A/N: Hey guys! I haven’t uploaded an imagine in a while but tbh I’m so fucking busy it’s driving me mad.
Warnings: smut, kinda (male masturbation, Stiles has an overly active imagination 😉), mentions of blood if that kinda stuff creeps you out (not anything major)
Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Reader
Words: 1500 ish
By the time Stiles finally drags himself back to his dorm, the sun is slowly rising and his hair is starting to stink with drying slime from the Kanima (most likely) blood that he’s had the unfortunate displeasure of coming across.
Honestly, he thought that when he went to collage he would finally be away from it all, finally be safe. God knows that he’s put his dad through enough stress with all the shit he and Scott pulled.
The guilt gnaws at his insides at night.
It seems like all this shit just keeps following him around. Not that he’s complaining or anything, but it’d be nice if the monsters were a bit more considerate of Stiles’ upcoming exams.
So, all things considered, seeing his roommate, (Y/N), up at the ungodly hour of fuck-that-o'clock making pancakes naked in the kitchen is probably number 12 on the list of Weird Shit That Only Stiles Has To Deal With This Week. (Y/N)’s got her back to him and in the low light of morning, he can only just make out her soft curves and smooth skin.
“Um,” he says, sounding a like a fucking moron who can’t pull four words together to ask *‘what are you doing?’* Luckily for him, his roommate turns around and saves him the trouble.
And suddenly, this entire thing goes up a few spots on the Weird Shit That Only Stiles Has To Deal With This Week list because (Y/N)’s not naked. She’s got a scarf wrapped around her neck that only just covers her chest bits and a - ridiculously tiny, *oh good lord* - pair of black panties on that makes her ass look absolutely. In a second he realizes that the scarf is the one he asked his dad to send over last month.
And oh, *oh* doesn’t that just make whatever blood Stiles still has in his head go south. Because it’s *(Y/N)* and she’s got his scarf sitting atop her bare chest, the only thing shielding his eyes from the glorious view of her naked body.
He feels weirdly possessive.
Stiles very pointedly shoves those thoughts down along with any other inappropriate images that his mind tries to conjure up. It’s a failed attempt.
“Are those pancakes?” He eventually finds the mental capacity to ask, because now that his upstairs brain’s caught up with the situation, this doesn’t seem that odd compared to all the shit (Y/N)’s pulled in the past. The girl in question nods as Stiles continues to stand in the middle of the kitchen instead of getting the fuck out of there.
“They’re shaped like Mickey Mouseâ„¢,” She informs him and Stiles tries not to be jealous when she flips a pancake and it lands back in the pan, and not on the ceiling. “You want?”
“Pass.” He says, knowing full well that the Kanima blood was drying and if she noticed he’d have some explaining to do. He pointedly tells himself that he’s not running away to hide the tent that he’s now sporting in his jeans. “What are your wearing?” And then something else occurs to him. “Did you just say â€˜â„¢â€™?”
(Y/N) shrugs. “It’s laundry day.” She says lightly, her full attention turned to the pancakes now. “Gotta get it all done. Hope you don’t mind. I stole your scarf.”
Her saying it so casually makes Stiles fell scarily possessive, and his brain is already thinking of the best way to get out of this situation right now. “Keep it.” He says, and clears his throat because his voice is suddenly deep and raspy. “It looks better on you.”
(Y/N) looks at him, as if she knows all the filthy little thoughts running through his head, before putting the pan on a cold plate and walking over to him. It takes a great deal of effort for Stiles to maintain eye contact.
“Really?” She quirks a brow. Now, she’s standing right in front of him, so close that he can see the gorgeous tint of her eyes, can smell the remnants of perfume and vanilla extract on her skin. Stiles gulps. “Honestly Stiles. You put your dad through all the trouble of sending it over only to give it to your roommate so carelessly?”
