never hurt you. Ever.”
“I know, I just—” A stray tear slips from the corner of your eye. Your lip trembles. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your knee. “I’m so sorry.”
You rest a hand on the top of his head, cautious and slow, like you’re petting a wild animal. Carlos pulls away ever so slightly, looking up at you from where he’s claimed his place on the floor.
“I’m sorry, I love you so much, sweetheart.” He shakes his head, “I never should have—fuck, I’m so sorry.”
You brush a stray strand away from his face, “it’s—”
“It’s not okay. Don’t let me feel okay about this.”
“Carlos…”
“No, baby.”
“Get up off the floor.”
He obliges, rising to his feet in front of you. Despite your height difference, despite the width of his shoulders and the flex of his biceps, he’s never seemed smaller than he does right now.
“I know you would never hurt me,” you say quietly, snaking your hands over his shoulders. He tenses beneath your touch.
“But you—”
“Had a normal human reaction to someone standing very close to me and raising their hand. That’s all.”
He relaxes ever so slightly. “I love you.”
You draw him in, pulling his head to yours until he’s close enough to brush your lips over his. It’s soft and full of the warmth you’ve lacked these days, Carlos’s hands finding your hips and tugging you tighter against him.
You rest your head against his chest, “I love you too.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
eating out boyfriend!tim drake for the first time (˶>⩊<˶)
an extract of you pleasuring your nervous and handsome boyfriend
cw: mdni, afab!tim, fem!reader, oral sex (m! receiving), praising and worshipping, art by notbao
Tim and you have been kissing for a long time, you and him are always kissing. He has plush and tasty lips that make you want to kiss him deeper and harder, and makes you wonder if he tastes that good between his legs. You’ve been thinking about it a lot, maybe more than you should, he’s always all about pleasuring you; fingering you, eating you out, strapping you. But you want to make him cum too! You’ve heard his moans when you kiss the soft spots on his neck, how he rolls his eyes and his mouth falls open. You can’t help but imagine how beautiful he’d look when cumming.
“Babe,” you call him, even though he’s too focused on your lips, on kissing you and putting his thigh between yours. “Babyy.” You tug on his hair, lifting his head. “Are you turned on?”
“Hm?” He furrows his eyebrows, his big eyes fluttering as he looks up at you. “Of course I am, you always make me hot.”
“Do you want me to help you?” you ask, smiling softly and tickling the back of his neck.
“What?” He heard you just fine, but his mind is going fast right now.
You run your hands through his hair, messing it up a little as you lean it to kiss his forehead, eyes and cheeks. He gets all red until the ears because of that and giggles, waiting for your explanation.
“I’m asking you if you’d let me eat you out,” you tell him without stuttering.
Tim freezes for a second, he glances away biting his lip, trying to figure out if he heard you right. He lets out a little nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You… you don’t have to,” he says, clearly nervous. “I mean, if you’re just being nice or whatever.”
You shake your head, resting your arms on his shoulders. “Tim, I’m not just saying it. I really want to.” You reach up and cup his face gently, turning him back toward you so he can see how serious you are. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot more than you think.”
He still looks a little unsure, shy awkwardness making him even cuter. His hands fidget with the hem of his shirt. “You don’t have to force yourself or anything. I’m fine if we do other stuff.”
You smile wider and lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth, then trail your lips down to his jaw. “I’m not forcing anything. I love making you feel good. Please? Let me show you how much I want it.”
Tim swallows hard, his breath catching. You can see the exact moment he believes you, because his shoulders relax a little and his eyes get his soft and needy look. “Okay,” he whispers, voice shaky. “Yeah... if you really want to.”
You don’t waste time, you guide him back against the pillows, kissing him slow and deep while your hands slide under his waistband. He lifts his hips to help you pull his pants and underwear down, and you settle between his legs, pressing soft kisses along his inner thighs. He’s already wet, and the sight makes heat pool low in your stomach.
“You’re so handsome like this,” you whisper against his skin, looking up at him. His face is flushed, one arm thrown over his eyes like he’s still a little embarrassed. You gently move his arm away. “Look at me,” you say softly, glancing up. “I want you watching while I do this.”
He meets your eyes, flushed and breathing fast. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” you murmur, pressing a kiss right above his clit. “I can’t wait anymore. You smell so good already.”
Then you lean in and drag your tongue flat up his folds in one long stroke. Tim gasps sharply, hips twitching. “Oh shit! That feels…”
You hum happily against him, the taste warm and sweet and so him. “Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined. So fucking sweet.” You lick again, slower this time, circling his clit with the tip of your tongue. “Tell me how it feels, baby. I want to hear you.”
He moans low, fingers threading into your hair. “I-It’s... intense. Your tongue is so hah warm. Don’t stop, please.”
“I won’t,” you say between licks, sucking gently on his clit before pulling back just enough to talk. “I could stay here for hours.” You press your tongue inside him, fucking him with it slow and deep and he arches with a broken sound.
“F-Fuck, yes! There r-right there, baby!” he pants, thighs starting to tremble around your head.