He should look away. He wants to, because he knows (Y/N), knows that she doesn’t do relationships and loves to play games and, if her screams at night are anything to go by, loves to fuck hard and wild until she can’t walk properly the next day. He should walk the fuck away because he knows that if he does, (Y/N) won’t try it again.
But right now, all he wants to do is fuck her senseless, preferably tied to the bed with that damned scarf.
“Umm,” is what he stupidly replies with instead. (Y/N) raises a brow, but Stiles can’t worry about that because she’s got *hands* and suddenly those hands are being placed delicately on Stiles’ shoulders so that her thumb grazes gently over the dip of his collar bone.
He stares at her for a moment, and Stiles quickly realized he could do it forever. She’s so beautiful, she doesn’t even know it. The set of her bright eyes, the smell of her body, that shade of her skin that Stiles could spend years looking for but never actually match, the way her nose fits perfectly onto her face, the arch of her brows and swell of her lips; it drives him mad.
But then those gorgeous eyes are filling with surprise and she’s laughing slightly when she asks him: “Why is your shirt wet?” Suddenly, Stiles is reminded of the reason he’d come back late in the first place, of the blood and gore and *danger* that seems to come along with his life, and he can’t help this primal instinct within him that begs Stiles to *protect* and *fortify* and he knows it. Stiles knows he just can’t.
Even if it was just for one night, he can’t drag her into the hell hole that is his life.
“I need a shower.” He says and pulls away and it takes everything inside of him to ignore the hurt look on her face as he does.
He practically runs to the bathroom, not even bothering to strip down before he stands under the harsh spray. The water’s freezing cold and it turns his face red, but Stiles knows that blood washes off better this way (he also acknowledges that it’s a fucked up thing to know) and honestly, he needs it.
It takes a full five minutes under the freezing spray before Stiles actually strips down. He piles his dirty clothes in the corner and knows that those jeans are probably ruined. As he turns the heat up, Stiles closes his eyes, enjoying the way the water feels cascading down his sore and taut muscles.
And for a moment, just a moment, he allows himself to picture what it would feel like to have (Y/N) in there with him.
It’s wrong, he knows it is, but Stiles can’t stop the thoughts from entering his mind. She’d come in after him, the thinks. Probably when he was just about to step out. He can imagine the way she would look through the frosted glass, the way he would see her delicate hands pull the clothes off her body. He imagines her, finally pulling the shower door open and standing before him, as bare as the day she was born.
Stiles reaches bewteen his legs and strokes his length swiftly, unsuprised to find that he’s already hard. He goes back to the images he’s created in his head. Pictures the way (Y/N) would smirk at the flustered and confused look on his face, and - no.
In his head, this isn’t the first time they’re doing this. In his head, she walks forward with a smile, the genuine kind she gives when she’s high or when Stiles tells a dumb joke. She wouldn’t even wait for him, she’d just step forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders - Stiles pictures the way she had done it moments before - and joining him under the warm water.
He pictures the way the water starts to wet her hair and face, pictures the droplets running down her body. He squeezes himself at the base. He imagines the way her soft skin would feel under his touch, hears her soft gasps and quiet moans as he dips a hand between her legs. Stiles strokes his dick faster, picturing the look of ecstasy on her face when he slides his fingers into her wet opening. His hand’s moving fast now as he imagines pulling away and silencing her moan of disapproval with a kiss as he slides his length into her cunt.
Stiles gasps slightly as he pictures how she would feel around his dick. He hears her moaning gasps as he slides into her, presses love bites to her neck and breasts and she pants and screams and finally, *finally* Stiles is the one making her do so instead of all those guys she brings home. He feels the way her legs would tremble and her body shake as he reaches between them to press a thumb to her clit, he pictures the way she could clench around him as she comes, gripping onto his shoulders and moaning into his ear and -
Stiles almost let’s his shout slip as he comes in his hand.