You dive back in, licking and sucking with more pressure, moaning against him so he feels the vibrations. You’re getting wetter and wetter every time, you really want to get up and press your pussies together so you could fuck him crazy, but you stop yourself because baby steps. You keep going, faster, hungrier, telling him between breaths how much you love it, how you could do this forever. His fingers tighten in your hair, body tensing as he gets close.
“I'm... I’m gonna…” he gasps, voice cracking.
“Come for me,” you urge, sucking his clit hard while your tongue flicks fast. “Let me taste it all.”
He cries out your name as he comes, thighs clamping around your head, hips jerking while you keep licking him through every wave. You don’t stop until he’s shaking and whimpering softly, oversensitive but still grinding weakly against you.
Finally you crawl up his body, kissing his stomach, his chest, his scars and his lips so he can taste himself on you. Tim pulls you tight against him, breathing hard, face buried in your neck. “You’re too good at this shit.”
You laugh, the sound vibrating between your bodies. “Did it feel good?”
Tim breathes out, huffing a laugh and nods. “Yeah, really fucking good. We can definitely repeat this.”
You kiss his cheek with a giggle and lift your head so you can look him in the eyes. “Want to have a bath together?”
“Ohhh, yes please! I’m so sweaty right now and it’s your fault.”
a/n: it's been a long time since i don't write for tim omg!!
⋆𐙚 ̊. Tim thinks you’re cheating on him, but you’re actually planning his birthday.
cw: mentions of cheating, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, tim is a sensitive boy and lowkey a crybaby, lmk if i missed something!
a/n: i‘m not sure if i like this, word count is about 2.3k words, i wrote this on wattpad and copied it into tumblr and i wanted to know where most of you write? i used to write directly on tumblr (mobile app/browser) but i wanted a word count. this is not proofread and will probably be edited in the future. let me know what you think and please don’t be afraid to like, reblog and comment! 💌
Tim knew that you would never actually cheat on him. He knew that. You were his best friend long before you became his girlfriend, the two of you had, and have always been honest with each other. So he doesn't understand why your actions have told him otherwise.
The first time Tim took notice to your unusual behavior was on a calm friday night. He skipped out on patrol due to him still recovering from his last mission. You were cuddled up on his bed, him laying on your chest while you both watched a movie together. At first it was the same as always, both of you making stupid comments and discussing the characters while you played with a strand of his hair. But then you went on your phone, which didn't usually happen while you two were watching something, but he'd decided to ignore it. Until your hand reached a second time, then a third, until he lost count and he noticed you being glued to your phone.
As he lifted his head, repositioning his body to lay beside yours, you didn't even glance up at him as he stared at you. Only when you felt his gaze trying to catch a peek at your phone screen, you quickly turned to him while burying your phone into your chest, quickly pressing the power button. “What are you doing?” you question, trying to laugh off the situation.
Tim continues to hold your gaze while his eyes flicker from the phone in your hand back to your face. "What are you doing?"
You laugh again. “Texting.”
“Texting who?” he questioned, his gaze unwavering.
“Just Steph.” you shrugged, desperately hoping he would let this go. But you knew Tim, and you knew he could tell you were hiding something.
“Oh. What were you texting about?” You swallow at his question, coming up with a quick answer. “Just some memes.” you squeezed out the lie. You didn't want him to know that you were actually discussing the plan for his upcoming birthday in a group chat without him.
Tim is silent for a moment as he studies your face. With a sigh, he decides to let it go. “Okay.”
You breathe out a quiet sigh of relief as he lays back down on yours chest, your phone now abandoned on the bedside table.
Tim continues watching the movie, though his brain can't shut off this time. You weren't lying to him, right? You were still your own person, even if he was your boyfriend, your best friend, you still had the right to not tell him everything. Tim could handle you not telling him everything, right?
Wrong. Later that night, you were laying in his arms, passed out while his brain couldn't stop overthinking every single one of your actions throughout the last weeks.
The second time he thinks something is really wrong he catches you sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night.
Tim was staying over at your apartment, enjoying your bed with countless fluffy pillows and your warm body snuggled up next to his. He was awoken by the sound of the sheets rustling, thinking nothing of it, just you tossing and turning until you found the right position. But then he squeezed one eye open, watching as you tried to quietly pull the covers off yourself, grabbing your phone off your nightstand before walking out of your bedroom and into the hallway, softly closing the door behind you.
It was quiet, and for a moment Tim thought you might be just going to the bathroom. That was until he heard your soft voice through the door. “Hey, babe.”
And right at this moment, Tim felt his heart stop. There was no way you could actually be cheating on him. You always told him he was your person, wasn't that true anymore?
Deciding he needed more proof for a final conclusion, he squeezed his eyes shut as he quietly got up, stepping closer your bedroom door. Now leaning his ear against it, he could make out your voice more clearly coming from down the hallway. “No, of course I didn't tell him.”He could hear you laugh softly. “He's not going to find out!”