It takes him a long while to gather himself. He takes deep breaths and tries to fight away the guilt at what he just did. (Y/N)’s his friend and he’s an ass for thinking about her like that, but goddamn* the way she looked and spoke and laughed - it all made Stiles’ head spin.
It is with a belated sense of worry that he realised he’s fallen for her.
Metruk bir oturma odasının
kendine sakladığı oyalı bir sehpanın
Sedef kakması gibi saklanmak istiyorum bazen..
Biliyor musunuz? Sizden çok şey bekliyorum Evet evet, yanlış okumadınız Çok şey! Bir korku yerleşmiştir artık yüreğinize
Mesela… İyi olun istiyorum Bildiğiniz “iyi” Nasılsın? “İyiyim”, gibi. Ya da “iyi biriyim ben”, gibi…
Sonra… Çok soru sorun istiyorum Yani, “N’aber?” “Nasıl gidiyor?” “Eeee daha daha nasılsın?” gibi ısrarcı ve manasız sorular
Söylenen her şeye bir cevap yapıştırabilin istiyorum Mesela: “Çok yaşa” “Sen de Gör”… Ya da “Hayırlı Olsun” “E darısı başına” gibi…
Kimsenin duymadığı şarkıları bana söyleyin istiyorum “aç kapıyı bezirgân başı Kapı hakkı ne verirse, neee verirseee” mesela
Yani anlayacağınız ben sizden hiçbir şey bekliyorum Evet evet, Yanlış okumadınız Hiçbir şey bekliyorum
Hiçliğin ortasında, Dört duvarı beyaz taştan evlerin arasında Susmuş bir avluda Aşığın biri dizelerine türkü tuttururken Masamda yarılanmış bir kadeh rakıyla Sizi izlemek istiyorum; Belki bir ara göz göze geliriz ihtimaliyle, ısrarla
Metruk bir oturma odasının Kendine sakladığı oyalı bir sehpanın Sedef kakması gibi saklanmak istiyorum bazen Her kıvrımınızda
İnceden yağan yağmura kızmadan Sarıyer’in kıyısında, Bulduğum için kendimle gurur duyduğum o çay ocağında Sizinle bir çay paylaşmak mesela Tadı acı ve kekre de olsa
Sabah kendini sisle örten köyü görmeye gitmek istiyorum Ve odamın camından Gelişinizi izlemek Elinizde fırından yeni alınmış bir mısır ekmeği Omuzlarınızda yerlere serpilen sis ağırlığıyla
İçeri girer girmez Ekmeğinizi tezgaha koymadan Bana sıkı sıkı sarılın istiyorum Ocaktaki çaydanlık “demlendim ben” diye öterken
Bir adalar vapurunda sizinle tesadüfen karşılaşmayı da hayal ediyorum Konuşmadan yan yana martılarla beraber uçup Ayrı ayrı inmeyi Şirket-i Hayriye Vapurundan Ve dönüşünde aynı seferde buluşabilmeyi Tek seferde
İçimdeki koca boşlukla Evimdeki berjerin kucağına küçülmüşken Öyle bir şey söyleyin ki bana Uyuyakalayım oracıkta Huzurla
Bana asla söyleyemeyeceğiniz şeyleri Yatağımda uzanmışken Fısıldayın istiyorum Unutacağımı bilip sırlarınızı rüyalarıma dolayın Bir ninniyle tıpış tıpışlayın beni Ve uyumayın hiç mesela
Benden istediklerinizi yazıp yapıştırın buzdolabıma Benim dileklerim kadar “hiç”midirler bilemem ama Gönlüm el verdiğince Ben de yazayım her birini aklıma
Ve bekleyeyim sizi Her günkü gibi Bir çiçek misali Toprağı topaklanmış saksımda
honestly i just fucking love that hug. it kills me, i mean LOOK at that. it’s so tight and desperate. the only Jydia we got to see on the show was kinda fucked up tbh but they had the potential to be better, and with hugs like that?? there was something real under there T_T
The relationship was pretty awful in season one but honestly both of -them- were awful in season one, and look how much Lydia has evolved since then. From a totally self-involved, image obsessed girl that “doesn’t date losers” to the point that it became a complex for Jackson, who made out with Scott ––Allison (and Jackson) be damned –– just because he scored a few points in lacrosse, to a brave and selfless, strong character.
Jydia in season two was just honestly beautiful, that whole arc, and the love there was so strong. (I mean…
…look at that gif and the emotions there, the way they hold each other, and compare it to the St*dia reunion in the most recent season. The emotions and connection here are just… so much stronger).
And imagine how much they could have grown together and how epic they could have become, especially after the payoff of Jackson’s s2 arc and what it meant for his sense of self, and their relationship.
Hi! Could you
do a prompt with Sam please? Prompt List 1 N. 37 Twins? We’re… we’re having
List 1 N. 37 Twins? We’re… we’re having twins?!
is greatly appreciated.
Sam was in the library when you came up to him. Youâ€™d just
gotten back from the doctors. First off you were pregnant but that wasnâ€™t the
kicker. The kicker was it was twins and you were already 4 months along. Youâ€™d
never gotten the morning sickness like most women so you had no idea until you thought
you felt movement. Thatâ€™s when you went to the doctors. You were still in shock
and it must have shown.
â€œ(Y/N)?!â€ Sam jumped out of his chair
â€œTalk to me baby. Here sit down.â€ He guides you to a chair.
â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€ fear laced his voice. He knew youâ€™d gone to
the Docs, now you were here crying. Â
â€œWeâ€™re gonna be parents.â€ You whisper and he realizes these
arenâ€™t bad tears.
â€œIâ€™m gonna be a dad?!â€
You nod and giggle as he kisses you.
â€œWait thereâ€™s more.â€
â€œWeâ€™re having twins!!!!â€
Twins? Weâ€™reâ€¦weâ€™re having twins?!
Baby maybe you should sit too.
He does as he shouts for Dean.
â€œSammy?! (Y/N)?! Dean rushes in
Whatâ€™s wrong Sam?
Iâ€™m gonna be a dad! Weâ€™re having twins!
Â Â Twins? Youâ€™re having twins?!
Sam nodded and Dean collapsed.
Guess it was too much for the uncle to be. You giggled
A/N: Not even gonna try with this new update. F-u windows and whatever the hell you did to my copy and paste.
Alright, so first… I don’t know which side of the “abuse” you’re talking about, but whenever anyone tries to claim that poor, innocent Lydia was abused by her awful boyfriend in season one it honestly makes me laugh. Lydia was a nightmare in season one, her attitude and behavior emotionally abusive and triggering many of Jackson’s insecurities and counter-actions. Ex: he needed to be team captain, he needed to keep up with Scott, he needed to be a werewolf because she was all he had to hold onto and her consistent refrain was “if you’re not good enough, I’ll drop you for someone better in a heartbeat.”
That’s not to say Jackson was better. But Lydia was objectively a terrible person at the start of the show: cold and self-absorbed, completely disregarding everyone else’s feelings –– even those of the people she supposedly cared about –– for her own goals. And if you agree that Lydia has been able to growfrom that and become a likable character you wantto root for, as I do, then why not Jackson? Why not Jydia?
Now let’s jump back a little. I didn’t say I supported Jydia in season one. (And there’s a whole other argument about why it is alright to ship toxic ‘ships, which is true, that I’m not going to even get into at the moment because that’s not what this is.) There were enjoyable elements there, layered between a lot of fucked up behaviors on both ends, but season one Jydia was not a good relationship. Jydia in season two, though, was all about the growth of their relationship, the hidden depths that we only catch glimpses of, and the potential of their relationship along with the powerful, world-altering love that existed on both ends. They held each other together in their darkest moments. Lydia loved Jackson enough to risk being torn apart by him as a kanima, and Jackson loved her back enough that it solidified his identity. And that, to me, is incredibly beautiful.