Tim's ear began ringing as his throat suddenly felt dry, an overwhelming mix of emotions hitting him all at once. His eyes burned suddenly, and he squeezed them shut once more, trying to drown out the thoughts scrambling inside his head. This was it. You were really cheating on him. Wasn't he good enough? You always told him he was. Did you lie to him every time you told him you loved him? Was it his looks? Did he work too much? Was it Red Robin? All those thoughts circulated in his head while he tried to reason with himself. His thoughts are cut short when he catches the last of your conversation. “Okay, I gotta go before Tim wakes up. Love you.”
Hearing your footsteps become louder as they near the bedroom, he quickly wipes at his face before crawling back into bed, turning so his back is facing you when you walk back in.
You let out a tired yawn as you quietly push the door open, tracing your steps back until you're laying in bed again, facing Tim's back. You watch him for a second, a smile crossing your face as you think about the joy on his face when he'll open the gift you got him for his birthday. That was the reason you had been so sneaky around Tim for the past weeks, planning a small party at the manor, trying to get every one of his siblings to agree to come at the same time.
But your smile quickly washed away from your face as you noticed Tim's uneven breathing and the quiet shaking of his shoulders. Your hand reached out, finding its place between the blades of his shoulders. “Tim?” you call out softly, your voice filled with worry.
He debated pretending to be asleep, but he quickly realized you would just see through him and he didn't want you to know that he knew. So he turned around, now facing you, and when you spotted his red eyes and small frown, he could see the concern in your eyes. “What's wrong, baby?” you question, your voice soft as you carefully brush his hair away from his face. He could melt into your touch right now, but then he remembered wha he just heard, and suddenly this felt like the last time you'd touch him so tenderly.
“Did you have a nightmare?” is the next question that left your mouth. Tim decided to go along with it, feeling his throat closing up with the threat of unshed tears, he just nodded.
“Oh, Timmy.” You sighed out empathetic, wrapping your arms around him as you pulled him into you, pressing a kiss against his forehead in an act of silent comfort. “You're safe here.” you mumbled against his skin. Tim squinted his eyes shut, not believing that you could cheat on him in one moment and love him like this in the next.
Now, as he walks back through the front door and into the manor, his thoughts are still running wildly around his brain. They have been the past week , not stopping since that you comforted him because of his “nightmare”. He hadn’t talked much to you after that night, always coming up with reasons to cut conversations short, responding with short answers to your texts, ignoring calls and giving a lazy excuse afterwards. And today was his birthday, to which you only sent him a quick text, leaving no signs that you would want to see him today. From Tim’s perspective, you didn’t seem too concerned. What he didn’t know was that you spent every spare second you had to plan his birthday so it would be perfect, leading to you being pretty busy.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Tim walks into the sitting room in search of Alfred. He had sent him on a mission to go and get a special ingredient Alfred was missing for something he was baking, whatever it was.
He frowned as his gaze scans the room, noticing the curtains drawn and the furniture arranged. Before he could notice the decorations hanging of the wall, the curtains were pulled open and a chorus of “Happy Birthday”s sounded across the room. Now standing in front of him were all of his siblings, Bruce, Alfred, and you. His gaze focused on you, your grin wide as you stepped closer to him, his favorite cake in held securely in front of you, decorated with his favorite lego figures and lit candles. “Happy birthday, baby. Make a wish!” you smile at him, giving him an encouraging nod.
Tim can only stare, and before you know it, he’s already turning around and quickly making an exit. He’s gone before you can call out and a frown comes across your face. Behind you, you hear Jason whisper a quiet “What the fuck?” and Cass asking quietly “What’s wrong with him?”
You still stand there, baffled at Tim’s reaction, when you feel someone come up behind you. Your turn your head to come face to face with Steph, and she gives you a comforting look as she takes the cake out of your hands and quietly tells you to go after him.
You do immediately. Your pace is fast as you trace his steps to where you know he must be. Seeing that he left the door to the terrace open, you quickly slip outside, spotting Tim leaning against the railing, his body hunched as his face is clenched in agony. Your worry increases instantly and you call out his name, watching as he startled and looks up at you with hurt in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, stepping closer to him. “Is it the party? Is it too much?” You want to reach out, hold his hands in yours and give him all the comfort you can. You both stare at one another before Tim breaks the silence.
“Why are you doing this?” he chokes out through his tears, and your heart cracks at seeing him so hurt. “What do you mean?” you shake your head in confusion.
“Why won’t you just break up with me if you don’t want to be with me anymore?” he snaps, his face morphing into regret in an instant at the way he talked to you. He hated being mean to you, even if you were the one that was hurting him right now.
“What are you talking about?” you shake your head in confusion. “I- I don’t want to break up with you! I want you, Tim!”
“Then why are you cheating on me?” he finally lets out, and your face drops at hearing his words.
Your brain stops working for a second as you try to process his words. You, cheating, on him? “Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please.”
Tim scoffs, shaking his head as he wipes at his eyes. “You don’t have to lie anymore. I heard you that night, last week.”
Your eyes widen, questioning every interaction you’ve had over the last week, trying to remember any conversations or phone calls. Phone calls… that’s when it hits you. The night you stepped out to call Steph as she found the perfect gift you had wanted for Tim on patrol that night. The night you came back to bed to find him crying from a “nightmare”.
Your gaze softens as you watch Tim completely unravel before you, believing the fact that you would cheat on him.