I’m not in any way saying to forgive your abusers, or to stay in a toxic relationship. I’m saying that characters can grow and relationships can evolve, and the show canonically showed both of these characters growing, highlighting issues that caused them to act the way they did in season one and working through them –– Lydia more than Jackson, since she stayed in the show longer, but I also think it’s also notable that I didn’t actually like Lydia, as a person, until 3A. There were moments that I felt for her, yeah, or enjoyed scenes with her, but I didn’t actually like her in any significant way until that moment when she refused to cover up the marks on her throat. That was the first time that I actually found myself thinking “you know, alright. I like her now.” and she became one of the show’s most enjoyable characters to me throughout 3 & 4. Jackson didn’t have that same opportunity because of Colton leaving, but I saw the potential for it, and such potential in this relationship of two damaged people finding strength in themselves and each other, learning to recognize the value of themselves and each other. “Master Plan” was such a turning point for both them as characters and their relationship as a whole, and to see them take the foundation laid down in that episode and use it to grow into a truly supportive, honest, healthy relationship could have been truly extraordinary.
And if you don’t see that happening like I do, or just don’t like the ship, then that’s fine. But don’t say that I’m romanticizing abuse because that’s got fucking nothing to do with why I love this pairing.
John! Heyy!!! I’m coming after you today! Yay! Soo, I have a question! Why did you stop referring to Lestrade as â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“ and start to call him by name?
Oh yeah… You only call him by name after Sherlock jumped off Bart’s… Well damn, John. Either you stopped protecting his identity, or, the blog isn’t real after the ‘Hello Boys!’ post, and it’s all in Sherlock’s mind from there. (I have more evidence tucked away here)
So we start at the ASiP post:
Nothing unusual here. John is protecting Lestrade’s identity, it’s all fine.
He does it again in TGG post:
And, I can only think in the Aluminium Crutch post, this is Lestrade as well:
See? It’s all fine. Everything is fine, they can hardly reveal the identity of the man who’s helping them at Scotland Yard.
That is until, The Orient Express post… The 6th post after Sherlock’s death:
Oh look… You mentioned Lestrade, by name. Like everyone knows who he is, yet, Lestrade as a name is never mentioned on the blog before this.
So John just stopped using â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“, for some reason? It is never used again and from here, Greg is all that is said. Not even Lestrade:
So, why John? Why stop using â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“ to protect peoples names, not just Lestrade’s?
Is it because the blog hasn’t actually been written by you since TRF? Because we’re still there? Is the blog really just what Sherlock wrote in his mind before he fully slipped into dreams and stopped writing it? Because Sherlock does know Lestrade’s name, we know that. (Especially if you think S3 is EMP as well as S4). So what’s stopping Sherlock from writing Lestrade’s name down, when the blog isn’t real at all, after a certain point? That’s right, nothing is. It’s easier to just say Lestrade’s name than using â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“.
So, if you didn’t believe me before about John’s blog… Does this sway you? Because it just seems like conclusive proof to me. Or it might not be and there could be a reasonable explanation to this but, I can’t see it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
- Abróchate bien esa blusa- susurro mi madre mirándome
desde el espejo retrovisor. Yo me limite a rodar los ojos en respuesta y hacer
lo que me pedía.
Ya había tenido demasiadas
discusiones los pasados 3 días.
Dimos la vuelta en la
esquina y entonces vi la gran y hermosa estructura completamente pintada de
blanco, mejor conocida por todo el mundo como iglesia.
- ¡Oh! Los Do ya están aquí- susurro mi padre y desde el
asiento trasero pude ver que se formaba una sonrisa en su rostro al tiempo que
sacaba la mano por la ventana para saludar a la perfecta familia que se
encontraba bajando de su auto.
Entorne los ojos con furia
para mirar a la familia y lo reconocí de inmediato.