“Oh, Tim.” your voice wavers. You take a step forward, this time not hesitating to grab his hands and pull him into you. You wrap your arms around him, feeling his do the same. You could cry at the fact that he was still hugging you, even if he was supposed to be mad. You pull back, placing your hands on either side of his face, tilting it to meet your gaze. “I would never cheat on you. Never. I love you so so much, Tim. You’re my everything.” you explain desperately. “That night, I was talking to Steph about one of your presents for today. And the basically the last two weeks I’ve been busy planning every minor detail because I wanted today to be perfect for you. But I promise you, Timothy, that I will not and have not ever cheated on you. You can look through my phone or search my drawers or whatever-”
You’re cut off by Tim pressing his lips to yours. You let out a sound of surprise before leaning into the kiss, pressing your lips to his with the same eagerness.
He’s the one to pull back, letting his hands rest on your waist. “I believe you.”
Eyes widening, a relived expression washed over your face. “I love you, Tim. And I‘m sorry I made you feel that way.”
He shakes his head. “No, I‘m sorry. For believing that you would cheat on me. I was just… I was so scared of losing you.”
Your face softens more, if even possible, as your thumb swipes under his eye, wiping away the last of his tears. “You’re not going to lose me, baby. Not if I can help it.” you smile at him.
He’s pulls you closer again, burying his face in your neck as the two of you stay like that for awhile.
Tim knew that after all, you were his best friend, his soulmate, and he was wrong to doubt the bond between the two of you.
Pairing: Victor Stone x afab! reader (no pronouns used but reader menstruates)
Summary: when you don't show up to a Titans meeting, Victor comes to see you
Word Count: 830
Content/CW -> afab! reader (no pronouns used but reader menstruates), hurt/comfort, casual banters, ambiguous relationship, reader is a titan
— requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> this ended up being eerily similar to my superboy prime fic so please ignore that lols...some more vic content for me and his 12 fans to enjoy <3
There are three things Victor notices when he shows up for regular scheduled training with the Titans.
One is that Wally West is late. Again. For the fastest man alive, he sure takes his sweet time getting everywhere.
The second thing he notices is that Donna Troy and Garth have started sparring without everyone, Donna already having the Atlantean pinned to the mat beneath one of her muscled forearms. Roy Harper watches from the sidelines with wide eyes that say something like, I hope I’m not next.
The third thing, and most important to him, is the distinct lack of you. You’re not standing in the corner smiling at Donna’s antics, not sitting on the ground and tying your shoes, thinking of something witty to say when Wally does finally arrive.
On a good day, Victor feels your presence like sunlight. Like warmth on his skin, joy in his heart, something steady and constant. Today, he feels your absence like a thunderstorm. Heavy and loud and pouring over him until he’s soaked in it.
He sidles up to Dick. “Hey, we’re missing someone.”
The former Robin is typing something on his phone—held way too close to his face for someone as young as he is—his thumbs moving a mile a minute.
“Yeah, Wally’s running late today.” He doesn’t even look up from his screen.
“Not the someone I had in mind,” Vic chuckles, and Dick finally looks up.
His brows pull together as he examines the room, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape when he notices your absence. “Yeah, I wouldn’t hold my breath on that one.”
“Why not?”
Dick cringes like he’s said something he’s not supposed to say, “shark week, apparently.”
Realization dawns on Victor, his mind going back to yesterday. You had seemed off. Lower energy, a little snappier than usual, and you’d looked like you were in pain after the mission and not just from the usual bruising you obtained.
Excusing himself for a minute, Victor tries your cell, only for it to go to voicemail. His heart sinks. You never ignore his calls.
He glances back at the practice room, at his comrades sparring each other, before looking down at your contact photo. Fuck it, he thinks. They’ll live one day without him.
Victor finds you in bed, curled up in a ball under a nest of blankets. You’re wide awake, watching some tv drama he’s never seen before, an arm around your waist like it’ll magically stop your stomach from aching.
“Hey, zombie, we missed you at practice today.”
You blink, not having realized he’d come in. He must’ve used the spare key you’d given him, trusting him the most out of everyone you worked with to have one. Wally had frowned when you said that but everyone else found it reasonable.
You rub at your face, suddenly feeling self conscious about how you’ve been bedrotting all day. “Zombie?”
“Since you’re the living dead.”
“So dramatic.” You suppress an eyeroll at his stupid joke. “I’m not dead, just bleeding out.”
“Uh huh, I’m the dramatic one.”
You laugh a little at that, your cramps doubling in strength. You hunch over, pressing your stomach to your thighs. You wince, the pain doing anything but subsiding.
“Seriously, are you okay? You never miss an opportunity to beat up Wally and Roy.”
“Never better,” you groan.
He steps further into your room, settling down at the edge of your bed. The weight of him in your bed is a familiar comfort, something you’ve felt dozens of times on better nights between movies and video games.
“Can I get you anything?”
You think for a moment. “Any chance you have a heating pad on hand?”
“No but,” he flashes you an awkward smile, “I might have something better.”
“Better?”
“You trust me, right?”
“Nothing good has ever come from you saying that, Vic.”
He cocks his head to the side, “I know, I know.”
“But,” you sigh, “I’m willing to try anything.”
He hums, crawling up your mattress until he’s laying in the bed next to you. Tentatively, he wraps an arm around your waist, pressing a hand over the spot where you ache the worst.
You relax into him, your back pressed to his chest. “Not that I mind but—is this just an excuse to cuddle?”
He rests his head over yours. “Wait for it.”
And then suddenly his hand is heating up, soothing away the cold ache that’s sat between your hips all day. A moan slips through your lips, your body finally unfurling from the awkward uncomfortable position you’ve been in all day.
Slowly, the rest of his body follows suit, forming a warm cocoon around you. You lay your head back against his shoulder, the warm metal like the sun on your back.
He chuckles, sending vibrations down your spine. “That feel better?”
“So much better,” you sigh, resting your hand over his and pressing it harder into your stomach. “You’re the best.”
“Anytime, cutiepie.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
a/n: request for @cassiecasluciluce, hope y'all enjoy :)
cw: loneliness, start of friendship, reader is a female member of the JL
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
You make an unexpected friendship.
Kon-El/Platonic!F!Reader
No one knows what to think of him. It's obvious, from the way that their eyes dart askance of him, as though people are wary to even meet his gaze. As though he's a bomb, threatening to blow up. As though he's dangerous.
When you stare at him through the medical bay window, as J'onn presses his hands to his temples, you don't see it. Whatever worries Clark. Whatever is making Bruce so wary. Whatever is making everyone take wide berth around him.
You just see, as those blue eyes find you across the plane of the glass: a kid. And a lonely, lost, scared one at that.
You don't get to run into him until a few days later. They've decided to keep him on the Watchtower until they can figure out whatever facility that Wayne Enterprises they can shuttle him off to. As though he's going to go on a volatile rampage.
Right now, when you spot him on the other side of the mess hall, poking sullenly at a few roasted potatoes with his fork, you still don't see it.
That's why you decide to make the decision of crossing the room's perimeter to him. He can tell—he looks up immediately, with no reticence, no shyness. Not used to social strictures, like a young, ambling fawn still getting used to their legs—so he is.
But there's a mask of wariness that clouds whatever curiosity is making presence in those blue eyes as he watches you approach. As he watches you settle your tray across from him and heft your legs over the bench.
You offer him a bracing smile and cast a glance over to the tray he sports before him—potatoes. Greens. A slab of untouched Salisbury steak coated with gravy.
"You know," you offer to him, taking bearings of friendliness, "The roast chicken is a lot better."
He looks at you for the span of a whiling second; then, belatedly, his eyes dart back down to the congealing meat on his tray. There's a shuffle of movement from him—a bob of his shoulders. Not necessarily hunching in upon himself, but still battening up the walls.
"I didn't really care what I got," he responds back in gruff delivery—his eyes search you. He's still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Trade you," you offer pertly, displaying your tray that bears chicken and salad, a slice of cheesecake on the side with proverbial cherry on top. Your finger knuckles along the ridge of the tray, inching it his way.
Those eyes offer a flicker of something indiscernible, but then it's gone before you can really take time to acknowledge that it was there. His brow knits, his jaw sets—you wait for what he's working up the courage to say.
"Did J'onn send you here to talk to me?" He asks, and there's something defiant in the manner he asks it. Something so blatantly hateful at the idea, something so markedly vulnerable.
"No," you reply back simply. "I came over here because I wanted to talk to you."
He cycles a breath, using those fledgling, unused powers to read the data of your body, to suss out the truth from the lie. And when he can find no error, the set of his jaw relaxes. But only by a little bit.
"Why?" He asks in disgruntled manner. "Wanna ask where I come from? Wanna know what makes me tick?"
It's the lashing out of someone with no defenses save the baleful tone of his voice. Nothing but himself against the world—and something in your heart twists in agonizing manner. Something empathetic takes root and blooms.
"No," you reply back calmly, "I just thought you might want someone to eat with."
"I don't want your pity," he responds with a whip-crack response that's equivalent to being slapped. You feel your eyes widen on instinct as you regard him, at the vituperative quality of his voice—the way that it was expelled from him.
You scarcely have a second to allow it to percolate between the two of you before you catch the slump of his shoulders, the bite, the vicious quality dissipated with instantaneous departure. The kid who you saw alone in the med bay with that hollow cant to his eyes.
"Sorry," he says, and his voice is hollow, brittle like dead leaves skittering on the pavement. "I just—"
He keeps his eyes trained on the trays that run parallel to each other. "I didn't expect the outside world to be…"
There's a taut hesitation as he seeks out the sanctity of vocabulary, as he fords for something that encapsulate everything he's experienced. In such a short amount of time, in days experienced in lifetimes.
"…Different." Is what he finally settles on. The silence speaks more than the singular word alone can.
You allow him a moment to contemplate the food congealing before him. And then you make a choice.
"It doesn't have to be something you go through alone." You assert, keeping your voice sotto voce, regulated and soft.
Those eyes flick up to you, wary and low. "I don't want to be a charity project."