Lo que me faltaba.
Hubiera podido evitar toda
esta farsa si no hubiera sido descubierta fumando un cigarrillo fuera de la
casa 3 días atrás. Otra cosa más agregada a mi enorme expediente de mala
conducta que tantos mis padres, mis maestros y los miembros de la iglesia
llevaban sobre mí. Había logrado evitar que mis padres me arrastraran a la
iglesia durante casi 7 meses, todo con la promesa que le había hecho a mi madre
y a “Dios” de que iba a portarme bien. Cosa que no había sido del todo cierta.
En estos 7 meses había
logrado ponerme lo más borracha que había estado durante mis 20 años, asistido
a más fiestas de las que había sido invitada y todo sin ser descubierta por mis
padres. Y la verdad es que estaba bastante orgullosa, después de que mis padres
me prohibieran ir a estudiar a Estados Unidos debido a mi comportamiento, creí
que mi vida universitaria sería un fracaso.
Author: @riversong-sam Word Count: 508 Parings: Jensen x Reader Warnings: character death, memories of kidnapping and assault, angst, comforting!Jensen A/N: Feedback is greatly appreciated.
Jensen was shook from his thoughts when you started to
whimper and clutch his shirt tighter.
“Shh (Y/N)” he rocks you.
You barely registered Jensen holding you. The memories in
your dreams held you too tight.
â€œNo! Please donâ€™t hurt them please.â€ You cry
â€œ(Y/N)! Wake up!â€ Jensen was worried now that you started
shouting and begging.Â Â
You wake with a start and it takes a moment before you
realize where you are. It takes another before you start sobbing and less than
that for Jensen to crush you to his chest and let you sob against him.
Jensen looks over to Ryan feeling helpless. Ryan just looks
â€œThereâ€™s a bedroom down the hall you can take her to. Weâ€™ll
â€œThanksâ€ he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom,
lying with you on the bed.
â€œPlease let me help you.â€ He whispers holding you close.
It takes several minutes before you stop crying, and a while
longer after that before you talk to him.
Jensen lightly rubs your back waiting for you. He wasnâ€™t
going to push youâ€™d tell him on your own.
â€œI was just about four weeks after my medical discharge from
the marines. I was still recovering from the bullet wound I received my last
tour. He was in my home when I got back from physical therapy. My son was..â€
you start to cry again.
â€œHe was so little Jensen. So little barely two years old.â€ You
cling to his warm embrace and itâ€™s another few minutes before you can speak
â€œMy baby was on the floor with my husband. Theyâ€™d both been
shot, execution style once to the back of the head.â€
Jensen pulls you closer and you hear him sniff. Itâ€™s obvious
heâ€™s crying too.Â
â€œI called 911. There was a fight with this man and we were
gone before the cops arrived. He held me for a year before Ryan and the rest of
my old team were able to find me. He did awful things to me.â€
â€œWhy didnâ€™t they just kill him?â€
You were surprised by his statement, â€œI donâ€™t know but I wished
they did. He swore heâ€™d escape and come for me.â€
â€œ(Y/N) I wonâ€™t let him hurt you anymore.â€
â€œJensen no please you canâ€™t help! I canâ€™t lose you too.â€
â€œ(Y/N) I love you. Itâ€™s my choice to help.â€
You look up at him, â€œYou love me?â€
He nods brushing your stray tears away, â€œI donâ€™t expect you
to feel the same, but it doesnâ€™t change my decision.â€
â€œJensen I care for you deeply. I wouldnâ€™t call it love Iâ€™m
not quite ready for that yet. But I donâ€™t think I could handle you getting hurt
or dead because of me.â€
â€œJensen please heâ€™s very dangerous. I have the scars to
â€œTen whipping scars and a few of my stab scars are from him.â€
Jensen growls lowly and you bury your face in his chest. Heâ€™d
protect you no matter what.