"Good, because I'm broke," you respond smartly—a weak chuckle bursts from his lips, involuntary. Something softens in the abyss of those eyes.
"Only if you want," you continue. "Maybe we can start small—"
"How?" He asks, and there's something sad and forlorn—but hopeful. So hopeful it burgeons inside of him.
You smile. "How about we start with lunch? I'll tell you what to avoid on the menu."
A slow instant elapses between the two of you, before he nods. A curt, deliberate movement on his part.
"Okay." He says, this boy trying to be a man. "I'd like that."
When you speak, there's no trace of a lie at all in your voice—and you're glad he knows it. "Wonderful."
which marvel and dc characters would be HEARTBROKEN if their fat s/o mentioned thinking about losing weight
i’m talking “NOOOOOoo uh i meannn…you know i already think you’re gorgeous, but it’s up to you babe”
here are my credentials: i’m fat
dc:
guy gardner is having a big fucking sullen fit if he finds out you’re trying to lose weight. askin why the fuck you’d do that to yourself, genuinely on the verge of a brain-scrambling breakdown lmao
jason todd cannot understand why on earth you would do that to yourself. you're perfect how you look and he just can't get enough of you; do you want him to prove it? because he will, sweetheart
roy harper is absolutely devastated if he gets wind of the notion. almost on his hands and knees trying to convince you to think again about such a ridiculous idea. just please don't honey, okay?
booster gold has to look at you a few times as he tries to mull over the idea that you've suggested to him; he blinks, squints, goes "why?" with the most perplexed cant to his voice and then proceeds to thoroughly discount any argument that you might suggest his way
lobo gives you a look of disgusted confusion that isn't quite directed at you, but more at the ridiculous idea that you've suggested to him. he takes a long drag from his cigar as he folds one leg over the other and grunts "why would you do somethin' stupid like that to a perfect bod like yours?" and the matter seems to be settled there
diana prince is absolutely appalled that you would consider losing weight. after all, she can still lift you and carry you in certain...situations...so why would you ever consider such a foolhardy decision, love?
marvel:
frank castle is bewildered why you would wanna do something like that. tells you that you're not eating enough, because he wants to make sure that not only are you well-protected, that you're also well-fed. come on now, honey, don't do that, will you?
bucky barnes likes a partner with a big figure, and looks at you with outright confusion when you suggest the idea. Come on doll, let's talk you out of that idea right now; no need to be suggesting so outlandish stuff
ben grimm absolutely adores your figure, your body; how it feels under his hands. The idea that you would want to lose any of that is absolutely horrific and it's probably one of the only times that you'll see real panic in his eyes when you suggest it
rogue is practically apoplectic if you consider losing any weight. thinks the more of you, the better; after all, it's important that she gets to visually appreciate you since she can't do as much touching as she wants to do, right?
those are my thoughts.........feel free to comment more below......adios....
Summary: when your new friend at university discovers how close you live to campus, he spends a lot of nights crashing at your place
Word Count: 2.5k
Content/CW -> university! au, Tim is your bestie, you enjoy pumpkin spice lattes (it's a sacrifice for the fall vibes ok?), minor injury + mentions of blood
— requested by anon <3
froggi yaps -> everyone thank mr froggibus for bullying me into getting this done cause otherwise this fic was nawt going to see the light of day ;-; its been foreverrr since i wrote for tim so hopefully this is still acceptable <3 enjoy!
Tim Drake is in your apartment. The Tim Drake. Wayne Enterprises, billionaire, prodigal son of Bruce Wayne Tim Drake is sitting on your couch, drinking your soda, playing Mario on your Nintendo.
How on Earth did you get here?
The sight of the raven haired boy was enough for you to make a double take when you’d entered your elective class this morning. You recognized him from glimpses of news clippings you caught here and there, full coloured spreads you’d see on social media posts coming to mind.
Sure enough, it was him, sitting alone in the middle of the classroom, a barrier of empty seats on either side of him like a quarantine. You’d frowned when you’d seen that, and despite the nerves chewing away at your stomach lining, forced your feet to move until you were right next to him.
“Is this seat taken?”
His head had perked up, calloused fingers plucking out his earbuds. “What’s that?’
“Oh,” you say, your confidence wavering, “is this seat taken?”
And he'd smiled, something dazzling and performative you’re sure he’s done for hundreds of photographers. You fell for it anyway, and when he patted the seat for you to sit down, you took the bait.
You made small talk after that, talking about your respective majors, your class schedules, your living situations. Tim told you about his dilemma: four 8am classes, and a house on the opposite side of town, and you’d cringed.
The class itself was slow, the professor's words dragging on until your eyelids drooped and you weren’t sure you could take anymore. That is, until Tim Drake tilted his laptop at you, Fireboy and Watergirl paused on his screen.
“Psst, wanna play?”
You looked around, checking for any eyes on you before nodding. As slyly as he can, he pushes his laptop towards you slightly until your hand can comfortably reach the arrow keys. He shuffles closer to you, his own hand hovering over the WASD keys.
The two of you fly through the levels, the drone of your lecture fading into the background until suddenly the people around you are packing up their things. You rub at your eyes, aching from staring at his screen for so long, only to realize how close you’d gotten to Tim over the course of the game.
You move away as casually as you can, packing up your stuff. “Um, do you have any more classes today?”
“Yeah,” he yawns, stretching his arms above his head. “Two more, but not until later in the day. Why?”
“Would you wanna come over for lunch? I live super close.”
To your shock and delight, the man had agreed, slinging his bag over his shoulder and following you to your place.Now, staring at him on your couch, a can of diet soda in his hands, the whole situation feels surreal.
“Y’know, I should’ve gotten a place like this.”
You blink, snapping back to reality. “Yeah?’
“Yeah, would’ve made the 8am blocks easier. Basically just roll out of bed and walk on over.”
You nod in agreement, settling in on the couch next to him and picking up the remote you’d discarded on your bathroom break. “Well, you can always crash here if you have a late night.”
“Sorry if that sounds too forward,” you add, shaking your head. “I just…the company is nice, y'know? And I swear I’m not trying to like, kill you for your inheritance or anything.”
Who the fuck says that? For a minute, you find yourself wishing you were anywhere but here, where the stupidity of your joke hangs in the air like deadweight.
Tim laughs. Not some rehearsed chuckle, not nervous laughter, but a real laugh. He grins, bright and brilliant and beautiful, “well, that’s comforting.”
“Sorry, god. I don’t know why I’m being so awkward.”
“Hey, I like awkward.”
You swallow, taking a sip of your soda to hide the heat rushing to your face.
It’s a week of hanging out with Tim before he stays the night for the first time.
You’re just getting out of the shower when he shows up with a Bat Burger bag in one hand and his overnight bag in the other. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
You smile, ushering him in. “Is studying going that badly?”
He groans, “you have no idea.”
The two of you settle into your kitchen, munching on the food he brought and talking about the big exam Tim is cramming for. It’s almost strange to you how quickly you warmed up to him, how easily conversation comes around Tim.
“I’ve never been one of those people who studies.”
It’s a half-truth, really. Tim hasn’t ever really studied for tests or things, relying on his memory and common sense usually. But he’s studied plenty of other things, spent nights pouring over maps and papers and other important mission whatnots.
“Must be nice.”
“I’m serious, usually I just…remember things. But,” he runs his long fingers through his hair, “I haven’t really been paying attention in my classes.”
You gasp, feigning hurt. “More Fireboy and Watergirl? Are you cheating on me?”
Tim’s quick to shake his head, loose strands falling in his face. “No, no never. You’re actually—” His cheeks flush, face reddening, “you’re like one of the only people in my classes who actually talks to me.”
You feel it then, the kind of loneliness that comes from being Tim Drake. To have all this money and power and influence and still end up entirely alone at the end of the day. Your heart aches.
“Well,” you say quietly, “I guess that means I just have to teach you to study then, too.”
You wake up to find Tim in your kitchen, a pastry bag and a cup of coffee from the cafe down the street on the counter. He grins sleepily when he sees you, the golden sunrays streaming through your window reflecting off his skin.
“G’morning,” he yawns, sipping his own coffee. “Brought you coffee and some breakfast.”
You nod, reaching for the coffee and reciting the label to yourself out loud. Your face scrunches, brows knitting together as you realize he’s gotten your coffee order perfect.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?”
You point to the coffee cup and his mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, that familiar sharpness coming back to his eyes.
“I uh, did some digging.”
You raise an eyebrow, taking a sip from your coffee as you wait for an explanation.
He smiles sheepishly. “I saw what kind of milk you drink in the fridge yesterday, and I noticed in our lecture this week that you usually drink blond espresso. Flavouring I kinda guessed? But since it’s fall, I figured pumpkin spice was a safe choice.”
You take another big sip, humming in ecstasy. “Y’know, it’s kind of scary when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make…really accurate guesses on things. Makes me feel like you’re a cop, or something.’
“Like 21 Jump Street?”
“Exactly like 21 Jump Street.”
He laughs. “I don’t think GCPD has that in their budget.”
You peel open the pastry bag, wiggling your fingers as you decide what you’re gonna eat. “No, they probably don’t.”
Sleepovers with Tim are a common occurrence after that, more of your nights being spent with him than without. Not that you mind—your nights are comfier with him around, and your mornings seem brighter.
You also don’t mind the company, especially when he insists on walking you to class every morning and carrying your bags for you.
“It’s the least I can do,” he always shrugs, refusing to let you carry anything. “You’ve been a real life saver.”
People in your lectures whisper about the two of you, nudge each other when you walk by on campus. You’re aware of the rumours that have spread, that people think you and Tim are together. You brush them off, he’s just a friend.
You asked him about it one day, if he knew about the rumours and if they bothered him. The man had just shrugged his shoulders, let them talk all they want.
It’s not just the coffee and the late nights and slow mornings, though. It’s the groceries Tim has delivered to your apartment every week, the little treats he buys you whenever he comes over, the way he looks at you changing one day at a time.
You’re not sure when it happened, or how, but something in your dynamic with Tim Drake has changed.
Tim doesn’t show up for your sleepover tonight. No text, no call, nothing but a distinct absence of Tim Drake on your couch.
You try not to be hurt by it. Some alone time is good for you, and he probably just got busy. It’s nothing personal. At least, that’s what you try to convince yourself.
It doesn’t work.
You do your best to keep yourself busy and not think about his absence. You cook dinner, throw yourself into your schoolwork, watch your favorite show, and still, the night drags on, each moment bleeding into the next.
You wake up to loud knocking at the door. Blinking, you rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up on the couch. You must’ve fallen asleep watching your show, the ‘Are you still watching?’ screen staring back at you.
There’s another knock, a little more urgent this time, and you rise to your feet, rushing to the door. Tim Drake greets you with a half-smile, looking pale and clammy.
You frown, ready to ream him out for standing you up when you notice the blood soaking through the ribs of his t-shirt. “Tim? Are you okay?”
“Just—” He cuts himself off with a cough, loud and wet and clearly painful from the way he’s wincing. “Just peachy.”
Your face twists into a frown as you usher him inside, “what the hell happened to you?”
He coughs again, stumbling over his own feet as you close and lock the door behind him. He pitches forwards, trajectory set to the ground, before you hook an arm under his shoulders and catch his weight against your body. It’s awkward, sending you stumbling slightly before you catch your own balance.
The two of you fall into an awkward, half-stumble half-walk to your bathroom, and though it’s not that far from the door, your legs burn from carrying Tim.
“Seriously, Tim, what happened?”
He frowns, the guilt setting in. Maybe he shouldn’t have come.
He’d had Robin things to do tonight, he didn’t mean to stand you up. But one thing led to another and suddenly it was late and he was hurt and yet all he cared about was you. Seeing you, being with you, grovelling for accidentally standing you up.
He sighs, “I lost a fight.”
A half-truth, but technically not a lie. He did lose a fight—granted, it was barely a loss—and as soon as Steph showed up for backup, he’d gotten right back up on his feet and kicked that goon’s ass right back.
You settle Tim down on your toilet seat, rummaging underneath your counter for any first aid supplies. Normally, you’d have nothing but some polysporin, painkillers and a couple bandaids on hand, but Tim had teased you just last week about not having a first aid kit to the point you went out and bought one.
You pull out the kit, ravaging it for bandages, alcohol pads and other random effects you’re not even sure you need.
Tim grits his teeth, tugging his blood soaked t-shirt over his head. “You’re gonna—damn, you’re gonna have to clean it with water first.”
You nod, already wetting a cloth with warm water in order to distract yourself from the shirtless man in front of you. The cut isn’t too bad—shallow, superficial, going across the length of his ribs.
You brace a hand on his shoulder, his skin cold to the touch, and slowly dab away at the blood with your other hand.
Tim talks you through it the whole time, giving you expert instructions on how to care for and bandage his wound. Caring for him comes naturally, like you’ve done it your whole life. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say this must be a pretty common occurrence for the two of you.
You’re discarding the bandage wrappers in the trash can under your sink when Tim goes to tug on his old t-shirt. “Wait.”
He cocks his head to the side.
“I have one of yours here from last week, just—” Your voice is a little shaky, a little breathier than usual. Tim clocks it immediately. “Let me run and grab it.”
He nods, and you’re grateful to get away for a minute. Being that close to Tim, to a very shirtless, shockingly muscular Tim, was killing you. You rummage through your drawers until you find the baggy t-shirt, hidden amongst your own things, before running back to the bathroom.
You toss him the shirt, turning away slightly while he tugs it over his head. “You know,” you swallow, “it was kind of freaky seeing you all injured and bloody tonight.”
“Yeah?” He rises to his feet with a groan, gently stretching his arms above his head, “you were worried about me?”
You roll your eyes. “Maybe a little.”
It’s not as fun teasing you when you’re being so tender with him, Tim realizes. His cheeks flush slightly, a hand reaching for one of yours. You blink, looking at him through your lashes as he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb.
“I’m sorry it freaked you out.” He takes a step closer to you, other hand reaching for your hip, “and I’m sorry I missed out on tonight and–and didn’t say anything.”
You frown. You’d forgotten about that part, and under his burning gaze and the strength of his hands, it’s nearly impossible to stay mad at him.
“Is it still okay if I crash here?”
You nod, flustered and not entirely trusting your words right now.
He breathes your name and it’s only now you realize how close he’s gotten to you. You swallow, too nervous to meet his gaze, instead focusing on the feel of his hand on yours, his other hand on your hip, his chest so close you can sense the heat coming off of him.
He drops your hand, trailing his own to cup your chin and force you to look up at him. It’s then that his head dips down, that his lips brush over yours, the taste of his chapstick and something that tastes eerily similar to metal flooding your mouth.
His hand digs into your hip, pulling you tighter to him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” he mumbles against your mouth.
You smile, fighting the emotion coursing through your body. “Me too,” you say, half-breathed and half-laughed.
“Do you think—” He cuts himself off with a laugh of his own, feeling silly for how incredibly flustered he feels, “do you think I could sleep in your bed tonight?”
“I think I’d like that a lot.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
